#i love claire so much so it kinda sucks

[thecodeveronica]

kinda rough being the kind of Resident Evil fan I am on tumblr when 60% of the posts are just lusting after Leon and most of the remaining 40% is RE8-related stuff about Ethan or Dimitrescu

[hsslilly-blog]

shirt with a heart and child of divorce written on top but then there’s a picture of huntclaire. you wouldnt get it. i do

[stvolanis]

What about rafe with a reader who talks a lot land has a bubbly personality and he’s getting annoyed cause she’s just talking on and on and he’s already in a bad mood and so her just talking he’s getting annoyed and like he makes a comment of “why don’t you stop talking and put your mouth to a better use” (sorry for how badly worded this is)

hi! I kinda imagine this as maybe bestfriend!Rafe who kinda manipulates the reader yk? Also knocking two birds w/ one stone by adding a little bit from a different request, hope you don’t mind!💞

Rafe Cameron! who loves his silly little best friend who he’s had a claim on since 6th grade :). Always so sweet to him when you guys were in school together. Giving him the answers, walking with him to all your classes, rides home after school with you on aux cause how could he ever say no to you? Not to mention the fact that he knew you harbored a little crush on him—

Rafe Cameron! Who knew you were heavily inexperienced in the sexual realm of things, which he made sure of after he beat up every guy who even thought they’d be able to breathe the same air as you. He takes great pride in being able to teach you things no one else will. Of course you’d question it, looking up at him with those pretty doe eyes that make his cock pulse with confusion when you guys were in the back seat of his truck one day. “Rafey, I dunno if we should do this—feels weird.” You muttered, your hand tightly wrapped around his cock with his hand shoved down your pants. “Thought you wanted to take care of me, sweetheart? This is just what best friends are supposed to do.”

Rafe Cameron! Who’s been having an exhaustingly annoying day after another group fight between the kooks and pogues. He’s a little scratched up, moping around your house as you go on and on about why he shouldn’t have fought, what could have happened—and then suddenly trailing off to your favorite pasta shell? It was hurting his head. Too much for him to process as he rubbed his temple, watching you babble mindlessly.

Rafe Cameron! Who finally has had enough of your constant yapping. “God, baby, you ever shut the fuck up? Hm? Jus’ be fuckin’ quiet, little girl.” He hissed through clenched teeth, pinching your cheeks together harshly to cease your talking, yet the way your eyes watered and thighs clenched together didn’t go unnoticed. “Think you jus’ need somethin’ stuffed in there so you’ll shut up. That it?” He mocked. You looked up at him from your knees, confused as to what he was referring to.

Rafe Cameron! Who’s cock slapped against your waiting tongue in a taunting manner. Curved slightly, with trimmed hair at the base and heavy balls. His scent strong, consuming your mind with an aching throb between your thighs you knew only Rafe could help. “Gonna teach you how to suck dick like a pro, kay?” He urged, pushing his fat tip into your mouth, further and further till the sounds of you gagging and gasping for air around him was all he could hear, and tears running down your pretty face was all he could see. “That’s my girl. See? All you needed was some good dick to shut cha’little ass up, huh?” He cooed.

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

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[morganbritton132]

Oh geez this might be a double ask because my phone glitched out when I tried to send previously BUT just wanted to say that I love ur Steve has older siblings au

I also need to say that I shamelessly combined that au with ur post about Tommy knowing Steve the best. Just picturing Steve’s sibs zoning out when his mom lists what he can’t eat because they assume she’s just being difficult. Flash forward a few years and they accidentally poison Steve with like peanut butter cookies and are realllly lucky that Tommy was staying over that weekend and knows he’s allergic.

anyways thx for all ur writing!

I only got this ask once so we’re good! The Steve Has Older Siblings AU has kinda been on hold for a bit because Dustin is either the easiest or the hardest character to write and right now, he’s being difficult for me.

BUT! I love this.

I’m going to change it around a bit because I’m on this kick right now where Steve is allergic to aspirin. Also, with the way that Steve’s mom is written for this AU, she is negligent but protective of her son. I don’t think she’d allow peanut butter in the house if Steve was allergic.

She wouldn’t allow aspirin either but Richard insists that it’s the only thing that cures a migraine (hangover), and Steve’s eight. He doesn’t even like taking his Flintstone vitamins so she’s not concerned about him getting in the medicine cabinet.

It’s not common that Tommy stays over at Steve’s when they’re sick.

Typically his mom watches them at their house but she had to go wake up his grandma (“That doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t she set an alarm clock?”/”I dunno, Steve. That’s what Mommy said. She had to go to Granny’s wake.”) so Mrs. Harrington was babysitting them.

Mrs. Harrington isn’t very good at taking care of them. Tommy wouldn’t tell Steve that because it’ll make him sad, but his mom kinda sucks at this. She doesn’t even give them popsicles for their sore throats or kiss their foreheads to check their temperature. She just disappears for long periods of time to yell into the phone.

Tommy’s kinda happy when she has to go into the office because he thinks Claire might look after them, but she’s apparently studying in her room so Steve’s brothers are doing it.

Tommy secretly likes this better because Jason and Richie are very nice to him, and they tell him that he’s cooler than Steve. No one has ever said that before! Not even Carol and they got married under the jungle gym.

Tommy likes hanging out with them even if he feels icky today.

He is standing in the kitchen next to Steve, watching Richie cut a little orange pill in half with a knife. Richie keeps muttering under his breath about running out of the ‘liquid S H I T.’ Tommy thinks it’s funny that he said a bad word, but can’t laugh about it because he can see the bottle that the pill came out of and –

“I don’t think we take that,” He voices but Richie brushes him off. He says it’s like candy. Tommy has brothers too, so he knows that sometimes you gotta give in or they’ll rub your face into the carpet until you get rugburn, but, “I know but… but what if only I take it?”

“You take half,” Richie tells him. “Stevie over here takes the other half and then we’re right as rain. It reduces fever.”

“Yeah,” Jason adds from behind them. “So your brain doesn’t leak out your ears.”

Tommy looks over at Steve but he isn’t fully awake so there’s not much of a reaction there. Plus, he’s not a very good reader so Tommy’s not sure if he even knows what the bottle says. He tries again, ignoring Jason, “That’s not what Mrs. Harrington gave us earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. This is better.”

“Steve can’t take that,” Tommy tries again after he crunches the medicine between his teeth. He sticks out his tongue so Richie can see that it’s gone, and then adds, “Mommy gave that to him once and it made him really sick.”

“It did?” Steve croaks, snatching his hand back when Richie tries to hand him the pill. Richie tries to force the pill into his mouth but Steve presses his lips together. It makes his brother swear and gesture to Jason, and then Steve is snatched off his feet with a hand pinching his nose shut.

He struggles and Tommy wants to help but he – he also wants Richie and Jason to like him so, he doesn’t help. Steve gasps for breath and the pill goes in…and Steve is fine. He’s angry and out of breath, and his nose is still stuffy so he still kinda sounds like a frog but he’s not.. he’s not blue like last time.

Tommy thinks, oh. He thinks, cool.

Everything is fine for fifteen minutes and then Tommy is yelling out the door of Steve’s bedroom that they need help. Steve is breathing weird and – “and, I – I think he’s going to die!”

A lot of stuff happens at once. Claire leaves her room, Jason and Richie come up the stairs, and they all start yelling and blaming each other. No one really jumps into action until Tommy bursts into tears. Then it’s movement and car rides, and Tommy is sitting in the waiting room at the hospital without shoes on.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington rush into the room. The only thing he does know is that he’s never seen anybody look as angry as Mrs. Harrington did when she sees them.

She looks like she’s going to yell at them but Mr. Harrington grabs her by the arm and drags her to the reception desk. They disappear behind the white double doors that Steve went through.

It only makes Tommy cry harder.

[shamixlour]

The Bear - Claire of it all

I was rewatching the Bear and its kinda crazy the way Claire always forces herself on Carmy all the damn time (when she asked Fak for Carmy's real number when clearly the dude gave you a fake one for a reason or again forcing herself to the back kitchen when he got locked in the walk in when Fak told her it wasn't a good moment, timing or even during Carmy's panic attack scene, she forces herself in his mind, in his life so much that he believes that she would help him calm down....when we both know who truly is able to do that) and yk what's even crazier, the way the writers (who are geniuses btw so imo they really did this on purpose and for a reason) wrote her character in a way where as watchers we almost feel like we can't NOT love her, that by doing so we lowkey suck and we're a bit weird bcs not only Carmy's entourage (Nat, Richie & Fak) keeps insisting how good and great she is for him but also the girl seems to be, emphasises on seems, perfect for Carmy. She is the girl he used to fancy, his long time crush, she is pretty, intelligent, super easy going and ready to take all the steps needed to get to Carmy. He doesn't have to do anything almost for her to get into his life. She is easy and good and perfect so we should feel bad for not liking her, for not wanting her for him when everyone around Carmy thinks so of her and doesn't miss a chance to throw it right into our (and Carmy's) face all the fucking time. All the fucking time.

And so for me, it is written like that for a reason.

However we also see that Carmy starts losing his focus the moment she comes back into his life and best believe, I think he felt it, i think he knew and that is why he gave her a fake number bcs deep down he had a certain understanding that she was not perfect for the person he wants to become, he started to become but guess what, she forces herself and his entourage (Fak his best friend lol remember how carmy is a bit ???? When she tells him that thru the phone) thinks this might be good for him, she is the person Carmy always wanted so they think they are helping but they are wrong and they dont know and they dont see how he is eager to envolve bcs he doesn't show it much with them, he is not as open and human with them like he is with Syd. Besides, Carmy also has the tendancy to let things happen to him too, he kinda likes having it easy regarding all the other parts of his life (other than his job) so he just goes with the flow and so Carmy stops changing the sec he meets her again.

He stops and misses the opportunity to grow and envolve and find his purpose and I know deep down he knows and that is why all of their scenes kinda feels off. He knows deep down, not up front but we know with how their interactions are shown to us.

Claire is perfect for the Carmy from the past. She is perfect for the person he used to be and not for the one he thrives to become and so I am very excited to see how they're gonna play that for season 3 especially after she told him she loves him.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The C person's dark side

Behind that innocent face, there's a woman who maybe subconsciously, or maybe not so subconsciously, manipulates situations to get what she wants.

Of course, this doesn't diminish Carmy's free will, as I mentioned here. But that's the whole point, she doesn't really respect his free will, she manipulates it or maneuvers around it, she tries to, in some way, control it and cries when she can't. She got her own 💔 in the process but she will continue doing it even now that she knows better, because it's in her nature. It's IC for her.

So we will unfortunately and surely see a lot more of that this upcoming S3. Claire's dark side will be out in the open, this time perhaps it will be more explicit and not so subtle. I'm not sure how it will be played out bc I gave up on trying to figure Storer out, I just let him be and trust him as much as I can, which is not much at this point, tbh...

But back to Claire, that is my main problem with her, not only because in IRL I hate manipulative people, even if they do it unconsciously, even when I know that someone who resorts to manipulations, especially emotional manipulation tactics, is someone deeply insecure and it's usually not their fault, as insecurities are typically rooted in early childhood and you can't hold a child responsible for anything or sometimes are linked to unsolved trauma, which clearly, you can't blame on the person either. But, here's the catch: I'm a person too, hi, hello! I have issues too, etc, and I don't manipulate shit! I respect people's free will to a fault even if it fucking kills me, and usually it does as a matter of fact. But I suck it up and move on like a pro, I just bounce back and heal without trying to manipulate anyone into acting the way I wish they fucking did. And I certainly don't take it out on others. I go to therapy, blow steam up at the gym till I have to pop painkillers to keep functioning, I skip town for a few days and re-connect with nature, I write FF, I journal, I read, I go to my BBF's house, and cry while she feeds me foods I don't even know how to cook, I swim, I walk my dogs, and lay on the floor with them till I feel better and when none of that works, I occasionally go back to boxing, I try not to bc it's not healthy for me. But I NEVER FUCK WITH OTHER PEOPLE'S FREE WILL, I DON'T CONDONE THAT BEHAVIOUR IN OTHERS IRL AND I HATE THAT MY FAVEST TV SHOW GOT RUINED WITH A CHARACTER LIKE THAT, I DON'T WANNA WATCH THAT. I mean, I will, sure, bc IK Sydcarmy is endgame, but I don't wanna.

Claire embodies everything I hate in people, everything I run away from IRL, her character represents all I think is toxic and should be avoided at all costs, all I consider ethically wrong in the most basic aspects of life because what makes us humans is our freedom and IK this sounds dramatic 🙄 but I believe that who doesn't respect our freedom, free will, etc, is trying to rob us from our humanity, sometimes inadvertently, which I think might be her case most of the time, but some other times they do it on purpose. They know what they are doing and do it anyway, they are willing to outsource and pay others to help them, etc. They know they are trying to force an outcome, which in business might be OK, seeing as at work we may find ourselves in these kinda situations more often than not and we don't really have a choice as to whether we put up with them or not, especially if we work in certain industries, however, we are NOT our jobs! When it comes to human relationships this M.O. goes against my whole belief system. Can't do it. Nope. It's not fair and fairness is where I draw the fucking line!!!

And no, I'm not a Sydcarmy soldier because of that, but yes, I'm ALSO a Sydcarmy soldier bc of that, for sure!

But on a deeper level, and this is actually what I hate the most here: I'm mad at Storer, whom I learned to love and hate in equal measure by now. You'll see, he allowed this character to happen. Either he created it or signed off on it if one of his other writers wrote Claire into existence. WHY!?!?! THERE WERE OTHER WAYS TO DO THIS, CHRIS!

I previously mentioned how shady Claire's behavior was from the beginning and how it probably wouldn't have been tolerated or woulda been flagged as a clear 🚩if a man woulda acted that way with a woman. I go over it in my response/rb to this comprehensive (just the way I like it) post by @damnikindadontcare

So summing up, I don't hate C, I hate Storer and what Claire represents. I hate that I will have to continue putting up with her and her dark side for who knows how many more eps, and every time I look at her all of this goes through my head, it kills the whole watching experience for me but if this is the price I have to pay to see Sydcarmy unfold and Claire eventually walk into the sunset defeated and not getting her way, I will pay it. Fuck it!

YOU WON STORER, NOW GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND NO ONE GETS HURT (it's a song, not a threat, relax).

[probssomethingorother]

Next of Kin: A TLOU fanfic

This is really long and hopefully kinda sad. Don't look too close cause I got tired of editing and didn't get a beta.

Pre-Tlou, Sarah's birth story, big sad, canon compliant-ish

Sarah, Joel, Claire (OC)

Rating: Teen

“This is on you, boy. So you march back in there, you take the reins, and you do right by that child. You hear?” He only manages to nod his head, but Mr. Johnson finds it’s enough, and he is released with a final shove. In the silence that follows, a lifetime passes. He stops being a kid, walks back in, and tends to his child. ------- The day Joel becomes a dad and how he deals. Slight canon divergence where his wife dies instead of leaving.

ONE SHOT - Words: 15,929

Live laugh love, comment subscribe reblog - that's how it goes right??

Read on AO3 here or down below ⤵️

He becomes a dad on one of the worst days of his life.

July 20, 1989.

*** ʚїɞ ***

It’s a slow morning until it isn’t.

Soft light pours into their tiny bedroom through sheer polyester pom-pom studded blue curtains, relentlessly shining onto his face until finally, Joel cracks open his eyes. He inhales deeply, sucking in air against his pillow as he withdraws his arms from underneath and stretches until he takes up the entirety of the bed. It’s just a full - it’s not hard to fill the space, but usually, there is someone else keeping both his arms from hitting the sides.

Claire.

Head popping up as he blinks away the fuzziness of sleep, he catches the time on their bedside clock, and then promptly flops back down.

8:47 AM, Thursday - class.

She is halfway through some advanced design course right now, stuck in an architecture studio with a bunch of kids who don’t know how to hold a hammer.

“You’re voluntarily going to summer school?” he had teased, a mock frown puckering his forehead.

“You’re not going to be able to build ‘em, if I can’t design ‘em, buddy,” she shot back with a grin.

They don’t have many concrete plans, but they do have a little dream to start up their own building company - her designs with his construction, in-house everything from start to finish.

Several months ago, it looked like that dream was gone. He came home to her sobbing on the floor of his bathroom, clutching three positive pregnancy tests, blubbering about how it wasn’t supposed to happen, how her parents would be so upset, how her life was over, and how she didn’t think she could be a mom.

After the shock abated—the overwhelming drumming in his ears subsiding to a disconcerting tapping and his heart slowing to a crawl—he descended to the bathroom floor to be beside her. With a deep breath, he slid down the putrid yellow wall, intertwined his hand in hers, and exhaled every ounce of air in his lungs. Then, with a sweet peck to the top of her hand, breathlessly he told her, “I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout kids….but I do know… if one’s gettin’ you for a mom - they’re goin’ to be pretty amazin’.”

Much to his chagrin, his words only brought on a fresh wave of tears and sobs. He didn’t know what part of what he just said was wrong, but he couldn’t handle seeing her cry. As he frantically scurried on the tile floor to sit in front of her, he missed the subtle shift in the way her shoulders shook, angst turning to something lighter.

Tenderly, he nestled her head in his hands, and hastily sputtered:

“No no no, please don’t - I didn’t mean - we can do this is all. Ain’t the end of the world. You’ll be a good mom - and I think maybe... I’ll be a good dad - teach him all sorts of stuff about buildin’, and football, and my abuela’s tamales...And he’ll... and I know we don’t got much right now, but that’s just right now - we can have ‘em -“

And then Claire let out a snot-soaked chuckle, mouth twitching up at the sides as she wiped her wet face against his arm, leaving a shiny residue.

“Him? What makes you so sure were havin’ a boy?”

With a sigh of relief, he sat back as her tears came to a trickle; and with a curt nod and a smile, he dropped his hands away from her face.

“Well yeah,” he drawled, “Miller’s only have boys - me, Tommy, all the primos- not a girl in the bunch.”

Two days later Claire met with her counselor, rearranged her course schedule, and made a plan to enroll in the summer semester, freeing up her fall for the arrival of the baby. At the start of term, she crossed her fingers and prayed to God that the little nugget would stay inside long enough for her to make it through to finals.

It’s her last week. So far the plan has worked.

Normally, he’s navigating the morning rush to drop her off at UT Austin before he heads to the relentless buzz of the construction site, but this morning he’s on the late crew. He has nowhere to be til noon, and the extra hours of sleep are nice, but he also would rather be working.

He had asked for more shifts to make extra money before the baby comes, but Asshole Andy didn’t take too kindly to the request and did the exact opposite - slashed his hours by six each week, snarkily advising him he could “probably use more time at home prepping from the arrival of the rugrat.”

He had brooded over the whole ordeal for a couple of weeks, but now it irks him less, especially since Claire has given him a laundry list of things to complete before the little man comes home - assembling the crib, buying a bottle warmer, installing his car seat, cleaning the kitchen, and the bathroom, and the floors, and the couch, and pretty much every surface in their dinky 700 square foot apartment.

The list starts its relentless nag on his mind right as the last dredges of sleep scurry away, and the morning light, now too bright for any more excuses, floods their matchbox of a bedroom. It leaves Joel with no choice but to begrudgingly abandon the comforts of their bed, and rolling to its edge, with a small groan he begins his day.

Shuffling out of their room, his feet catch and peel away from the warped parquet floor with a faint, sticky noise that echoes in the quiet morning. It's one of the many quirks of their aging apartment that they've come to accept- its "charm," as Claire loves to say. Their living space is a hodgepodge of second-hand furniture, DIY fixes, and cheap decor. They have tried to make it look better, but even with all of Claire’s design knowledge only so much can be done to distract from the place's age and size.

He flicks on the TV - an old set, the screen slightly too blue- and flips to Sport’s Center to catch the Astros’ game highlights.

Taking a few moments to himself, he plops down at the tiny table wedged in the corner of their kitchenette with a hefty bowl of frosted flakes before the day's duties demand his attention.

His spoon pauses mid-air, startled, as the front door swings open and bounces against the wall. He’s halfway through breakfast, but wasn’t keeping track of the time.

Claire comes barreling through, her presence like a sudden storm, backpack haphazardly dropping with a thud as she crosses the threshold. She’s always been a bit of a tornado, bouncy brown curls trailing her like a dust cloud as she whips up small messes in her wake.

“Need to pee!” She announces as she hurries past Joel, her movement more of a rapid wattle, one hand cradling her swollen belly. She’s three weeks out from her due date and feeling and looking like “Veruca J, Veruca!” - as she likes to lament to him at least once a week.

Despite the urgency, she tosses him a small smile as she slips inside the bathroom and shuts the door. With a small smile of his own, he gives his head a little shake and returns to his cereal.

“You eat?” He calls with a full mouth, attention on the screen in the far opposite corner, a little too enthralled watching the Astros get smashed by the Mets. The question is thrown casually over his shoulder, a formality really because he knows the answer. She never eats before class, opting to take the extra few minutes of sleep over fixing up something, but still, he has to go through the routine: he asks, she grumbles, he says the baby needs food, and then there is a slight pause before she crosses her arms and says he’s right.

But when its usual pattern unfolds with no reply, he lobs another question towards the bathroom, “Wan’me to pour you a bowl of this?”

And that’s when everything speeds up.

She emerges from the bathroom with stark panic etched across her face, its complexion losing color by the second. Her deep brown eyes, wide and unblinking, lock onto Joel's like a silent scream.

Her shorts are off, her underwear is red, and blood spreads down the tops of her inner thighs.

He’s on his feet in a fraction of a second. As he darts up, the table jostles violently, sending his breakfast airborne in a chaotic slew of cereal and milk, and the bowl slips off, splintering against the tile of the kitchen floor. The high-pitched clatter of it all is nothing compared to the sudden ringing now filling his head.

Tears begin to pucker her waterline as he rushes to Claire, his footsteps quick, his hands hovering before they gently, firmly, grasp her shoulders.

A thousand words are interchanged between them, but none break from either of their lips.

With a shared nod, they split—Joel to the chaos of their bedroom for clothes, Claire to the phone.

“Mom?… Momma? Can you n’Pop meet us at the hospital?” Her voice is shallow and cracky, but Joel can hear it as clear as day as he rushes to throw on a t-shirt and wriggle into a pair of jeans.

“No St. David’s ..” she chokes out, as he stumbles over his own feet as they enter his pant legs, leaving him to careen into the closet door. As he pops back up, he catches her trembling voice ending the call: “Okay, love you, see you soon.”

The phone crashes to the laminate countertop with a sharp clatter, clearly not rehooked, as he snatches his wallet from the dresser and scrambles to find his keys.

If he wasn’t fighting to suppress the panic quickly growing inside him, frustration over the search for the pesky things would have been all-consuming. He rummaged through three pairs of pants, and checked under the bed, in the couch cushion, in the kitchen, the bathroom, and pretty much every other inch of their apartment, before finally lifting Claire’s backpack strewn in the entry to see the car keys discarded beneath.

Within seconds of his eyes landing on them, they are out the door, and the worst and best day of Joel’s life begins.

*** ʚїɞ ***

“Joel?”

“Right here, baby, right here.”

“I - I- please, don’t let - we need to - now-”

“I know, I gotcha.”

Her fragmented pleas, broken by sharp intakes of breath and muffled by cascades of tears, repeat incessantly in his head—louder and more urgent with each echo. Joel can’t get it to stop - much like his leg moving in an equally incessant rhythm, bouncing up and down as he sits in the rigid chair. The compulsive movement is matched by his hand - right anxiously twisting his watch band back and forth, rubbing it deeper and deeper into the rawing skin of his left.

“There’s so much blood.”

“Just focus on breathe’n now, we’ll be there soon, alright?”

Dried remnants of it cling stubbornly to the crevices of his knuckles and dirty the spaces in between his fingers, staining them a brownish crimson. He could clean it off, but it’s a piece of her - and if he can’t see her, at least he can still look at this bit, no matter how gruesome.

Almost an hour has passed since he’s last seen her.

By the time they reached the ER, she was too dizzy to walk. She’s not much smaller than him, but Joel had scooped her up with urgency anyway and charged through the sliding doors. The muted blue walls of the hospital corridor blurred in his periphery as he zeroed in on the signs leading them there. As he burst through the doors, they rebounded off the walls with a loud slap, and the collective gaze of the waiting room pivoted toward them.

His arms burned from her weight, but he dug his grip in more, fingertips pushing into her thigh hard enough to bruise.

"Something’s wrong with her," he blurted out to the quiet room, his blown-wide eyes locking onto the woman’s at the admittance desk.

It took no time for the nurses to descend on them, ushering Joel out of the waiting room and back toward a bed he could finally let her down on.

Claire was barely coherent, face ashy, breathing labored.

“What’s her name, son?” A sweet older woman with box-dyed red hair asked, gently moving him aside to better attend to Claire.

“Claire,” She took his name officially a few months back, but he’s known her longer as - “Claire Johnson,” - it just flows right.

“Okay Claire, we’re going to take good care of you. How many weeks are you, hun?”

When her head lolled to the side, lips moving but no words coming out, he felt like someone was squeezing the air out of his lungs while simultaneously filling his head with cement.

He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus. His eyes bounced from her to the monitors, from the nurses to doctors, from the needle being pushed into her arm to the cross on the wall, from the strap being secured around her belly to her beautiful curls getting crunched beneath the oxygen mask, and then finally, to a calendar hanging crookedly above the corner sink -

His gaze had lingered there for a long moment.

Claire had put a magnet on the fridge to track the weeks, a little pink and blue calendar. He thought watching the time tick by was a little silly at first, but this week, when she flipped it to “3 weeks from baby!” he got a little flutter of something in his chest.

“37,” he muttered, brain distantly doing the mental math as a nurse dispensed a healthy glob of ultrasound jelly onto Claire, bottle squelching with the brute force of the squeeze.

Only 37 seconds later, a decision was made: she needed surgery immediately. Her bed rails snapped up, she was disconnected from the machines that beeped and blinked with a detached urgency, and wheeled away swiftly. Someone tried to explain something about the placenta and an “abruption” and that she was losing more blood than her body could handle, but all Joel could focus on was keeping pace with the gurney so her hand wouldn’t slip from his.

But eventually, it did - had to.

She was pushed behind a set of doors he was not allowed to go, held back by a physician’s firm hand. “Take a seat, someone will come talk to you,” they said.

That was 37 minutes ago, and nobody has come to talk to him.

The flickering of the fluorescent light overhead is now the only thing keeping him sane. It mixes with some sun strips crossing the blue tile floor, and when everything hits right, it looks like beams of light dancing at the bottom of a swimming pool. He finds himself fixating on it, forcing himself to take a breath every time a glowy strip appears. Everything else around him just fades into the background, the ring of the hustle and bustle of the hospital becoming muted as if caught beneath the waterline.

Claire once told him blue is used to evoke calm, but surrounded by the hospital’s blue walls and blue floors, it only makes him feel more and more like he’s drowning underwater.

Claire loves the water.

She’s lived in a landlocked city her entire life, but give the girl a chance and she will talk about the ocean. She’s only been a handful of times to the coast- just Padre Island, yet, you would think she’s dipped her toe in each of the seven seas. Sand and sunshine, blue skies and blue sea - she could never get enough.

They had almost escaped there for the Fourth.

“Come on, J, one last hurrah,” she had pleaded, her eyes alight with the prospect, her voice threaded with excitement as she bounced around their small living room. “It’s called a babymoon - everyone’s doing it now,” she had tried to explain, doing her best to convince him to sit in the sand and watch fireworks explode in dazzling arrays over the Gulf.

But he had to say no. There was no time, no money, and his old car, which creaked and groaned even on short drives, would probably not survive a four-hour trek in the boiling Texas heat.

It’s a little silly - especially now - but all he can think about is her and him, and how they really should have just taken the goddam trip.

*** ʚїɞ ***

There is little to say to her parents when they arrive and find him waiting, his hands slick with sweat as they approach. He gulps hard and clears his throat, scrambling for words that refuse to form. But before he can try to speak, Mrs. Johnson pulls him in for a hug.

Her hand gently brushes the back of his head, and the precipice of any words dissolves into a shaky exhale into the crook of her neck. She smells like a blend of lavender and vanilla—just like his mom used to. When she breathes, "Oh honey," her voice cracks with maternal warmth, and for a moment, Claire’s mom is his mom, and he doesn’t want to let go. Arms, heavy and trembling, slowly rise around her, his body deflates, and for a flash of a second, he doesn’t feel like he’s stuck underwater.

But he only gets in one breath before he slips back under.

Claire’s father, a big burly man - an old-fashioned Texas rancher- interrupts the moment, hand going firmly to his wife’s shoulder. He tugs her back, guiding her to a nearby chair with a look of the eye and a twitch of the head.

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes, already weary and tinted red, spare Joel one final sympathetic look before taking her seat and turning to the ground.

Mr. Johnson takes his wife’s spot, leaning in close. His breath is hot and has the stench of musky cigars as it puffs into his face. “Nurse at the front told us what’s goin’ on,” he gruffs with a dagger-like glare, a look that Joel has only seen once before when he caught them one late night junior year fooling around in the back of his Tio’s truck.

If it hadn’t been for Claire coming between them—literally—Joel’s pretty sure Mr. Johnson would have killed him on the spot.

Unfortunately, he’s lacking her protection now.

On shaky knees, he sinks back down in his seat as Mr. Johnson takes his own next to his wife, who has already brought out her Rosary and begun the Litany.

For a long while, he watches her fingers glide across the beads. Her umber tone makes the milky cream of the tiny glass orbs and the gold-plated cross shine in her grip. Head bowed, her voice is hushed, a whispered prayer—delicate, but intentional.

He’s never taken much to religion, but it was important to his mother, so he never missed a Sunday. It was just a hollow obligation then, but in this moment, he can see why people are drawn to it.

There is a comfort in knowing what to do, what to pray, who to ask for help.

He follows along in his own head, punctuating her efforts with his own hard “Amens”. He pushes his anxiety into each prayer, hoping the Mary up there will take pity on them, see herself in Claire, and protect their son.

They only make it three decades deep.

Perhaps if they had finished it, things would be different.

He barely registers the doctor’s approach. When he slowly looks up, he can’t miss the hollow defeat that hangs heavily in the woman’s eyes as she comes into focus behind the Johnsons.

Time stops.

He goes rigid, fidgety anxiousness leaving his body as dread pushes in.

Seeing the change in Joel's expression, the Johnsons twist to face the doctor, their bodies stiffening as they stand. He tries to rise, but his legs betray him, and he remains half-seated, peering through the narrow gap between their shoulders. The doctor, flanked by the nurse from before with the coppery hair - “Judy” he remembers off a name tag - looks exhausted, face drawn tight, almost like a different person then who she was in the ER.

"I'm sorry," the physician offers, each word measured but heavy, carrying a weight that squeezes out all the little remaining air from the waiting area. "We did everything we could, but..."

The words that follow blend into the sterile air. Something about complications, a clot to the brain, a loss too great, a life gone as a new one gasped its first breath.

His knees buckle and he’s back in the uncomfortable seat once more. His fingers find the sides and wrap around, knuckles going white as he holds onto the plastic like it’s a preserver in rough waters. Every hair on his body stands to attention as a wave of goosebumps runs from his head to his toes. Saliva pools in his mouth and his throat constricts tight and his lungs feel like they are vacuumed sealed shut.

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. What they don’t tell you is that it happens just the same when they die.

Claire.

She’s eleven years old, escorted into their church camp room, and placed in a seat next to him. He was dared by Freddy Bower to yank her ponytail so he gave the new girl a gentle tug. In return, she picked her nose and wiped it on his arm. Everyone teased him the rest of summer that she had given him her cooties.

She’s in his homeroom when school starts in the fall and the rivalry is instantaneous, competition whittling down to their days of birth - and of course, she’s three days ahead.

And then she’s thirteen and leaning across the circle, the tip of the soda bottle pointing towards him. Even though she unabashedly wiped him off her lips, he didn’t mind the way her strawberry chapstick lingered on his. He wanted to remember his first kiss with a girl, even if it was with her. At the same party the following year, they are stuffed in a closet for seven minutes in heaven, but they stay several inches apart - “Miller if you think I’m goi-” - “Oh, like I would even want you to.”

And then they are freshmen, and she’s not in any of his classes or clubs and he kind of misses her, but convinces himself it's just the competition that he craves, and has nothing to do with how she’s bubbly, and witty, and pretty, and fun.

And then it’s the summer and they are stuck in the back of a hardware store together, wearing neon green vests, racing to stock shelves, tallying who knows the most paint codes, and the competition is back and now he doesn’t want to let it go. So he doesn’t.

He makes her start to hate him less, and they get paired together in home-ec, and when they both get dragged to church by their parents they go to the pew in the back and fold all the hymnal pages into geometric patterns. They get close enough for his mom to start packing her a tamale in his lunch, teasing “para su amiga,” with a wiggle of her brow, and for Claire’s older brother to start snagging him packs of Marlboro Reds from the corner store on Park before away games, because “since you she fights with our Pops less.”

And even though she laughs in his face when he asks her to Junior year homecoming, it’s official - they are together - and they stay together.

She cries with him when his mom dies and he holds her tight when her brother meets the same fate five months later. She gets accepted to NYU, but decides to stay in Austin for school - “I’m not doing this for you - me and Tommy are buds now, can’t leave him.”

And although she lives in the dorms freshman year and he takes the couch at his Tio’s, they still make it work. When he saves enough to rent a place of his own, one night a week becomes several, and then she’s with him full-time. And she decorates the place with seashells and butterflies and they laugh and dance in the living room, and burn things on the stove, and watch marathons of shitty movies, and flood the bathroom trying to fix the sink. And he pops the question one silly night under the sheets, and puts a peach ring on her finger, and he’s in love, and they are making plans, and having dreams, and having a -

"Hun?" The gentle intrusion startles him as it slices through his life with her. Judy’s auburn hair flashes infront of his eyes before her kind gaze takes its place. He nods mechanically.

“Why don’t you go see your baby girl?” She chirps soft and smooth, as one of her wrinkly hands comes to his elbow while the other wiggles her fingers under his and unlocks his grip from the edge of the seat.

With another shaky nod, he forces himself to his feet, each step hesitant as he follows the Johnsons out of the waiting area.

Only once he’s at their backs do her words hit his brain, but by then he’s not sure he’s hearing anything right - hoping he’s not hearing anything right.

*** ʚїɞ ***

Things go a little hazy for a while, like wandering through a dream that both makes absolute sense and none at all.

Despite being behind the doctor, her parents set the pace- a quick stride, nipping at the physician’s heels, pushing her to lead them down the winding corridor at a speed Joel finds wholly unmanageable. He can’t quite put his finger on the feeling, but his brain is telling him that it’s strange to be rushing - inappropriate- to be speeding this along.

With every five tiles, he falls a step behind, his pace slowing incrementally until the echoes of their footsteps fade and he’s alone with nothing but the empty stretch of corridor to navigate.

Distance.

Minutes ago, he had wanted the space between them to disappear; now, he wishes the hallway would stretch a little longer, the doorway be a bit further - hell, if he could move her room to the other end of the hospital, that would be best.

Space is time, and he needs time before this moment finally catches up with the next. The next that’s tainted by a cruel reality waiting on the other side of that door.

When he finally steps in and sees her, color already gone from her face, he feels small, like a little kid - he is a kid - and she was a kid - and now they have -

He doesn’t remember walking over to the clear plastic bassinet, but then he is there looking down at the thing that took his first love from him.

Her tiny fists wave in the air - clearly a fighter from her first breath- and then her teeny nose wrinkles up as she lets out a piercing cry.

The shriek, is timed perfectly with a deep wail from Claire’s mother.

The sounds are like the gun at the start of a race, his feet moving before he thinks.

He has no control over his body as he rushes back into the hallway, his heart pounding, breaths shallow and quick. His chest feels like it’s on fire as he slides his body down the wall, sinking into the floor, much like he did several months back when Claire broke the news - although this is light years more jarring.

“Why don’t you go see your baby girl?” Plays back in his head like a cruel joke.

It’s a girl.

He should be happy that at least one of them made it out, but all is brain can grab a hold of is the fact that the one that did, is not his girl - not Claire.

The commingled cries leak under the door and waft into the hallway, giving him no reprieve. His hands slide over his ears as he tucks his knees into his chest and digs his forehead into the denim of his jeans.

He thought he knew what grief felt like. When his mom died, years ago now, it was like someone rearranged his insides and forgot to put his heart back into the right place, stuck somewhere near his stomach, perpetually sunk. And back then, he knew it was coming - a monster in the closet that would eventually come so he left the door ajar. He slowly grieved the loss of her for months and months before the cancer finally took her, and it hurt, but not like this.

This was different.

He wasn’t prepared for a monster to come and take everything, and certainly not on today of all days.

He thought they would rush to the hospital and get settled in a room and figured the worst thing that could go wrong was Claire squeezing his hand maybe a bit too hard - maybe even enough to break it, he had heard that could happen - and then after a few grueling hours, they would leave with arms cradling a boy, a strong little fella with Claire's bright eyes and his big’ole nose.

They would go home as three.

He knows there’s two of them now, but he feels like he’s just one.

He can’t do this.

With a clack on the tile, feet halt in front of him. Raising his head slightly off his knees, dark brown cowboy boots come to fill his view as they grind into the ground. With a firm hand - an angry clench that squeezes his bicep- Claire’s father hoists him up roughly, feet slipping on the smooth tile as he’s forced to stand and face him.

His eyes are all fire when they meet Joel’s and his grip intensifies as they bear into him. He’s heard stories about Mr. Johnson’s anger - never would touch a woman, but Claire’s told him about how he wouldn’t hold back on her brother Mike. For a moment, he’s sure he’s about to experience what he can do, but instead, he’s slammed against the wall.

“Stand up. Act like a damn man,” he growls, his voice a strident whisper.

It’s harsh, but expected. Her dad never liked him, thought he was derailing his daughter's future, and that was before getting her pregnant. Five years of pent-up anger and disdain are channeled into the vice grip on his arm. He winces, but he also knows he's fortunate it's only his arm taking the brunt of it.

“This is on you, boy. So you march back in there, you take the reins, and you do right by that child. You hear?”

He only manages to nod his head, but Mr. Johnson finds it’s enough, and he is released with a final shove.

In the silence that follows, a lifetime passes.

He stops being a kid, walks back in, and tends to his child.

His child: Sarah.

That’s the name they had picked after thumbing through a far too large book rented from the college library. Claire had wanted something with meaning, “classic, but strong,” and landed on Alexander and Sarah - a warrior and a princess.

He didn’t think they would be needing the girl's name - “Miller’s make men” he had begun to chime every time Claire’s eyes veered toward something pink or purple for the baby. But perhaps it was mother’s intuition because here she is.

Sarah

Sarah

Sarah

She was supposed to be their princess. Now, she’s just his, and that fact weighs his body down like an anchor, planting his feet next to her bassinet, forcing him to stare into her big brown eyes that go as deep as the ocean.

Claire would have loved her baby’s eyes.

A warm hand settles between his shoulder blades, and he pushes his gaze away from her, blinks rapidly to clear away the tears pooling in his waterline, and turns toward the source. A nurse with a yellow scrub cap that matches a tweedy bird pin clipped on her pink scrubs offers him a quaint but sullen smile and drops her hand away.

“You picked a name out for her yet, sugar?” She asks bending over the bassinet clipped to retrieve the name placard at the top of the small crib.

The powder pink card boasts “It’s a Girl!” in a cursive font with flowers and a cheery teddy bear with a bow. Beneath it, are all the important things, like “Mother: Johnson”, “Weight: 6lb 1oz,” “Length: 17 ⅛. In.” and “Time: 10:27am.”

The spot for the name is glaringly empty.

Joel nods with a sniffle.

“And what’s the winner then?” The clipboard in her grip swings around to her front, and she balances it in a crevice of her stomach as she uncaps a black felt tip marker with her teeth.

Mouth dry, he swallows hard. The last time his throat pushed out words was when he whispered “you’ll be okay” into Claire’s ear as she was pushed away from him through those doors off the ER bay. He hates that his last words to her were a lie, but that’s neither here nor there now.

“Sarah,” he says slowly, listening how it floats through the air.

“Middle?”

He knows what Claire wanted - what they had planned - but his eyes flick across the room and find her blanched face obscured by a tube and surrounded by monitors, and he just can’t go with it.

“I think it should-,” he pauses, pondering it again for a fraction of a second, “-Claire.” He nods, “Sarah. Claire. Miller.”

He hopes she doesn’t mind.

*** ʚїɞ ***

The hours begin to bleed together.

The mechanical whispers of the hospital - the soft beeps, the muted shuffles of footsteps, the low voices of doctors, and nurses, and administrators weaving in and out the dimly lit room - it all becomes one giant mush after a while.

Someone had offered to wheel Sarah away, and put her in the nursery with all the other newborns - “are you sure? fathers ain’t normally the ones watchin’ them like this” - but despite being utterly terrified, he shook his head at the offer. He planted himself in the corner of the room on a small maroon plastic couch, rolled her bassinet firmly in front of him, and kept her small form at his eye level.

People come in to evaluate Claire, but when nobody veers toward their own little space to check on them, he wonders if it’s the wrong decision. She seems perfectly fine, but his leg bounces nervously with the possibility that she isn’t - silently slipping away because he doesn’t know anything about babies.

His gaze rarely leaves her even as conversations swell around them, constant low-murmured discussions about what comes next.

They frame their words carefully, tiptoeing around the inevitable, trying to present things as if there are options to be made, but there aren’t options - there is just one option :

When to let her go.

She’s already gone in all the ways that matter. Her body is there, but her brain is not. She’s never going to wake up. She’s not going to go home and dance in their apartment, or wiggle her toes in the sand, or blow bubbles in her drink, or call him “Joel Michael Miller” when he tickles her too much.

And she is not going to hold her baby, or hear her giggle, or see her take her first steps cause Claire is not going to be stepping out of this hospital.

He knows it, but the Johnsons haven’t quite gotten there yet. So he just watches from the corner of the room as her parents ask all the same questions over and over again, yet hope for different answers.

Earlier, someone had tried to explain what happened was rare. That when the placenta detached her body kicked into overdrive, blood clotting excessively. As little Sarah was being pulled into the land of the living, Claire slipped the opposite way, a clot traveling up to her brain and cutting off blood supply for too long.

A one in a million chance.

“Exceedingly rare,” they had said repeatedly, and, “no way to know this would happen,” as though those two things could somehow soften the blow.

Soft enough to knead it into something it isn’t.

For her parents, “rare” became synonymous with special, and “no way to know” mutated into defying the odds, and both together turned into a false hope of an impossible reality.

“She just need’s some time - we’ll wait- our Claire - she’s a strong one - patience is a virtue.” her mother told the room, aiming the words at nobody in particular.

And waiting is what they have been doing. They hover by her bedside, chairs drawn close, bodies hunched over and slipping out, practically on their knees as they tightly grasp Claire’s hands and pray.

Their words to God fill the space between beeps and breaths, and he doesn’t really believe in Him like how they do, but part of him also want’s to get down on his knees and ask Him why.

When the hours tick by, they start to beg for a miracle.

And Joel doesn’t believe in that sort of stuff either, but the longer he spends with Sarah the more he thinks that God has already delivered. He could have taken them both, but he left one behind.

Wrapped snuggly in a hospital blanket, she stirs slightly, her tiny hands balling into fists against the underside of the blue and pink striped fabric. He holds his breath until she settles.

He’s been doing that a lot.

The door groans softly on its hinges, inching open just wide enough for someone to slide through. The Johnsons pivot toward the sound, and they nod in recognition, gesture returned politely by the nurse slipping through. She then shifts focus, surprisingly shuffling back toward Joel tucked away in the corner.

It’s Judy again - that nurse from the ER who seems to be trailing them throughout the hospital. She pauses beside him, her gaze softening as she looks down at Sarah, and then back to him.

“May I?” Her voice is a hushed whisper as she gestures to the cramped couch that has become his home for the last several hours.

Anxiously his hands had been wedged beneath his thighs, but he slides them out, and scoots an inch to the right, making room for Judy to settle in beside him.

“I know I’m not one of the gals in pink, but I thought I would come and check on ya’ll.” She adjusts her sea foam green scrub top, smoothing out some wrinkles, and untangling her hanging ID badge that’s gotten caught in the chain of her glasses draped around her neck.

She’s so nonchalant about it all, it's a little strange, but also a little comforting hearing someone talk to him like normal.

"How are we holdin’ up?" she asks her voice a gentle coo. Joel pauses, caught off-guard, unsure if her words are meant for him or the baby nestled in front of them. He goes with the former, but manages only a shrug, expression a bit hollow.

“Well, that’s expected,” she murmurs back.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, his whisper barely audible as he brushes his palms back and forth against his thighs.

He’s been thinking it for hours, hasn’t dared to utter it outloud, but something about Judy has him spilling his secrets.

“Do?” She angles toward him, her brow bunched together in a soft frown.

“With her. I don’t know what I am supposed to be doin’.”

A reassuring touch lands on his knee. “Oh hun, nobody really does at first. But you’ll get there,” she encourages. With a hopeful tilt of her head she suggests, “Why don’t you start by holding her?”

Joel balks, his voice stuttering. “No I don’t - I don’t -,”

He’s thought about it, but she’s a tiny little thing - swears he’s seen potatoes at the county fair bigger - and he’s petrified of someone how smushing her. He’s fairly certain his hands will cause more harm than good the second he reaches for her.

He hasn’t, so he won’t.

“ - I can’t,” he begins, but Judy halts his efforts with a raised hand.

“Nonsense,” she dismisses as she stands, couch squawking with the change in pressure. Her hands are cool as they touch his arms, sending goosebumps up his skin the moment she bends and positions them. The reaction has nothing to do with the iciness of her touch though; his heart bounces into his throat before settling back into his chest and hammering against his ribs.

“Yep there ya’go,” she softly assures as they become a cradle. Silently, he shakes his head - every part of his body telling him he shouldn’t do it, but Judy pays no mind.

"It’ll feel more natural than you think.”

Staying petrifyingly still, his eyes acutely track her as she turns towards the bassinet and slips her hands under Sarah’s small form. “Hand under her head now, like where mine’s at,” she instructs, catching Joel’s nervous eyes and waiting for him to return a nod before proceeding.

He’s not ready, but he doesn’t think Judy would let him stop even if he asked; he suspects her bright red hair matches her personality in that regard.

He bites down on the inside of his cheek and gives her a curt confirmation.

He’s going to have to be ready.

Sarah's tiny head fits into the crook of his elbow, and for a moment, he's too afraid to breathe. Her weight settles against his chest, and although a rush of warmth floods through his heart, physically he can’t seem to meet the feeling halfway, body clenched up tight.

Filled with apprehension his eyes flick up to Judy. She’s giving him a hearty smile, the crow's feet at the corner of her eyes turning into deep valleys as they crinkle up.

When Sarah begins to squirm and fuss, it has his heart starting to beat nervously fast. He didn’t realize he could be any more tense, but his body constricts even more, shoulders darting to his ears, spine curling, feet pushing hard into the ground; it's all in a futile hope that if he stops moving, she will too.

He holds his breath.

“Relax, she’s a baby, not a brick,” Judy whispers, careful not to aggravate Sarah anymore as she bends in close. “She feels what you’re feelin’ honey just -” Her hand settles on his upper arm and brushes down it.

He forces himself to take a breath, urging his body to comply with Judy’s coaching. Slowly, his shoulders come away from his ears and his chest sinks back against Sarah, and he lets out a shaky, but unburdening breath.

Sarah settles too.

When he looks up to show Judy, he discovers she has retreated several feet, busying herself with something on the back countertop. His heart catapults into his throat again as he realizes he’s holding her alone. His eyes widen with concern as they snap down to Sarah. He gulps hard, adam’s apple pushing down to the bottom of his neck and then climbing back up. His muscles are threatening to constrict again, but he tries to keep all that at bay.

Relax, relax, relax

The anxious flutter only settles when he sees Judy returning.

“Chart says she’s fit as a fiddle, and due for another feed soon. Did the nurse show you how to give her a bottle?” she inquires, peering at him over her purple glasses.

Joel shakes his head.

“They show you anything?” she presses, her tone gentle as she moves her readers and sticks them into her bushy hair.

Again, he shakes his head, and then at the same time both their attention moves toward the Johnsons, still ensconced in their silent prayer at Claire’s bedside. A mutual understanding passes between them then, both knowing that other things have taken precedence in this room besides teaching a new dad how to be just that.

“Well, I ain’t no labor and delivery nurse, but I’ve had five of my own. Reckon I can get you sorted,” she declares, settling back onto the couch. With practiced ease, she adjusts Joel’s hold on Sarah, her hands confident and caring. Unprompted, she continues, “You remind me of my youngest - and I’m not going to ask you where your mama’s at - but if my little one was havin’ his own little one, and I wasn’t there for some reason, I’d hope that somebody would have some mercy on that clueless kid and step’n for me.”

It’s true, he is a clueless kid.

He doesn’t know how to hold her, or feed her, or change a diaper, and he’s not sure what cry is fine and what sound should have him racing to find a nurse.

Not to mention any of the parts about her being a girl and what to do with that. He might have been able to push through if life with this child was going to be mud and dinosaurs and football and little boy things, but he has no idea about pink and princesses and dance class and being a girl.

And part of him knows he still wouldn’t know any of this stuff if Claire was sitting next to him, but at least she’s made for this.

Was made for this.

He’s not.

Yet, as if reading his mind, Judy offers: “You’ll figure it out.”

Sarah’s small lips pucker and then croak out the faintest yawn, before flattening into a little smile.

“See, she like’s when you hold’er,” Judy chimes while playfully bumping her shoulder into his.

Goosebumps cascade down his body again, but this time they are warm—soft and bright, like Sarah's smile. The fear still lingers, rattling in his chest, but he can’t help but mirror her expression. His mouth twitches, the corners lifting into a smile of his own.

The longer he looks, the more he realizes he’s seen that grin before.

Lost in the moment, he looks up to show Claire.

*** ʚїɞ ***

“No reason to keep her here, you’re all set to leave,” the pediatrician tells him as he unhooks his stethoscope from his ears and gently places Sarah’s blanket back in place.

His tone is light and optimistic, but his volume is hushed, matching the somber ambiance of the room. Everyone’s been quite cognizant to keep quiet with the Johnsons holding vigil at the other end.

“Leave? To another room?” Joel whispers, swaying on the balls of his feet, hands crossed tightly over his chest.

With a small snort and shake of his head, the doctor tries again, “No no, your baby is being discharged, you can go home.” There is a beat of silence and then he adds, “get out of ..here.. for a bit, get a break from this, son.”

Joel’s eyes drift over to Claire’s parents, and a weight that’s been looming in the background suddenly settles on his shoulders. He rakes his hands down his face and they settle in front of his mouth, palms touching like prayer hands.

He knew this would come, but he hadn’t let himself consider how it would play out. A shiver slips down his spine and he drags in a long breath.

He’s not sure he can do this part, but then again, he didn’t think he could do any other parts of the day either.

“Talk with ‘em, but I think it’d be best if she goes home tonight,” the physician encourages as he departs, giving his shoulder a small squeeze before smiling back at Sarah and taking his exit.

The talk is a mess.

It’s a charged volley of raised voices and differing views.

They can’t believe he is considering leaving, but the doctor is right, there is no reason to stay lingering by and waiting in a place seeped in gloom and dread when Sarah’s life should start with something much brighter.

They tell him a mother and child aren’t supposed to be separated.

They aren’t wrong, but they aren’t right. He holds his tongue to what he could say, and the conversation pivots, anyway.

He asks them to revisit what the doctors said, that she will not be waking up. Gently, he tries to convince them that Claire wouldn’t want to live as a shell hooked to monitors and breathing by way of an air tank -that this isn’t what she would want - that this isn’t her.

But they don’t get it. They tell him God can work in mysterious ways, that He will choose if she goes.

He tells them that God made his choice, and now it’s their choice - his choice, he corrects. He has let them take charge this entire time, but their ceremony at the courthouse in March makes this his responsibility.

It was just a little thing with a borrowed suit and a white dress from the thrift store, and a Clerk named Alvin as their witness, but he wants to uphold the vows he swore to her that day.

With a scoff, they tell him that it wasn’t before God, that it wasn’t in a church, that it might have well have been two kids playing dress up.

They say she’s still their responsibility. And he knows “responsibility” for them is really “she’s our baby,” - and he now has a glimpse of what that means - but still, he can face what they can’t.

He tells them they are making her suffer.

They tell him he’s going to hell.

He doesn’t necessarily disagree with them.

*** ʚїɞ ***

When he shakily thumbs through some paperwork - meaningless words on a page that don’t stick in his brain - and then signs his name at the bottom, he somehow feels too young and too old at the same time.

His signature is a janky mess that anyone would be hard-pressed to decipher if it came from the trembling hand of an eighty-year-old or a fourth-grader learning cursive for the first time.

Her dad had told him to be a man.

It hurts, but that’s what he’s trying to do.

*** ʚїɞ ***

When the nighttime air hits his face, he takes a breath, dragging it in slowly through his nose and holding it until his lungs beg for mercy. He thought a few moments away would feel good, but it just seems to have highlighted a new type of anxiety that’s prodding at his insides.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind tells him he’s forgotten something, but he knows it isn’t true.

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, it whispers.

He tries to picture exactly where she is, tucked safely in the hospital minded by nurses, but the nagging feeling stubbornly remains.

Anxiously, he twirls a pair of borrowed scissors in his fingers as he walks across the parking lot toward his car. Every step further elicits one more repetition of her name, louder and louder.

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.

He pauses halfway across the parking lot, the urge to go back stopping his stride. As he drums the blade of the scissors against his palm, he considers it for a moment. He wants to have her where he can see her, but shaking his head, he dismisses the idea and continues on.

It’s strange how they’ve only been together for a few hours, and already he can’t seem to let her go—not even when he tries. He hopes that’s normal.

His keys twist into the back lock and the trunk pops open with a loud click, catapulting open and up as soon as it's unlatched. Having seen far better days, the ‘78 Wagoneer is chronically temperamental. He’s normally fluent in its weird behaviors, but he’s not on the ball today.

A second too slow at catching it, the edge nails him in the face as it comes up. It doesn’t hurt all that much, but it’s embarrassing, and he quickly turns his head around the parking lot to check if anyone’s noticed. But the only thing staring back at him is the washed-out face of a smiling baby plastering the side of the car seat box in his trunk.

It was bought over the weekend from Walmart, but hasn’t been touched since. Getting it sorted before the baby was born was supposed to be on the list of things for him to do.

Obviously that didn’t happen.

With a hefty sigh, he drags it closer and flicks open the scissors to slice at the packaging tape. Every inch of the orange handles and silver blades are heavily plastered in sharpie with “Nurse Stat. 7” to an absurd degree.

Asking for them wasn’t easy.

His request was simple at first: “Ma’am, do y’all have a pair of scissors or somethin’ I could borrow?” The woman at the large, curved desk glanced up, giving him her full attention. He probably didn’t need to say more, but her direct gaze made him nervous, and he found himself rambling.

And that’s when things got hard.

“We just had - I just had -” he stuttered before stopping in his tracks, trying to find the words that felt right to explain what had happened that day.

They did just have a baby, but they weren’t a “we” anymore, yet saying “I” felt dishonest—he hadn’t done anything. She had done everything. Gave everything.

And he knew the other half of his “we” was gone. He knew it, but verbalizing that reality outside the confines of her hospital room felt like he was spreading a lie, leaving a bitter, acidic taste in his mouth. So he decided to omit it—“if you have nothin’ nice to say, don’t say nothin’ at all,” he reminded himself, as though he was a kid back on the schoolyard, stopping a pesky rumor from spreading.

He wished it was just that.

With his hands buried in his pockets to hide their shaking, he instead managed, “My baby came a bit early and were gettin’ ready to go, but they say she needs a car seat, and her’s is still packed up in the back of my trunk.” The words came out awkward and uneven, voice cracking as if he was just a kid.

She was light on the sympathy when she handed the scissors over, slapping them into his palm with clear directions not to run off with them as if she’d heard his story several times before.

Maybe she has.

He dumps the pieces out haphazardly and arranges the array of lightweight muted grey awkwardly shaped plastic parts across the flatbed. The only bits he can definitively identify are a curved handle, a lightly padded fabric liner in blue, and two thin woven nylon straps for her seatbelt. Frustration comes on quickly as he fails to snap together two parts that look like they should fit, finds nothing that seems to anchor another, and every time he looks at the pieces scattered about, it feels like the pile has doubled in size. The minutes start to tick by quickly, and he’s no further in the process than when he started.

The little voice in his head is getting louder and louder screaming Sarah, Sarah Sarah!

He’s not really an impatient person but he can’t take it.

With an exasperated breath, an unlucky piece flies from his hand, arcs through the air, and crashes against the interior of the trunk, ultimately landing back among the sea of discarded parts.

Leaning heavily against the back bumper, his clenched fists dig into the rusty metal, knuckles going white. His chin hits his chest, defeated. Of all the things to make him unravel today, he can’t believe the goddamn car seat is somehow a fighting contender.

He thought he would be good at this - capable of building something - it’s what he does day in and day out, but this is a puzzle, not a construction project. He can build a house, but he has no idea what fits where in a seat that doesn’t even look like it would hold a toy doll, much less a living breathing child.

His gaze lifts reluctantly to the box, and with a deep sigh, he straightens. Dragging one hand through his hair the other plunges back into the box and retrieves a small white instruction booklet that mocks his competence. He slams the trunk shut with a dissatisfied breath.

Coming around front, the window slips down a healthy inch as he forces his car door open with the usual two hearty tugs. The leather of the seats are cracked and chipped, and whenever he slides into the driver’s side, his jeans always snag as he gets settled. Today is no different.

The car smells like her - sweet and floral with a hint of salt from that spray she likes to put in her hair. Claire always said it was to help with her curls but knowing her, Joel thinks it was just to smell a little like her favorite place.

He leaves the door open, allowing the nighttime air to cycle through the cabin and chisel away at one of the last remnants of her.

Lingering in any memory of her for longer than a heartbeat hurts far too much.

He cranes and contorts his body to catch a sliver of light, but it helps little. Even the big bold letters on the front - “Joy Ride Infant Seat Manual” - fade into the darkness and when he flips to the first page, squinting does nothing to help decipher the instructions.

With a sigh, he tosses the booklet into the passenger seat and moves his keys from the cup holder to the ignition. The clunker sputters to life, and Joel slams his door shut, the window pane sneaking down another half inch as the metal frame rocks with force. He drives it up two spaces, putting it under the white light of the parking lot pole lamp, and then gets out, and tries again.

The instructions do wonders for making progress.

The seat begins to take shape, but its frame is lighter and more fragile than he wants it to be. Each piece snaps and clicks into place with an unsettling ease that doesn't inspire confidence in the slightest. His hands grow clammy as he flips back and forth through the instruction booklet, doubting each step.

"Right?” he asks with skepticism to the air, picturing how it should look, glancing at the flimsy thing, and then back to the box and booklet. Truthfully, he had been worried about the quality even before putting it together:

“It’ll be fine, we didn’t even have them when we were kids, and look - we made it through,” she had tried to assuage his fears as they waited in line with it by the register on Saturday. Doubt about their choice started settling in when he picked up the suspiciously light box and it rattled with the sounds of several small pieces.

Several pieces that are now somehow a car seat.

“Right,” he mutters reluctantly, shaking his head at the final product. It hardly looks like it will keep her safe, but he’s pretty sure that is the result of choosing the cheaper option - of being two kids on a shoestring budget - and not his poor assembly skills.

He was always the worrier, Claire was always the one to talk him down.

“Go with the motion of the ocean, dude” she would always kid, dropping her voice low and slow, pretending to be some surfer boy Kyle from San Diego.

He wonders if she would stay as cool about 'the motion of the ocean' if she saw the seat's concerning sway, despite being securely fastened into the backseat during the short drive through the hospital parking lot. His ears can’t help but to zero in on the sound of its rocking as he maneuvers the Wagoneer from the dimly lit lot to the harsh fluorescent light under the hospital’s awning.

Coming to a stop, the engine idles with a rhythmic purr that mixes with the steady blink of his hazards, and for a moment, it feels nice - just him alone.

But it doesn’t last long. Alone makes him feel guilty.

Sarah! The voice in his head screams again.

As he reaches to turn off the car, his fingers brush against his keychain, causing the baubles to jingle. He pauses, the sound drawing his attention to the beaded orange and black monarch and a tiny bleached conch that knocks softly against the other keys.

Claire had "spruced them up" one afternoon, hoping to get a funny rise out of his coworkers at the construction site. After the teasing, he took off most of the other girly keychains and pink ribbon, but he kept around the butterfly and small sea shell.

He wishes he kept all of it now.

With a deep breath, he retrieves the scissors from the dash and goes to collect his daughter.

She is fussy and more squirmy than he thought a baby should be when he eases her down into it. Her tiny limbs flail against the stiff plastic sides and each time he tries to snug her in, she wriggles, face scrunching in displeasure. The straps are working against him too, twisting up as he fumbles with the buckles.

His hands tremble as he attempts to adjust the plastic chest piece, sliding it up, then down, never quite finding the right spot. He knows he’s doing something wrong, but he’s not exactly sure what - other than maybe being too gentle, but he’s not sure how to change that either because he’s determined to keep his touch feather light with her; keep it all soft and gentle so he doesn’t scare her more than she already looks to be.

He glances back at the assembly booklet, but the part about actually putting your child inside is light on details - just one page out of a hundred.

Sarah’s cries escalate, echoing in the backseat and slipping out to fill the air in the hospital entry.

His heart races as he imagines the eyes of every passerby on them, judging his clumsy attempts. A car honks loudly, startling him, and he pops his head up just in time to catch the driver shaking their head in disapproval as he swerves past.

“Work with me Sarah, come’on baby girl.”

He holds his breath as he hears the sound of the sliding doors behind him, and his hands still as he bears down and waits for someone to yell at him to get a move on.

He steals a quick glance over his shoulder, catches the eye of the woman coming through, gives her a pleasant but curt nod and then turns back toward Sarah in the car. He hopes the gesture will stave off the inevitable complaint heading his way.

“Excuse me.”

He sucks in a breath but doesn’t reply, unsure of what to say. He knows he’s been at this too long, he doesn’t need a stranger reminding him of it too.

A gentle hand lands on his shoulder.

"Need some help with that?" she asks.

His face must convey his answer, cause she doesn’t wait for his reply, pushing in next to him. Part of him wants to resist the help, too proud to need it, but the better part of him lets his hands back away and hers take his place.

“First time’s always hard with these things,” she tells him as her hands untangle and unclip the twisted straps. Her nails are painted purple like Claire’s before - like Sarah’s mom’s that morning - and that’s all his brain can seem to focus on as she moves things around. He almost misses her undoing the straps completely and resetting them- apparently he anchored those upside down when he put the thing together.

With a final click of a buckle, she’s gone as quickly as she came, giving him a pat on the back before climbing into the car that honked at him just moments ago.

He didn’t get the chance to say thank you.

*** ʚїɞ ***

It’s a short drive home, but it's a spotty blur of lights in the dark - some greens and reds, but mostly whites - bright headlights that burn into his retinas from the rearview as he takes far too many long and hard glances toward Sarah in the back seat.

With every mile, his grip on the wheel tightens and his arms stiffen, and by the time he’s pulling into the apartment complex he might as well be a statue in the front seat. And even though it prolongs the stiffness even more, he takes the curve into the apartment complex at a crawl and keeps the speedometer unreadable as he glides gently into his parking space.

His foot moves slowly as it eases off the break, car bobbing back ever so slightly. His hands release the steering wheel, knuckles aching as they straighten and flood back to color. His right-hand drifts stiffly down, fingers curling around the ignition key. With a deep breath, he pauses, gaze going to the top of Sarah’s car seat just visible in the corner rearview, and then with a decisive twist, the rickety engine that had been her lullaby shudders to a halt.

Mercifully, she doesn’t wake.

He exhales a long breath as the car settles into the stillness - quiet, yet far from peaceful.

Drawing another breath in feels like inhaling sludge, oxygen to thick to gulp. Suddenly his body is feeling again, bringing out every worry and fear that he pushed down in their drive home. They are trying to crawl out of his stomach, digging into the sides of his throat as they climb their way up and out.

He can’t breathe.

The car is totally stopped, but he feels like any move he makes now will somehow send them into a tailspin, he won’t be able to steer them out of it, and they will crash, and Sarah will end up in the same place as Claire.

She’s home safe and sound - “home safe”, he repeats over and over in his head - but he can’t get his brain and body to sync up.

He knows it's all irrational, but he feels lightyears away from safe.

His fingers grip the top of his thighs, pressing down hard and deep as his breaths come in choppy and labored through his nose, jaw clenched up tight.

He knows what’s happening, but it makes little difference in stopping it. His mother used to call it "emociones fuertes" when he was a child, but he hasn’t had a true one in years - really not since living with Claire.

“Stop it Miller, Stop it.” He grates, trying to find something to focus on to push away the feelings of overwhelm. His eyes land on the only thing in view, the parking sign at the head of his spot, and he traces the number 12 over and over again with his eyes.

Down, around, across, over. Down, around, across, over.

Failing to find relief, he takes a long breath in and collapses forward, forehead pushing into the top of the wheel as he closes his eyes hoping the sparkly specks and blurry colors behind them will be a better distraction. Instead, his mom’s voice comes drifting through his head, a brief vision of her flashing behind his eyelids: "Mira, mira, mijo, mira a mí. Inspira - uno, dos. Suelta - uno, dos."

He does what she says.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

He repeats over and over again.

When he peels himself up and away after an undeterminable amount of minutes, his eyes first go to his rearview mirror and catch Sarah’s car seat, and then go to his dashboard and land on the green numbers of the clock. It reads 10:27, just like the placard on her bassinet at the hospital - a strange coincidence that has his anxiety twitching, threatening to come back in full for no apparent reason.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

He cracks open his car door, but almost slams it shut - a roaring sound of buzzing cicadas wafting into the car. He holds his breath and pauses, hand not even off the door handle. He waits and waits for her to start fussing and crying -bugs should make babies cry right?- but Sarah stays quiet, blissfully asleep.

And she remains that way by some small miracle as he detaches her car seat and locks the car with a loud resonant chirp.

The flight of stairs up to the apartment is taken at a sloth's pace, anchoring both of his feet into each concrete step and pausing before moving on to the next, all while holding the car seat fiercely level with two hands as if the slightest dip will have her slipping out.

When he reaches his front door, he does everything in his power to minimize the sway of her seat as he shifts to hold her with one hand and muffle the jingle of the keys as he unlocks it, petrified of waking her.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

With a creak, it falls open and an unexpected, staticky voice from a distance halts him on the threshold. His eyes track the sound to a very faint blue glow in the far corner and the realization hits harder than it should - TV’s still on, left unattended in the rush this morning.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

Shaking his head, Joel sighs heavily and steps inside. His gaze flits to the light switch but then back to his hands glued firmly to the car seat, and decides not to engage with it, forgoing the juggle it would take to get them turned on. The door closes with a push of his heel, and the apartment entry plunges into darkness.

A jolt of panic rips up through him as he stumbles, feet tripping up on something on the floor. He catches himself in a rush of awkward steps, and looks back to see the culprit. Squinting against the dark the outline of Claire’s backpack comes into view.

Swallowing hard, he tears his gaze away, focusing on getting Sarah settled.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

Embarrassingly, his arms are already aching, and that makes his heart pound with worry, fearing somehow they will just give out without his permission. It’s maybe only ten steps, but it feels like he is crossing the entire length of the small apartment as he rushes to put her down.

But then she’s on the coffee table and he finally lets out a real breath.

Fumbling in the dark, he attempts to flip down the car seat handle, hands blindly feeling out the button, but he can’t get it to budge. “Okay, baby girl, okay,” he coos in a whisper as Sarah begins to let out the tiniest mewls as her resting place is disturbed. Promptly, he removes his hands holding them up until she settles.

He steps back, pauses, then scrambles to find the remote control and flips off the TV, pushing the space into stark silence.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

With a deep sigh, he sinks into the couch in front of her. A sliver from a street light outside slips through a small opening in a window curtain, hitting her car seat at just the right angle. The orange hue brightens up the darkness just enough for Joel to see her small little face as she settles back into sleep.

It should make him feel better, being able to see her, but the more he stares, the more anxiety fills his body.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

He isn’t supposed to be doing this alone.

Twisting his watch band back and forth, his mind races with all the things he doesn’t know, all the things he’s going to have to learn, and everything he has to do. He grates his molars together as the list grows and grows.

He’s going to fail at this.

He is going to fail her.

His chest is feeling tight again, and his breaths are coming in choppy no matter how many times he tries to coach himself into breathing. Desperate for relief, his hand leaves his watch and goes to rub it against his sternum. It’s an unseasonably cool day by Austin standards for July, but the apartment is starting to feel unbearably hot and all too small. His shirt is growing wet, sweat making it uncomfortably cling to his body, and he wants to just rip off the constricting material and get out of this too-small space, and run away.

But that idea hurts his heart more than helps. An image of her alone in the dark stabs at his insides and aggravates all the dread swirling inside him.

He stands abruptly and crosses to the window, bats at the curtain to push it aside, and cracks it open to let in some of the night's cooler air.

The sounds of the city at night drift in - a car alarm in the distance, the low hum of traffic, and of course, the buzz of the summertime cicadas. He leans against the wall next to the window, allowing the slight breeze to cool his face as he listens.

He didn’t realize how suffocating the silence was until his heart rate slowed and his lungs grew lighter as he basked in the distant rumble of Austin. Back in the hospital, there had always been a constant backdrop of sounds—machines beeping, footsteps, conversations - all a distraction for his brain to digest instead. When it’s too quiet there is nothing to keep his anxious thoughts at bay.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

He could stay standing in the spot all night long- fall asleep upright - but his heart is tugging him in a different direction after just a couple of minutes. Feeling more steady, he pushes off the wall and goes back over to Sarah, already worried he’s done something wrong by taking his eyes off her for just a few moments.

When he settles in next to her this time, it's on the floor beside the coffee table, wanting to be as close as possible. He leans his head on the wood table top as he gently reaches inside her car seat and lays his hand atop her stomach.

Feeling every one of her tiny inhales and exhales calms some of his nerves, but doesn’t wash away all his fears. He pushes himself to match her breathing.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

*** ʚїɞ ***

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. And he certainly doesn’t remember moving off the scratchy rug on the floor to the old green tweed couch, but he has.

His eyes snap open as the sound of her wails jolt him awake, body jerking and almost tumbling off the side, back to the floor where he thought he had been.

Still dark, his eyes take a long moment to adjust, only seeing the outline of her car seat and her squirmy body, while his brain also races to catch up with his sudden awakening.

But then her small little body emerges from the dark, pushing against the confines of her seat, and he’s dropping to his knees infront of the coffee table in an instant. His hands make quick work of unclipping her buckles, but come to a slow as they reach inside for her - making sure his big clumsy hands are delicate and careful with her as they slip under her tiny arms and around her back, pointer fingers nestling at the base of her head as Judy had aptly shown him.

The moment she is free, her body curls into a tight ball, knees drawn to her chest. Her face mirrors, scrunched tightly as she cries, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open, her tiny chin trembling with each wail.

"Shh, baby girl, I got ya," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and laden with worry. Carefully, he draws her close against his chest, rocking gently as he kneels on the floor. His hand sweeps down her back in a soft caress, followed by a tender pat, repeating the process in a rhythmic lull. But it does nothing to soothe her.

Her cries continue to pierce through the silence of the apartment, and each sob compounding the worry and anxiousness filling up his gut.

One of them is shaking - he’s really not sure which one - but as her cries persist and stab into his ears, he thinks it might be him more than her.

“C’mon, Sarah, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads softly as he slowly rises to stand with her.

Pacing the room, he rocks her gently, his lips pressed to her forehead in a silent plea for calm. "Shhh, it's alright, nothing to cry about," he murmurs, the words meant as much for himself as for her.

It’s a little startling how easily her tears have triggered his own. They slip down his face in one hot wet line, and he feels horrible for allowing them to drip onto the crown of her head, but he can’t move his hands away from holding her to brush them out of his eyes and off his face.

“Please stop cryin’.”

The cries only swell.

The ring and echo in his ears, muddling his thoughts into a desperate slurry of “please stop.” He hates himself for it, but he places her back in the car seat, digs the heels of his hands against his eyes the moment they are unburdened, and groans hard in frustration.

“Wet, hungry, tired. That’s all you got to figure out, capiche?” Judy had told him.

He repeats it now, despite his doubts about the simplicity: “Wet, hungry, tired.”

Gritting his teeth, he wipes the back of his hand to his eyes, clearing away the tears, and carries her to the kitchen - not exactly sure why, it just feels right.

The tiles are cool under his bare feet and the overhead sconce flickers before coming alive and bathing the space in a soft yellow light.

He pauses with her in the carrier, looking at the mess of spilled breakfast still on the table, and the minuscule space of countertop that barely can fit a pan on a good day. He taps his hand against his thigh as he thinks about his options, but her cries are like a timer pushing him to make a decision.

They hadn’t gotten around to setting up her crib yet or a changing station of some sort, and the space seems the only feasible option for them right now.

So the floor it is.

He drops to the ground with her, tugging down two dish towels looped over the oven handle as he descends. A faint odor of rancid milk and soggy cereal wafts up from the tiles, leading his gaze to the shards of a broken bowl scattered beneath the table, remnants of this morning's chaos. He contemplates moving, but her cries are growing louder. Wincing, he pushes the stench to the back of his mind, and then with an exacerbated exhale that puffs out his cheeks, he wipes his forearm across the floor, checking for bits of bowl. When he feels none, he lays out the two towels atop each other like a little mat, hoping to provide her some comfort.

“Please stop cryin’, please Sarah I'm tryin’,” he whispers as he finds the snaps on her onesie - a powder pink and thin cotton thing given from the hospital, plain as can be. “Please baby girl I'm tryin’,” he begs softly against her hard cries that echo and bounce off the tiny kitchen, growing in strength each time they ricochet into his ears.

But his quick work is all for nothing, cause he straightens up on his knees and realizes he has forgotten the most crucial bit - a diaper.

His heart sinks and he lets out a dejected rumble at the realization of where it’s at. The hospital had handed him a 'goody bag for dad,' as one nurse had cheerfully put it, filled with enough supplies to last until he could make a proper store run. Grateful, he had nonetheless tossed it onto the floor of the passenger seat, his mind too preoccupied with other things to pay it any attention, until now.

Sitting back on his haunches, he contemplates a quick dash to retrieve it, but the thought of leaving her alone, even for a minute, claws at him.

With a resigned sigh, he bundles her back into the car seat - forgoing her onesie - it’s warm, it will just be a minute. Cursing under his breath, he heads to the car with her in tow.

The journey downstairs and back is torturous, each step deliberate, trying not to jostle her too much and worsen her cries. The thud of his heart pounds in his ears, synchronizing with each of her sobs.

He’s not sure if it's just the contrast of sounds, but it seems quieter out than before, and he wonders how late into the night or how early into the morning it actually is. He bites his lip with a grimace as they pass the neighbor’s door, Sarah of course letting out a particularly loud wail right in front, certainly disturbing their sleep. If he wasn’t already feeling guilty, that surely sealed it. He makes a mental note to send them an apology, as he come back inside to the apartment and drop the bag onto the kitchen floor.

With a deep breath, he resets, and begins the process again.

It’s his second time ever changing a diaper and it’s no better than the first horrid attempt at the hospital. Somehow the sticky side wings bunch up together and pulling them apart ruins the whole thing, tearing at the materials and making it wholly unusable. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the mistake, chucking the collateral damage of his inexperience far across the kitchen as she continues to cry and cry.

Things bode better with the second diaper, satisfaction flicking across Joel’s face as he fastens up the last snap of her onesie and her cries recede.

But the quiet is short-lived, gone before he can even sigh in relief. She starts to whimper and then they escalate into another bout of full-on cries, face scrunching up in discomfort.

She really does have a set of lungs on her.

"Alright, not wet, then. Hungry, huh?" He asks scooping her up into his arms as he debates what to do. He eyes the carrier and then settles Sarah back into it, standing with her in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment. It seems like the only safe place to have her when he’s up and moving.

“Hungry, we can fix that, just we gotta -,” he narrates as he takes a long stride forward to the counter. He attempts to place her on it, but the top of her carrier hits the underside and cabinet, preventing him from doing so.

Shit.

He fumbles momentarily, trying to figure out where to put her, to finally deciding on the sink. The stainless steel double bowled sink was something they used to make fun of, size out of place in the rest of the tiny apartment, but he’s never been more thankful for it now. Her carrier balances perfectly on one of the sides, resting atop like a colander would.

He lets his hands go from it hesitantly, murmuring, “Okay, just stay there,” as he slowly backs away to retrieve the brown bag of supplies from the floor.

“We’ll get you a bottle then,” he tells her, throwing the words over his shoulder as if she can understand. Her reply is only more piercing sobs.

His hands are shaky as he pulls out the formula and a bottle and he can’t help but stare at them with wide eyes as they linger in the palms of his hands. The transfixion breaks at the sound of a particularly rattled shriek that claws up from her throat.

He carries the supplies back to the counter and instinctively reaches into his pocket. Relief washes over him as he finds the small piece of paper he stashed there hours ago still safe. Carefully, he pulls it out and smooths the crinkled paper against the countertop edge.

“Can I write this down?”

“Sure thing, let’s um - here,” Judy offered, ripping out a blank form from a chart, flipping it over to a blank white back, and passing it to him with a click of a pen.

It’s his writing, but it’s barely recognizable chicken scratch.

Reading the instructions aloud to himself, his voice is hesitant and shaky, but he tries to ground himself in the steps, eyes casting over to Sarah every other second.

Her face is red and glistens, soaked in tears.

He can’t help but tell her, “workin’ as fast as I can baby,” as he lowers his head down to the bottle and makes sure he is pouring the exact amount of water into the measuring line. The formula tin opens with a scratchy metallic sound as he tears away the top. His fingers dig inside for the scoop - he made a note that Judy said it likes to hide - and when they find reach it he quickly uses the plastic shovel to ladle the powder into the tiny bottle.

It’s not a particularly clean process - rushing, excess powder spills onto the counter every time he taps the scoop to the lid of the bottle to get the formula in. He probably should be more careful with it, but Sarah’s screaming for him to hurry.

He slides infront of her as he shakes the bottle, using his free hand to wipe away the tears drenching her cheeks.

“Almost there, almost there,” he coos half to Sarah, half to himself, as he clings to small talk as if the words could bridge the gap between panic and calm while gently rocking her seat.

Raising the bottle toward the ceiling, he uses the light to check the formula is all dispersed and seeing it is, he turns quickly to offer it to her, and the nipple grazes her mouth her pulls it back quickly.

He forgot to warm it.

Quickly, he flips the faucet handle up and over, hot as it can go, and holds the bottle under the stream. The heat begins to sting his hand, but he holds it steady and waits for the warmth to seep into the milk.

Sarah’s cries lull to a sputter, and her tense expression eases into a prolonged frown.

There is only one thing that’s changed:

“You like the water huh?” he asks glancing back and forth between the tap and her face.

As he holds it under, the redness in her face fades begins to fade, and a tentative smile begins to form on Joel's lips. "You know, your momma loved the water," he distantly murmurs, watching her visibly relax.

With the rush of the faucet filling her ears, Sarah stops crying abates, and he slips the bottle out from under it.

“You get that from her.”

It’s a melancholy whisper that he knows she can’t understand, but he hopes it somehow it roots in her heart like his. Catching a glimpse of Claire in her - getting a reminder that she still is her daughter too, and not just his, has a certain type of flutter kicking in his heart.

He tests the temperature on his wrist like Judy showed and, then hesitantly takes a sip himself just to double check—it’s lukewarm at best, but it will have to do. He keeps the soothing rush of the tap on for her as he gently slips the bottle into her mouth. When she takes it without protest, his shoulders droop, relief washing over him. He watches her drink, the soft rhythmic sounds of her sucking mixing in with the white noise of the water beside her.

"There you go, baby girl. That’s it," he murmurs, a smile blooming full into his cheeks.

He’s not sure what does, but suddenly he’s feeling like nothing can go wrong.

As she takes the bottle at a chug, her plump cheeks rise and fall, appearing even fuller and irresistibly adorable. Her long eyelashes, mirroring the rich brown mop of hair atop her head, flutter gently as she settles more comfortably. And even after crying her little head off, remnants of her screams and tears still clearly on her face, he can’t help but think that she is one of the most beautiful babies out there.

Which isn’t a surprise cause she looks like Claire and she was one of the most beautiful people out there.

"We can do this," he whispers.

*** ʚїɞ ***

“3 weeks from baby!”

The small little calendar magnet stares him down. His eyes are glassy and bloodshot from a night gone without sleep, but he holds its gaze harshly. Gently swaying, Sarah rest against his chest, her tiny form curled securely in his grasp.

He’s not sure what to do with it.

Never once has he changed it - it was Claire’s thing - and it still feels like her thing- but the morning light peaking through the crusty blinds in the kitchen is hitting it perfectly, spotlighting it in a warm glow, and it just feels like the world is telling him to fix it.

He stops his sway, coming to a slow as he heaves a sigh. With one hand, he carefully removes the magnet, flips it to the last page, jostles it in the air as the thin pages catch on the cheap spiral binding, and slaps it back onto the fridge.

“Baby is here!”

It’s up for all of three seconds before it flies across the kitchen.

It clangs against the metal sink, sliding down with a scrape, and settling ominously at the bottom drain.

Fixed somehow feels infinitely worse than wrong.

Sarah stirs, a soft whimper breaking through as she senses his tension. He exhales slowly, relaxing his clenched jaw, and resumes his gentle sway, hoping to soothe both her and himself.

Now, the black fridge door hosts only a lone neon butterfly magnet, its wings pinning a small card beneath them - a phone number, an address, and an army insignia.

His heart moves from somewhere beneath Sarah to the floor.

Tommy.

He had been gone most of the summer at basic training, and at the start of his ten weeks, Claire had put up the address to make sure she knew where to send his letters. They were two kindred spirits, the same type of recklessness and bubble - her little brother just as much as his.

He never asked what was in the letters she sent, but he’s certain Claire was keeping Tommy up to date with her pregnancy, especially because in his own letters from Tommy, he would be nagged about not buying Claire enough chocolate-covered pretzels and salt n’ vinegar chips- her two favorite snack cravings.

He deserves to know.

Plucking the card from the fridge, Joel shuffles over to the wall-mounted phone, the cord stretching and coiling like a reluctant snake. He sinks into a kitchen chair, cradling Sarah more snugly as he dials the number, each press of the button sharper than necessary. Calling during training isn’t really a thing - “only write me” Tommy had explained once, but this isn’t something that could wait. After an agonizing series of redirects and brief conversations with faceless operators, his brother’s familiar voice finally crackles through the speaker.

“Joel? Everythin’ alright?” He asks immediately.

His eyes are on Sarah, balanced in his arm supported up by a bent leg in a figure four. His foot is wiggling anxiously, but she seems to like the motion as it vibrates up his leg. “She’s here” is what is at the tip of his tongue, fighting to come out, but that’s barely half the truth.

The feeling like he is about to spread a lie is back, guilt settling heavily in his chest. He can’t find the words to say Claire is gone.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

“Joel? You there brother?” Tommy presses again.

His eyes drift up to the butterfly on the fridge and suddenly the truth is tumbling out in a hurried stream, details of the past day pouring out so quickly he barely catches his breath. He’s not even sure he says it all in the right order, and he knows the sprinkles of things the doctor said, and mentions of Claire’s parents, as well as his laments about not having anything ready, probably don’t help with clarity either. By the time he finishes, the phone is pressed hard against his ear, digging into the cartilage to an uncomfortable extent and the acidic taste from yesterday is peaking into his mouth from the top of his throat.

For a long moment there is only the echo of Joel’s winded breath.

In - one, two. Out - one, two.

“Hermano,” Tommy sighs, breathy air pushing into the phone and transmitting as a loud crackle in Joel’s ear. The static subsides back into silence, and both are unsure of what to say.

“Brother I’m s -,” he begins, only to stop to shush some ruckus in the background of his line, “I’m goin’ to request some leave - come home, be there by day after next.”

“That ain’t -“ Joel begins to protest, but Tommy cuts him off.

“-don’t start with that, I’m comin’, this is family.”

His eyes wander down to the bundle in his arms, and immediately they well up with tears. He sniffs them away - no time for that, he chastises himself - and nods his head before letting it fall back, gaze turning up toward the blotchy ceiling, letting gravity take care of the rest of the water pooling in his eyes.

“Joel?” Tommy asks against the prolonged quiet, voice tugging him back from the brink of tears. He comes back to attention, clearing away the tightness growing in his throat with a closed-mouth cough.

“Yeah sorry.. I’ll see ya’ day after tomorrow then.”

“Day after tomorrow,” Tommy parrots, almost absently, trailing off with another despondent sigh. “Howaw is he?”

“He?” Joel pauses, confusion wrinkling his brow.

“Your son.”

“Oh,” Joel says with a small snort, a hint of a smile forming. He wedges the phone into the space between his ear and shoulder, and holds it firm in place as he readjusts Sarah. She’s starting to wake, lips twitching up and little eyes fluttering. He gently brushes his pinky down her soft cheek.

“Well you ain’t goin’ to believe this, but he’s a she.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah, a girl…Sarah.”

Sarah who looks like Claire with beautiful brown eyes and thick hair, and loves the water like her mama. Sarah who has a sweet little gurgle but cries like a coyote cause she’s strong and knows what she wants. Sarah who has been with him topside less then a day, but has already made his heart grow two sizes bigger.

“Well I’ll be dammed..baby girl Miller...ain’t that somethin’.”

She is. She really is.

[bengiyo]

My Love Mix-Up TH Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, our little quartet got together to study at Kongthap’s house. Atom struggled with his crush, which Kongthap is starting to reciprocate in his own way. Both leads revealed dad trauma. We left at Half dragging Atom to the roof to clear up the misunderstanding with Kongthap.

Time to see how Atom deals with his crush when he has to restart and say it himself and not ride the de facto presumption that the crush exists.

Oh, we’ve reached the trash can scene. Thoughts below.

Solid execution on the slap scene. At least Mudmee is saying important things to Half.

AUNGPAO SPOTTED.

I’m glad Half is finally getting up to speed with what’s going on.

Kinda fucked up that a student applied himself and now they’re accusing him of cheating. That’ll kill his motivation.

So much for getting space to get over Kongthap. This is new.

How did he lose the coins that fast? RIP to the BL Juice.

Gemini’s skin looks great this week.

Good job, Half.

I gotta learn more Thai, because I always can hear some of the puns but I don’t know what they mean.

Half and Mudmee are cute.

Lot of mixed-bag basketball in BL this week.

Not really enjoying this love rival plotline with Clair.

Wait, why did they make the basketball team good in this version?

Interesting. They did a J-BL track star run. It’s also timed around the fear that he might lose his chance.

Let’s get the relationship chart out for this confusion here. I wanna see Clair hit on Khao-pan now.

I’m glad we’re keeping the thread of Kongthap figuring out what attraction even means to him.

Welcome back, The Heart Knows.

Spartan camp next week!

Kieta Hatsukoi Comparison: I didn’t really like them moving the scene where they clear things up to this week, because it means we lost the impact of returning to it and having the boys trying to return to just goofing off as friends before the trash scene. I think we lose a little bit more of how close Aida and Aoki were to each other as a result. I also think we missed the chance to see Atom and Half returning to their friendship in a quick shot later. Perhaps it’s the Thai BL penchant to depict everything in chronological order unless we need an extended flashback to justify something later.

Speaking of the trash scene, Aoki climbing into the bag is in the source material…so once again that’s a deviation that I think loses impact, as well as the Hashimoto rejection. The slap scene mostly worked, though!

It sucks that we didn’t use a playground for the earlier scene, because it’s kind of amusing that Aida later comes to find Aoki in the playground. I also missed the deerstalker hat.

Another weird change: Aoki’s teacher didn’t accuse him of cheating. Aoki just thought that’s what was happening, and acknowledges that he misunderstood the teacher.

Finally, I’m not that keen on introducing a whole new character to crush on another minor character for the sake of creating a double mix-up. Felt like it was added for time. I’d have rather we continued to work on Half becoming a member of Aoki’s team and setting up for the camping trip in the next episode. Half should have been the one to rebuild Aoki's spirits so he can try again next week. Instead, we got a preemptive J-BL track star run.

[https-harlow]

Fight The Feeling Prologue- 3 Birthday Surprises

Summary- 18+ You surprise Jack for his birthday.

Word Count- 3.7k

Warnings- Smut

A/N- You don't really have to read the previous parts for any context if you want to read this as a stand alone fic.

You and Jack had been dating for about a month at this point, and you two had constantly been flying to meet each other when you had time. You hadn’t told many people you were dating and had agreed to keep it that way. Most of your closest friends knew, and your families but you choose to keep it from your management teams.

Jack had flown out to Miami on his day off, where you currently were for a photoshoot. You had just gotten back to the hotel where Jack was laying on the bed waiting for you. You walked into the room, instantly looking around for Jack, who had fallen asleep while you were gone. You set your stuff down, and you changed into comfier clothes before you laid down next to Jack. 

As soon as a felt you lay down next to him, Jack wrapped his arms around you, stirring slightly as he woke up. 

“How was your shoot?” Jack asked quietly, you could tell he was still half asleep. 

“It was good, how was your nap?” You asked, running your fingers through his hair. 

“It was okay, jetlag fucking sucks.” Jack said, making you laugh softly but nod in agreement.

“You can go back to sleep for a little bit if you want to. I don’t mind taking a nap myself honestly.” You said.

“You sure?” Jack asked but pulled you closer to his side.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You said and Jack nodded, practically falling asleep immediately, you fell asleep soon after.

You both woke up after about an hour, neither of you wanting to leave your hotel room so you ordered food to your room.

“So, there’s been something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” Jack said.

“What is it?” You asked. 

“You might be busy, if you are it’s okay, but Urban and I are having a birthday party next weekend and I was wondering if you could come?” Jack asked and you sighed softly.

“I wish I could, I think I have another photoshoot next weekend, but I’ll double check with Claire.” You said and you could see the disappointment in Jack’s face as much as he tried to hide it.

“It’s okay, I know it’s last minute, I should have asked you sooner.” Jack said, running his hand through his hair.

“I’ll try, I want to be there. If I can’t be there, I still want to do something to celebrate your birthday.” You told him, and Jack nodded.

“Don’t cancel anything for me, it’s okay if you can’t make it.” Jack reassured, as much as he did want you to be there, he didn’t want you to cancel anything, especially work, for him. You could tell he was disappointed though, so you had a plan as soon as the conversation was over. 

Jack had to leave the next day to fly back to Kentucky and as soon as he left, you had Claire cancel your photoshoot and delay it until the following weekend. She tried to fight it, but you gave her some random excuse until she agreed.

As soon as you got your photoshoot moved, you were on the phone with Urban.

“Hey Y/N.” Urban said as he answered the phone. 

“Hey Urb, I need your help with something.” You said.

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” 

“You know how you and Jack are having your birthday party this weekend?” You asked.

“Yeah, I mean it’s my party, so yeah I know it’s happening.” Urban said.

“You know what I mean.” You said and Urban laughed softly. “I want to surprise Jack, I couldn’t make it, but I moved somethings around so I can make it, but since I already told him I couldn’t be there, I want to surprise him.”

“Oh, so you want me to deal with a grumpy Jack for the next week?” Urban teased.

“He gets grumpy when I’m not around?” You asked.

“Yeah, if he hasn’t seen you in a couple days and he knows he won’t see you for a few more days, he does.” Urban told you.

“Aww, now I kinda feel bad for telling him I can’t make it.”

“Don’t, he’ll love it.” Urban told you.

“I already booked my flight to Kentucky, I just need you to keep him distracted while I fly in and distracted after I land so I can surprise him.”

“Do you want to surprise him at the party or before?” Urban asked.

“I kind of want to surprise him at the party, but my flight lands the night before, so it would probably be easier to surprise him before.” You said.

“Okay, let me know what you want to do, and I’ll help.” Urban told you.

“I’m going to come up with something, I just wanted to let you know now. You better not let him find out, you’re the only person I’m telling so I know who let it slip if Jack finds out.” You teased.

“I won’t, though I’m a little jealous your only surprising Jack, it’s my birthday party too.” Urban teased. Over the past month, you had grown a lot closer to Urban too.

“Well, to be fair, I don’t have any of his other friend’s numbers. It would be a little suspicious if I asked for it.”

“Okay, fair.” Urban laughed.

You spent the next couple days planning how you were going to surprise Jack and buying him presents, and of course you got Urban something for his birthday and for helping you out. As it got closer to you surprising Jack, you started to worry if you were doing too much by surprising him and buying him the gifts you did. You had only been dating for a month, you hadn’t even said I love you, and you were trying to surprise him for his birthday. You knew he wanted you to be there, that was obvious when he asked, but you were scared that he wasn’t going to care as much as he did that night.

You had Urban pick you up at the airport the day before the party, Urban informed Clay in on the plan and Urban had Clay distracting Jack. 

“Hey Y/N.” Urban smiled, walking over to you after he parked the car and got out.

“Hey Urb.” You smiled, hugging Urban before opening your suitcase. “I need you to hide my presents for Jack.” You informed him, pulling a couple bags out of your suitcase, handing them too Urban.

“Damn, how much did you get him?” Urban teased.

“I would have gotten more if I didn’t have to fit it in my suitcase.” You said and Urban teasingly rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I got you something too, I just can’t let you hide your own present.” 

“I deserve a present after dealing with Jack being grumpy all week.” Urban said and you laughed softly. 

“Let’s go surprise him.” You smiled, suddenly feeling excited instead of nervous. Urban laughed at your change in energy, putting the bags of Jack’s gifts in in trunk before helping you with your suitcase.

“I can tell your nervous, don’t be. Jack is going to be excited to see you. He’s been upset you weren’t going to make it.” Urban said as you both got into the car.

“I’m just nervous because we’ve only been together for a month, I’m scared he won’t be excited to see me, we just saw each other last weekend.” You said, Urban shaking his head.

“He’s going to be excited, and in the very small chance he’s not, I’m excited you’re here, so that counts for something.” Urban reassured you, and you smiled, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Okay, maybe I’m a little less excited now.” Urban teased and you laughed.

“Clay and Jack are on their way here now, Clay told Jack he needs to listen to a track before they go home.” Urban told you as he pulled up to the studio, you nodded.

“Park in the back so he doesn’t see your car.” You said and Urban nodded, pulling around to the back of the building.

“Do you want me to wait inside with you or I can wait in the car.” Urban asked.

“Come inside with me, I don’t want you trying to find your present.” You teased and Urban laughed.

“Damn, I almost got away with it.” Urban joked as he parked the car, both of you walking into the studio together.

“Clay just texted me, they are in the parking lot.” Urban told you a few minutes later and you nodded, playing with your bracelet. “Remember what I told you in the car.” Urban reminded you, seeing you were still nervous. You didn’t even realize you could get more nervous until you heard Jack’s voice coming from down the hall. 

“Why do we have to do this here? If I’m just listening to something, why can’t I just do it at the home studio?” Jack asked Clay.

“I don’t know, that’s just what Neelam told me.” Clay answered, you had only met Clay a couple times, but you could hear in his voice that he was getting annoyed at all the questions Jack had been asking all day.

“Why did Neelam tell you and not me?” Jack asked as you heard his voice get closer.

“I don’t know.” Clay said, letting out a sigh. Jack opened the door, seeing Urban first since he was standing in front of you to hide you from Jack.

“Oh, hey Urb, what are you doing here?” Jack asked. “Why does it smell like Y/N’s perfume in here?” He asked.

“Surprise.” You said as Urban stepped out of the way. You smiled nervously as Jack processed who he was seeing.

“Oh my god Y/N!” Jack said excitedly, immediately making his way to you, wrapping his arms around you, and picking you up off the ground as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips finding each other’s.

“Happy birthday Jack.” You smiled, pulling away from the kiss.

“I thought you couldn’t make it?” Jack asked, not letting go of you.

“Well, I couldn’t when you asked, but I moved somethings around so I could be here.” You said, and even though Jack told you not to move anything around, he was glad you did now. 

“I missed you, I’m so glad you’re here.” Jack said, kissing you one more time before setting you back down on the ground.

“I missed you too.”  You said, kissing him one more time before going over to greet Clay, giving him a quick hug.

“You owe me for dealing with all his stupid ass questions.” Clay joked and you laughed.

“Thank you for helping me.” You thanked Clay and Urban.

“Wait, so there’s nothing for me to listen to?” Jack asked and you giggled at his obliviousness.

“Nope, that was all part of the surprise.” You said and Jack picked you up again.

“Let’s go then.” Jack said, carrying you out of the room, both of you laughing as Clay and Urban followed behind.

You and Jack woke up the next day, wrapped in each other’s arms, you had woken up earlier then Jack, so you snuck out of the bedroom to where Urban had snuck in his presents the previous day. You brought most of them up to the bedroom, leaving his main present with Urban’s present. You set the presents out on the bed as Jack started to stir.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asked, rubbing his eyes before opening them.

“Happy birthday baby.” You smiled, climbing in bed next to him. “Officially.” You said.

“Thank you.” Jack smiled as he pulled you into his chest.

“You’re welcome. I got you something.” You said, and Jack tilted his head over to the pile of presents.

“That looks like more then something.” Jack teased and you laughed softly. “You’re my present. You already did more than enough by just being here.” Jack told you.

“Well, I wanted to do more.” You said, laughing softly as you ran your fingers through his curls.

You both spent the morning in bed, Jack opening his presents, mostly just things you saw and thought of him, you told him he had one more present for later, which of course he said you already did enough.

“You’re making my Bahama’s date seem like it was nothing.” Jack teased, both of you eating breakfast in bed, which you had ordered before he woke up and brought up after Jack opened his presents.

“It’s your birthday, you deserve to be spoiled.” You told him, Jack smiled softly, leaning over to kiss you softly.

“Well, you’re certainly making me feel spoiled today so thank you.” 

“That was my goal.” You smiled at him. 

You and Jack decided to have a lazy day, spending the day not leaving Jack’s apartment, or truthfully, even leaving Jack’s bed until you had to get ready for the party. Jack was standing behind you, looking at you in the mirror as you fixed your makeup. 

“C’mon, we can’t be 30 minutes late?” Jack asked, gently placing his hands on your hips and pulling them to his.

“Haven’t I fucked you four times already today?” You asked, teasingly.

“Yeah, but we can make that a fifth.” Jack said, placing kisses along your neck, making you let out little moans. 

“Fuck.” You whimpered slightly. “Won’t it be suspicious if we show up together and late?” You asked and Jack shrugged.

“Everyone there has signed NDA’s, and chances are they will be too drunk to put it together.” Jack joked and you laughed.

“Okay, but no more marks, I already had to change my dress to cover the marks you left on my boobs.” You joked, and Jack laughed quickly picking you up, his hands going underneath your ass while you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“I make no promises.” Jack said, letting you fall back onto the bed, quickly stripping his shirt off, throwing it on the floor before crawling on top of you, attaching your lips, dragging his kisses down the edge of the neckline of your dress. “Fuck you look so hot in this dress.” Jack said, reaching down to pull it the rest of the way over your hips, not even bothering to take it all the way off, as he pulled your thong down passed your heels which he didn’t even bother to take off either, throwing it somewhere with his shirt. 

“Jack please.” You whined, pushing your hips up into the air, Jack using one hand to pin them down.

“Baby, be patient.” Jack reminded you, using his other hand to undo his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down as far as he needed. Once he was done with that, his other hand went to find your clit, using his thumb to rub circular motions against it, still pinning down your hips. 

“I don’t want to be patient, I just want you.” You whined again.

“Don’t I recall you saying, “Haven’t I fucked you four times already?” You can be patient.” Jack mocked your words from earlier.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it like that.” You said, getting more desperate as Jack pushed his middle finger into you as you let out a moan. “Fuck.” Jack pumped his finger a couple times before adding a second one, his thumb still on your clit. Jack let your hips go, using his other hand to pull the top of your dress down enough so your boobs popped out, letting his hand roam to find one of your nipples before attaching his lips to the other one, letting his tongue run over it.

Jack continued these motions until you were coming undone around his fingers. Jack continued to pump his fingers before slowly pulling them out after you came down from your high. Jack laid down on his back next to you, pulling you over his lap to straddle his waist but stopped you from lowering yourself on to him. Jack reached down, grabbing his dick and ran the tip against your clit, both of you letting out soft moans, Jack continued that for a moment, giving you time to still recover from your previous orgasm and to tease you, but it was mostly the second one.

Jack eventually guided your hips down, so you lowered yourself on to him. 

“Fuck.” You both moaned at the same time, you throwing your head back, letting your hand rest on his chest to balance yourself. You moved your hips against Jack’s, as he moved his up to meet yours, his hands finding your boobs as you rode him, letting his thumbs circle around your nipples before his hands made their way to your back, pulling your chest down to him, his lips attaching to your jaw.

You both moved your hips in sync until Jack flipped you over, grabbing your hips, and thrusting into you, Jack could tell you were close, so he reached down to use his thumb to play with your clit again until you came, then continued to thrust, working you though your high while also chasing his own which came very soon after yours. Jack gently pulled out of you, lying next to you as you both caught your breath.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that view.” Jack said and you looked over at him confused.

“What?” You asked.

“You on top of me.” Jack said and you teasingly rolled your eyes.

“And I thought you were going to say something sweet.” You teased, making Jack laugh. 

Both of you took a couple minutes to catch your breath before Jack got redressed and you fixed your dress before you left for the party.

Once you arrived at the party you quickly found Urban, smiling, and hugging him. 

“Hi, happy birthday! In two days.” You told Urban as he hugged you back. 

“Thank you, take a shot with me?” Urban asked and you nodded, grabbing a shot from him before you both took it. “You have to take Jack’s too.” Urban teased, handing you a second shot which you took. 

“That’s it, I’m not trying to get drunk tonight.” You told Urban and he nodded. “Come with me, I want to give you your present.” You told him and he nodded, telling a couple of his friends he would be right back, they all smirked at Urban, which you didn’t see because your eyes were scanning the crowd for Jack, who you quickly found. You nodded to the back room, Jack nodded, making his way back there as you and Urban did.

You grabbed Jack and Urban’s presents from where you had set them with your bag when you arrived. You handed each of them their present.

“Okay, Urban you can open first.” You told him and he nodded.

“Hey, how come I don’t get to open mine first.” Jack asked.

“Because you got other presents.” You told him and Urban laughed softly at you two before opening his present.

“Wait, you said they didn’t have any left?” Urban asked, pulling out a jacket that he had seen a picture of from one of your fashion shows and he asked you if there was a way, he could get it.

“You think I pulled off everything for Jack and didn’t want to surprise you with something too?” You asked. “It’s one of a kind, the one they had for the show just happened to be your size.” You smiled at Urban.

“Thank you.” Urban smiled at you, pulling you into a hug.

“You’re welcome. I figured for your birthday and helping me surprise Jack, you deserved something special.” You said, making him laugh softly. “Okay you can open yours now Jack.” You said before Jack opened his present.

“Baby, holy fuck.” Jack said, making you laugh softly. You had gotten Jack a specially made chain with a matching Rolex. “When did you even have time to get these made?” Jack asked and you laughed again.

“I have my connections.” You said as Jack stepped closer to kiss you.

“Well, I’m going to need those connections.” Jack laughed. “Thank you.” Jack kissed you again. 

“You can leave your gifts with my bag if you don’t want to carry or wear them tonight, I won’t be offended.” You told them and they nodded, both leaving their gifts with your stuff before walking out of the room, you made sure it was locked behind you before you enjoyed the rest of the party with the two. You and Jack didn’t want it to be obvious that you were together, you tended to stay closer to Urban then Jack, but you and Jack would still find your way to each other occasionally.

It was about 4am when you and Jack finally made it back to his apartment and were in bed.

“Thank you for everything, I mean it. You’ve really made me feel special this weekend, I lo-“ Jack said before stopping himself. 

“You’re welcome, I’m really glad I could. Thank you for inviting me. What was the last part?” You asked.

“Nothing.” Jack shook his head. “I just want you to know that I enjoyed this weekend so much more with you here.” Jack said.

“I’m glad I could make it, I had a lot more fun here then I would have at my photoshoot.” You said and Jack laughed softly.

“Now, go to sleep, I know you’re exhausted.” Jack said, kissing the top of your head. You laid your hand on his chest, moving it down to pull down his sweatpants. 

“Let me give you one more present first.” You said, both you hand Jack giggling as you moved down.

Later that night, Jack was still awake while you were asleep in his arms, cuddled into his side, Jack looked down at you, pushing your hair out of your face.

“I love you.” Jack whispered, making sure not to wake you up before pressing a kiss to the top of your head before falling asleep himself.

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree

[lesbianrobin]

8, 16, 43, 44 for the movie asks!! also if you have any of the questions that you haven’t been asked yet but you want to share your answer, those numbers too!!

hiiiii bennett 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 thank you so much!!

8. what's your comfort film?

stardust (2007)! it has everything... young long-haired charlie cox... claire danes in a gorgeous shiny dress Glowing... michelle pfeiffer as a sexy evil witch... gay pirate robert de niro... IAN MCKELLAN NARRATING! sword fights, magic, flying pirate ships, true love, bitchy ghosts, henry cavill with a goofy mustache! it's just so fun and sweet and lovely.

16. favorite book to film adaptation?

ok genuinely. actually. it's stardust. FNVKDCJDN stardust the book kinda sucks actually the movie is So much better it's insane. i shall also toss ella enchanted into the ring because that book Is quite good and though they made a lot of changes in adapting it, i think that the movie is just as good if not better, just in a very different way! i love talking about adaptations bc the act of adaptation is inherently transformative and i just. love when filmmakers allow it to Be transformative and make something unique with a clear artistic vision.

43. which movie do you quote the most?

i'm actually not a big movie quoter? probably like. airplane! or the princess bride since so many quotes from those have entered the broader cultural lexicon at this point. OH WAIT ACTUALLY. actually. it's austin powers. just the whole trilogy. CNVNDNC.

aaaand i have answered 44 already so i'm gonna swap it for 4!

4. name a movie you put on to laugh to

god i keep naming the same fucking movies in this ask but literally airplane!, the princess bride, and the austin powers movies.

anyway thank youuuu 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[mintytealeaves]

Autumn!

I’ve been wanting to do this for a while so enjoy this little Factventure yuri prompt! I thought of this the other day when a guy flirted with me in a bookstore— he was nothing like Tristan! He was just kinda awkward Writing under read more! also yeah the Picrew is what Claire (or fact) looks like!

“Well if it ain’t the pretty bookstore girl.” Claire cursed under her breath as she heard that stupid voice from behind her. She slowly turned around to see the same guy who had been flirting with her all week. “Hello Tristan.” “Oh don’t give me that sour look…you missed me~” he leaned against the door way with a smirk on his face. “Would you have a heart attack if I said I didn’t? Because that would be fucking great.” “Someone’s feisty.” “I told you already, I’m not into you, nor ANY men!” She huffed and pushed past him, clutching onto her novel and praying she’d be able to get out of this situation.he caught her with his arm and pulled her close to him. “Not so fast baby.” “Hey!” He leaned in to kiss her but someone pushed him away. It was a woman, around Claire’s age it looked, with long brown hair and wearing—a barista apron? This woman looked pretty strong, she definitely didn’t look like someone who worked at a coffee shop. “She was tryin ya get ya off, creep!” Well that certainly wasn’t like the accent of people from around here… The woman’s green eyes were filled with annoyance as she glared at Tristan. “Oh come on, I was wooing her! She would’ve been into it eventually!” “Oh why don’t you just go suck your own dick so you don’t hafta bug pretty ladies! Scat!” He scoffed and ran off. The woman spit at him and then walked over to Claire. “You alright sweetheart?” Claire nodded. “Thank you so much he’s…he’s been doing this for a while.” “Well as long as I’m workin here, I’ll keep him away. Name’s Raina!” “Claire. I come here often but I’ve never seen you.” “I’m new! Just moved here from Texas!” “Gosh that’s a long way…from Texas all the way up here in New York…what made you come here?” “Well, if you want I could make you some coffee and we could go on a walk? I’ll tell ya then.” “Sure! Thank you very much I’d love that!” Raina gave her a sweet smile and they walked into the cafe part of the bookstore. Claire was a little nervous to ask for her favorite since it was so specific but she whipped it up in no time! She even gave it to her for free. She slipped her book into her bag and Raina took off her apron. “Ready?” “Mhm.” She opened the door for Claire and they both stepped out into the crisp fall air. They walked in silence for a little while before Raina took a deep breath. “A lot different out here than down there…” “Must be hot.” “You got no idea sweetie.” She chuckled. “I only knew bout this kinda fall from movies.” “Is that why you moved?” “Nah there’s just more opportunities for me.” “Ohh…” Raina kicked a few leaves. “I just…I wanted ta see more! See more of the world than searin hot fields everywhere. Tired of workin on a farm all the damn time. Also the men down there ain’t much better than here.” “Oh god, I can only imagine.” Claire rolled her eyes. “I only get flirted with a couple times a day now.” “I can’t seem to escape it.” “I noticed. I’ll protect ya if ya like.” “That would be…helpful actually. I’m going to be working at the bookstore, starting next week.” Raina grinned. “Well ain’t that perfect!” She nodded with a blush on her face. “I-I didn’t just drag you away from work did I?” “I mean…I should probably go back. But I’ll see you soon sweetie?” “Y-yep!” “See you then.” She gave her a wink and jokingly, or at least Claire thought it must have been like that, kissed her hand. She watched Raina leave and immediately started running towards her home. She felt happy. No more stupid boys flirting with her! The leaves flew up past her as she ran home, set on reading her book. and not thinking about her new friend—

@scrunkly-week I hope this is good!

[illmetkismet]

for the ask game: Piers!! ✨

Incredible, it's Piers time!! Thank you very much!!

How I feel about this character: a thing I love about a character (and people in general) is earnestness, and Piers is earnest boy #1 to me. He's so fucking sincere and direct and he believes so deeply in everything he says and does. That's irresistible to me. There isn't an ironic bone in that man's body! He cares, so much, about the people around him, and I love how that drives him to keep going even in situations that seem hopeless. He's the perfect partner for Chris' campaign in re6, a counterweight to all of Chris' heavy despair, and an all around Good Boy. I love him so so so much. Plus they really did something special with his character model - he's not too perfect, not too blandly handsome. He's got that wide nose and those plush lips..... Um ok I'll gonna stop now. I love him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Just Chris, really, but what a tasty ship... There are so many delicious iterations of Nivanfield! Like, when did they get together? Was it one-sided pining on Piers' part or did they fool around while he was under Chris' command? Plus all the potential 'Piers lives' scenarios...

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I'm gonna repeat my Leon pick and say Claire! I love the email in Revelations 2 that Piers wrote to her, apologizing for how the other members of his unit behaved around her when she visited Chris cause she was hotter than they expected lol And him asking her for pictures of young Chris! That's so fucking cute. I think she'd find his earnestness endearing too, and she'd love him as a brother in law... And I think he'd really admire Claire's commitment to the work she does with Terra Save. They'd be besties and they'd hang out and it would kinda drive Chris a little nuts cause they'd trade embarrassing stories about him lol

My unpopular opinion about this character: I don't know if this is unpopular, but I think the writers dropped the ball with his introduction, the way he comes at Chris for disappearing and how much he badgers him to get back to active duty when Chris is clearly suffering from a brain injury and also, just, so much trauma... If I was the one to write it, I'd make Piers finding Chris more of a rescue op, like he's there to take him back to get medical treatment, but then the whole c-virus situation happens and it's the BSAA brass who convince Chris to get back into the thick of things, not Piers personally. But that's just cause I like Piers, and I don't like to think that he would be so callous. I guess if I think about it for a million years I could probably find a way to rationalize it, to make it fit with his own self-sacrifice at the end.... But I wouldn't like it!!

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: that he liiiiiiiiived!! 😭 I know, I know, his death was thematically cohesive and an important driving force for Chris' continued story, but-- I hate it. I genuinely hate that the moral of Chris' re6 campaign is that it doesn't matter that the fight against BOWs destroys the lives of those who are in it, that it's some kind of sacred duty they can't put down. Like yeah, yeah, it's sad that all these people died in horrific ways, and sucks about the indelible trauma it caused those who survived, but get back in there, Redfield! Eugh.... I especially hate Piers saying, as he sacrifices himself, that he did it for the BSAA (which, in itself, seems like a lie - he did it for Chris). I think that choice highlights my main beef with Resi in general: that Capcom has such a hard-on for duty and self sacrifice and raising the stakes with the various viruses and molds that their stories tend to become character meat grinders. And I get it, I can't walk into the zombie survival horror genre expecting soft epilogues or whatever, but that's just how I'm built and that's what fanfiction is for lol (everyone go read the beautiful 'Piers Lives' fic @bygoneboy wrote, 'Point of Contact')

Haha wow I sure had a lot to say about Piers, huh??

[adasknife]

I can't tell you how much I agree with your last post. When SW came out sooo many people were saying how Capcom made Ada boring and devoid of emotion just because they actually gave her a personality outside of Leon--like let my girl live! Also kinda off topic but seeing a lot of the fandom go "When will Capcom let them marry and have children?!" is so...off-putting to say the least. Ada has so much potential outside of Leon and it's exhausting that she's the only woman in the franchise who people want that for. They don't do that shit with Jill or Claire and it's just straight up weird to want Ada to have such a limited ending with a dude she doesn't even want 😭

it's a mess, to say the least, in certain circumstances, of course. i remember writing a post saying that ada isn't as 'soft' with leon as she is with luis. and it got someone angry. it got me angry in a way because i felt i was misreading resident evil 4 remake. yeah, you are right. unfortunately, many people believe that because it's a 'canon' ship, it's suppose to promise loyalty and 'happy' ending. and it's sucks that many people believe a happy ending is settling down and popping out babies.

there's a couple of posts i read when it reads: luis stealing ada from leon, and it gets rid of ada's individual identity.

capcom may suck at writing romances (because apparently they say it's not what they are 'for'), but in the way the story is presented. ada will never settle down with leon. it's not because of their jobs or some evil master mind. i have no idea why people crave ada having his children or why it's only for her they wish to get married. (some though i can deduce has to do with racist stereotypes).

but it's whatever, in a sense. some aeon shippers bring no harm and just want a happy ending for the cat and mouse chase. and i don't blame them. even if they confirmed to 'fuck' in damnation, they still have nothing in a way. because having sex doesn't always say love. in re6, leon and ada don't actually choose each other, and ada isn't even mentioned in future stories.

hopefully, the remakes gives proper love to ada's character in a way and make it a bit more obvious on what they want to make (because we are all dumb). let's just see what they do in re6 remake.

[livvyofthelake]

new lost ranking post the hurley episode i watched last night. episode 18? maybe. whatever

1. jack obviously. he’s never getting knocked off the top of the pyramid there’s literally nothing anyone else could do to make me like them more than jack…. nothing this show ever does will ever beat do no harm

2. sayid!!! his swag is like. so unbeatable… he just hits different AND he’s a total hottie too woah… loving his paranoid insane freak arc this season. the writers were like what if we killed his girlfriend and made him act insane. and i’m eating it up actually i mean i wish they hadn’t killed his girlfriend considering that was literally my good friend shannon who i miss deeply. but sayid is NOT moving on and i love it… need me a freak like that sorry

3. claire… maternity leave was HUGE… and that’s my friend belle she always ranks higher than she probably should because she’s my friend belle <3

4. hurleyyyyy :) my special little prince and i mean this… i’m such a hurley girl and yeah sure you can also chalk that up to the fact that hurley is the pet character of eddie and adam and i would love anything eddie and adam did forever and ever except that tron movie i could never quite get through watching. heart! anyway yeah i love hurley he’s my guy… hurley is so. me age 19 but different but the same. wow. if hurley could read some of my notes app poetry from 2020 he’d feel seen in a way that would motivate him to seek professional help. but let’s not get into that

5. ana lucia SORRY. she kinda sucks so fucking bad and yes she killed my beautiful girl shannon but that was only her fault as much as it’s a gun’s fault when someone uses it to kill someone. so i’ve never blamed her for that it’s just a bad situation which she will notttt be coming out on top of 😐. but i think she’s sooo cool in a woman who sucks way… and her cunty 2000s ass outfit is crazy… the black tank top and low rise bootcut jeans and chunky belt and zip up utility vest…. i’d dress up as her for halloween if i was the kind of person who dressed up for halloween or was willing to buy an ugly belt for a one wear costume. also her plot with sayid rn is soooo good they’re looking at each other just two paranoid FREAKS going. you aren’t crazy. and neither am i. let’s fucking kill these Others. it’s sooooo good… and she never makes the same mistake twice…

6. eko my good friend eko…. he’s so…. he’s just so kind… imagine having the patience and compassion to be nice to charlie right now. woah

7. kate. in her flop era rn and it’s DIRE. but we love her this is the highest i can put her right now i’m sorry girl you just can’t beat out eko and hurley and ana etc when you’re acting like this….

8. rose and bernard <3 soooooo excited for them next episode it’s not even funny… that’s literally rose and bernard….

9. libby. category five obsessed with that freak disease! she took one look at that loser hurley and was like he’s so fucking pathetic and weird. and i want him so bad. and i HAVE to respect her game. she said oh yeah i’m gonna talk him back from suicide and then it’s ON…

10. danielle rousseau… she literally slayed the house down in maternity leave… sorry queen for never including you in these lists before now my bad fr!

11. sun <3 she’s so. your girl friend who deserves way better but she’s so happy with her annoying and unlikeable man you can’t even tell her to dump his ass no matter how bad you want to

12. michael… where tf is michael… i miss him :(

13. new guy. i can’t very well call him henry now can i. wtf is his name… kinda like his pathetic gay swag. but he’s sooo annoying 🙄 and frankly i stand with sayid’s paranoid freak ass… but he’s kinda fun to have around i admit! love how he’s always playing mind games!!

14. locke admittedly has been slaying lately but i still think all his backstory episodes are lame and bad and also. as we say. an enemy of jack’s…

15. jin. he like. swings wildly between me hating him so bad i hope he dies and me thinking he’s soooo interesting and compelling and cool. the whole truth was a crazy episode in this way when it started i was like wow he needs to kill himself. and then by the end i was like woah why is he the most interesting man on lost island…. the way he literally can’t talk to anyone but sun as a physical storytelling metaphor for his closed off nature that prevents him from ever being truly known… wowie!

16. charlie. he’s flopping soooo hard this season. remember when charlie used to be a top five character. that’s crazy

17. sawyer. goes without explanation

[punkxcalibur]

personal mphfpc recap since i finally finished reading all the books

spoilers for the entire mphfpc series ahead. this will mostly be me talking about the book's imperfections, because when i love a piece of media, i also love criticizing it to its core

so, i first read the books 1-4 in 2020 and i was SO obsessed!!?? i wasn't really into social media and fandom culture back then, so i didn't really have anyone to talk to about mphfpc and i remember being very sad about that. i also remember trying to make fanart of the characters, but i REALLY sucked at art back then and to this day i find old mphfpc drawings and cringe at them. maybe it's time to redraw some of those...

anyways, i read the fifth book when it first came out in germany and i kind of hated it lol. i was really rushing through it, because i couldn't wait for the fugh reunion. so i kind of missed out on the whole plot because i only cared about fiona and hugh.

basically, i recently finished rereading the books, because nostalgia or whatever and i'm kind of obsessed again. so...i'm just dumping some thoughts on the whole series here because on tumblr i can actually find ppl with mutual interests.

first of all there's literally SO MANY inconsistencies and plotholes?? what the actual fuck ransom riggs. idk how much of this is prevalent in the og books, because i mainly read the german translations, but sometimes riggs just forgets who hugh is i guess?? he mixes up his and horace's peculiarities once and at some point he is referred to as howard. who the fuck is howard. these are literally the most easiest mistakes to fix. does he not have an editor?

i'm not even gonna talk about the movie. i have a whole seperate post for it

it sometimes bothers me how only certain characters seem to serve a purpose. in every novel emma, enoch, millard and bronwyn are clearly the focus (besides jacob) despite the fact that the other characters are equally interesting and likeable. hugh, horace, claire, olive and obviously fiona are just NOT THERE for like the entirety of AMOD. are you kidding me

the entire second trilogy...is kind of a cashgrab. of course i'm happy we got more books and i liked them, but it's kind of obvious that the author simply had some pictures left and saw an opportunity to make some more profit out of them. that's not bad, but these books weren't necessary for the overall storyline.

the thing with the prophecy in DODA...the entire book was dedicated to finding the other lighteaters, but they don't really do anything in the end?? i kinda get why noor has to be the *main character*, but why introduce julius and sebbie when everything could have played out the same way without them?

julius and horace...is it really that hard to age julius down? it would've made that a lot less creepy. there is literally no reason for julius to so much older than horace. not sure if this could be considered queerbaiting, since i don't know a lot about that topic. would be grateful if anyone elaborated more on that.

hugh and fiona are still my favorite thing about these books THEY ARE PERFECT IN EVERY WAY AND DESERVED SO MANY MORE SCENES UGH. i don't need another jemma kiss i need FUGH. there is just so much potential and plus, we never really get to learn about their backstories?? like we know that they're from the 1840s, so how did they get into a loop a century later?

how was fiona able to *whisper* to hugh in DODA, she literally had her tongue cut out, hello?

so many characters with lots of potential either die or just disappear. lilly, sam, althea, peter-and-joel...ring any bells??

why is horatio kinda

ok i'm sorry

the photos are so funny sometimes, because at times there will be a photo of, say, emma and in the next book there will be another picture of her and she just looks like a different person. because,obviously, that's a photo of a different person. but apparently, ransom thinks we're too dumb to notice that.

i would just love it if there'd be storylines that focused on each character individually, because again, WASTED POTENTIAL

ricky deserved to have a comeback, i feel like this is general fandom consensus

introducing v, just to kill her off? idk man

despite all of these criticisms i just made, i fucking cherish these books

since pjo gets a new awesome reboot i think we deserve one too

i also wish the fandom was bigger but maybe it's a good thing that it's kind of niche. i don't know.

uhh i guess that was my not-so-little rant and yeah...enjoy this post i guess

[ayoarticulate]

let’s get some discussion, i wanna know how y’all feeling on some shit post the bear season two

feel free to respond to all of them or none of them! just vibe and answer to urself if you want lol

spoilers below ofc

how we feeling about claire and carmy?? personally… not a fan. simply cause i’m a carmy x syd fan, but for those of you who aren’t how are y’all liking this romantic aspect being placed in carmy’s life??

syd x marcus?? possibly?? maybe?? personally, i don’t see it, but hey! i didn’t see syd x carmy at first either, so. how are we feeling about this little awkward intro of a maybe at them

i’m kinda upset we didn’t get more of ebra and tina in culinary school! i wish we could’ve seen ebra overcome his fears and persevere through school, but i’m also glad he found his place in the kitchen in the end

also SUPER excited to see my girl tina thriving in the kitchen!! she’s really stepping up and falling into her potential, and her confidence in her abilities is growing exponentially. love to see women winning

speaking of thriving, richie!! making something of himself, finding his purpose! his episode was definitely my favorite, not even gonna lie. loved his finding something to be happy about and realize he’s good at managing. slowly climbing my ranks of fav characters

once again, beautiful segue, on the topic of fav characters, syd the kid!! so happy to see her pushing forward in the face of SOMEONES absence, but also so terrified of what this new responsibility will do to her in the long run. kinda really mad at carm rn for pushing off onto her while simultaneously getting mad at her for handling shit?? idk… i felt really hopeful in the beginning cause they were talking about themselves and working on the menu together, then BOOM! claire 😒. how we feeling on the state of syd and carm rn??

SUGAR!!! OH SUGAR I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART. i love how much of sugar we get this season, she’s so… everything. and i think that’s the problem will simultaneously being the solution? she’s always there to help, but she’s always there to help, yk? it can back fire on her and leave her seeming like the bad guy in some cases which really sucks, like in the ep with the family christmas, she just wanted to be a safe space but that ended up being the worst thing in the end. yet with the restaurant, i’m fairly confident they wouldn’t have gotten half the shit they got done had sugar been absent. how y’all feel about sugars involvement in this season??

speaking of the christmas ep, LOVED the chaos and just complete understanding of the ep, and by understanding i mean why carm and sugar are the way they are and why they thrive in the environment they thrive in. it’s what they know, they know how to operate in mayhem. it’s also terrifying that’s the best they’re in.

vv worried about carm and his belief that he doesn’t need and/or deserve happiness and entertainment. as PISSED as i am at him, he’s so much more than that i believe, and i wish we could get this man into some one on one therapy, IMMEDIATELY.

that’s all i got rn cause i’m sleepy as hell and i need to shower. don’t be afraid! pls respond i need conversation lol