#tw non descriptive birth

[thornquillthefiendish]

Crowhawk thoughts…strap in cause it’s gonna get very long.

Au where crow and hawk are the threes parents (hawk is ftm and crow is cis), hawk was still planning with ashfur at the time, so before it all goes down he backs out without wanting to explain why and ashfur, vindicated, still goes through with it by setting up the snare, telling Firestar hawkfrost is at the river wanting to speak with him and notifying bramble and squirrel that “wow Firestar went to see hawkfrost at the border and he hasn’t come back wonder what that’s about” where the two find him barely clinging onto life.

Everyone believes ashfurs version of events because he seemingly has no reason to lie, and Firestar brings this up next gathering and Leopardstar exiles him on the spot because at this point he’s made two attempts at treason. Hawkfrost’s only defense is that he wasn’t there at that time, but nobody remembers him at camp on the day of the incident, likely because he’d snuck off to see Crowfeather, which ofc he can’t say because that’d still be a betrayal. After he makes the weak defense, he willingly runs off and Crowfeather is notably very distraught, though most think it’s because they were close during the journey (they bonded over feathertails passing).

Leafpool doesn’t 100% buy this, while speaking with mothwing she brings up hawk and mothwing admits that he was definitely planning something amongst the other shit he pulled, but also says that he’d been sneaking into the medicine den and rolling in herbs for some reason she couldn’t quite place, and that more recently he’d began not only gaining a bit of weight, (which isn’t new for RiverClan I’d like to think a good chunk of them are very rotund not only because of diet but for extra warmth in water(hawk and moth tho don’t share those genes so they struggle a bit more than other riverclanners)) but oddly, his riskier behaviors had calmed down. She also informs leafpool that she witnessed her brother on several occasions toss and turn violently in his sleep, occasionally so violently he’d hurt himself supposedly and that she’s not sure what to think of it all. Leafpool does some digging, she tries to meet with Crowfeather a few times, but he always shrugs her off angrily and in a hurry, she’s able to get Brambleclaw to fess up to training in the dark forest with his brother and father which seems to point in the direction of him maybe trying to gain weight to build muscle to kill Firestar or some shit, but eventually StarClan interrupts that line of thought with “nah dog he’s pregnant and those kits are very important” and now Leafpool has to find this man — not only because he’s about to birth some very important kids, but also he’s out there on his own with no herbal knowledge or help that’s a death wish.

She asks Brambleclaw if he’s seen him in his dreams and bramble admits he stopped going to the dark forest after he saw Firestar in the snare, she asks mothwing if he ever said anything about where’d he go if not RiverClan and she very confusedly answers that he liked the moors a lot before trying to figure out what the fuck leafpool is up to - leafpool says she thinks he might be with kits, leaving out the “god told me” part and everything clicks in place for mothwing and she just says “Crowfeather, find Crowfeather” and Leafpool, having had the worst interactions with him so far goes to squirrelflight. Squirrelflight was closer to Crowfeather on the journey here so she can definitely convince him to talk to them, but not before Leafpool tells her w h y she wants to ask him about the whereabouts of the guy who attempted to murder their father for obvious reasons, and leafpool tells the whole truth to her, StarClan included.

Squirrelflight is still iffy about this, but she goes along with it. When they do meet with Crowfeather leafpool asks him where hawkfrost is and he becomes indignant and almost walks out. When leafpool tells him Hawkfrost’s with kits Crowfeathers demeanor changes and he asks them to promise to keep it between the three of them. He leads them to a rabbits burrow covered in underbrush and foliage — where he’s been harboring his outlaw boyfriend who is not happy when he sees the sisters. Hawkfrost is instantly defensive as he thinks they’re here to drag him back to ThunderClan and have him killed, it’s obvious he’s been in a very emotional state after the exile and is definitely going through it, but leafpool and squirrelflight insist they’re just here to help. The four of them have a sit down in attempts to talk about what the plan was — Crowfeather insists he was looking for a place for both him and hawkfrost to run to, but with him this vulnerable he had to be careful and scope shit out. Hawkfrost hates crowfeathers idea and they bicker about it for too long before leafpool interrupts saying the kits cannot leave the clans, they’re too important. Hawkfrost suddenly realizes what she means and instantly becomes defensive, saying he doesn’t want whatever she or anyone has in mind for his kits, it’s his decision on where they’ll go before he attempts to chase the two out. Leafpool is left feeling guilty, but also extremely confused, and squirrelflight severely conflicted on how to feel about hawkfrost.

Winter comes, leafpool attempts to see hawkfrost again, but all attempts are interrupted by one thing or another, whether that be her duties or Crowfeather keeping her at bay from his mate. Eventually, snowfall comes, and leafpool is visited by feathertail who urges her into the woods where she finds Crowfeather, wide eyed and shaken looking for hawkfrost, terrified ThunderClan had taken him after all, even shifting to rage upon seeing leafpool. When she swears he’s not with them, he calms down before quickly returning to worry, and the two go looking for him through faint traces of an already fading scent trail he’s left. They find him in a hollow tree, curled into himself and shaken. When asked why he left by Crowfeather, hawkfrost responds he just wanted to go home, but he wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he did aimlessly try to reach RiverClan. Once he neared the border he realized they’d likely attack him on sight, and an immense sense of guilt washed over him — for his betrayal, for those he hurt, for the kits he’d just endangered, leading him to aimlessly run into ThunderClan territory in search of shelter, where he goes into labour. Leafpool isn’t well prepared, but attempts to make do with what she has, Crowfeather tries to help her, but they clash a lot. Hollykit comes out fine, but it’s downhill from there. As it starts to look really bleak — suddenly, two wispy starlit figures appear at the entrance of the hollow, the images of Yellowfang and Cinderpelt quickly replaced by the real forms of Squirrelflight and Mothwing, both with herbs in their jaws. With the extra two hands the birth is successful, though extremely exhausting on everyone involved, especially hawkfrost.

Though everyone is very happy to see the kits, squirrelflight especially, hawkfrost is notably detached from everyone, including his newborns. Instead of naming them himself, he asks the four to name them instead. Squirrelflight names jaykit, Leafpool names lionkit, Mothwing names Polliwogkit (hollyleaf), and Crowfeather names Breezekit. As the snow starts to die down they discuss what they should do, and hawkfrost, the quietest out of them asks to meet with each of them alone, he has things he needs to say.

First he meets with mothwing because, well, they haven’t seen each other in a long time and they left off at a bad note. He apologizes to her, and says she must hate him, and while mothwing says she can’t forgive him, not yet, she admits she doesn’t hate him, and that that’s why she can’t forgive him. Because he’s never been able to trust her faith in him without some underhanded tactic or fear she’d abandon him, and that hurts. He’s her brother, of course she doesn’t hate him. After a very emotional conversation, she asks him what he’s going to do, and how he feels, and he doesn’t fully know himself. She doesn’t directly mention the kits, it feels odd to do so; and he’s letting them near him, so he’s doing alright so far.

Next comes in Crowfeather, who is very conflicted emotionally. While happy at the sight of his kits and mate safe, he’s confused as to why hawkfrost would leave the burrow, why he wouldn’t listen to him — why he couldn’t make things better. He and hawkfrost have a very complicated conversation, starting soft, moving into Crowfeather bickering over how much danger he put himself into and how worried he was. Hawkfrost retorts that it all ended well enough and Crowfeather bites back with “not all your plans do though, and you know that.” They’re silent for awhile before Crowfeather asks why he didn’t want to run away. Hawkfrost says it felt wrong, but he admits he liked the idea at first, mainly because it was so fantastical, just living together with their little family away from the problems he made. It was fantasy, but that was it, it was just a fantasy. During his time with kits he realized how much of a hypocrite he was, he’d built up these ideals of justice in his head, of a world he would fix, but he’d only broken it further apart and it took getting hurt to realize it all — nevermind hurting everyone around him, including Crowfeather and Mothwing. Crowfeather argues that it doesn’t mean they can’t be happy now — hawkfrost finally agrees; Crowfeather and the kits can be happy. He doesn’t tell him it has to be without him.

Last are Leafpool and squirrelflight, the ones he knows the least. He starts with questioning what leafpool said about the importance of his kits, and leafpool concedes that it was StarClan that told her of their importance. Hawkfrost goes quiet for a bit before apologizing for his anger, afterwards asking if there’s a way to avoid that. Leafpool, unsure of what to say or do just shakes her head. Hawkfrost laughs until he cries and squirrelflight asks leafpool for a moment with him one on one, which her sister allows. Squirrelflight notices his distance from the kits and gently prods at him about it, hawkfrost responds solemnly that he’s scared, terrified he’ll be a bad father when he was initially confident he’d do well. Squirrelflight argues a bad father wouldn’t quarrel with StarClan over the fates of his kits, only a father who cares would, and he shrugs. His father wasn’t very good, so he supposes it’ll turn out the same between them. Deciding not to uncover an obviously complex problem, she asks him what he’d name them, implying she knows he gave the task to the others out of fear. Hawkfrost says he likes mothwings idea, polliwog the best, says that it suits how lively and strong the little she-kit is, but that jaykit would’ve been named jackdawkit or featherkit, though they’d likely seen the ladder coming, that breezekit resembled a rook, and that lionkit resembled a fish he’d heard of that swam down the river in warmer seasons; Doradokit, before playfully noting their names worked too, his eyes softening at them. “They’re perfect with any name.” She asks him if he’s going to run away with them and Crowfeather, and he shakes his head. He can’t be happy, not after all the things he’s done. It’s here when he asks her if she knows anyone in ThunderClan who’d take them, even as orphans, knowing the clans do not react well to halfbloods or outsiders. Squirrelflight, without thinking, says she’ll take them. That no one will ever know if he thinks it’s what’s best. That she’ll protect them. Hawkfrost relaxes, and thanks her, asking her of course to give Crowfeather the option to take the kits, which she agrees to.

The group decide to spend the remainder of the night in the hollow curled around eachother and the kits for warmth. When they awaken, hawkfrost has vanished, but the kits remain safe. Crowfeather is distraught and stresses they should look for him, but the three mollies seem to understand more than he does that the tom is not coming back. Squirrelflight announces that hawkfrost had asked her to take the kits in if anything were to happen, but she insists Crowfeather take them after seeing him upset. Something shifts and Crowfeather refuses, the other three cats are confused, mothwing loudly insisting that he should at least take breezekit since he’d named him. Crowfeather after some arguing finally begrudgingly agrees to take breezekit back to windclan while squirrelflight, leafpool and Mothwing prepare to return to ThunderClan.

In ThunderClan, squirrelflight returns with two medicine cats at her side after a sudden labour, she carries three fatherless kits in toe — fatherless before Brambleclaw without warning claims fatherhood, which is odd (squirrelbramble doesn’t happen), but most brush it off as a one time thing. The clan is nonetheless excited over the new arrivals, who later will be known as Jackdawtail, Doradocreek and Polliwogleaf (pollileaf or polli for short).

In windclan, Nightcloud delivers a litter of one surviving kit, fathered by Crowfeather who is dismissive of the newborn. Nightcloud raises the sole survivor alone with extra care and attention, and later he is known as Breezefoot, named after both his grandparents.

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[huicitawrites]

Omen of the Cursed

Yandere! Ryomen Sukuna x Fem! Reader

TW: depictions of abuse, gore, mentions of suicide (non-descriptive), yandere

THE KING OF CURSES sits casually at the edge of the village well, biding his time. Two muscular arms support his weight on the cobblestone, while another relaxes on his knee, and his fourth is busy—clutching a decapitated head in his clawed hand.

Crimson stains adorn the tips of his fingers, and his feet are smeared with blood. Puddles gather in abundance throughout the village, and the earthy streets are littered with bodies and dismembered remains.

He has killed every single one of them.

He enjoyed it.

He relished in their screams and their agony: men, women, children, the elderly. They all sounded the same in the end, squealing and wailing like lowly pigs sent to slaughter.

At first, the village men tried to fight back, but once he claimed his first victim—his Dismantle technique turning a man into a mangled heap of flesh—they began to shriek and run. When they realized there was no escape, they started to beg.

Some cried for their children; others, for their lovers or themselves. It was amusing to observe how far they would go for survival. They offered everything they had: the village's meager gold, their wheat, their rice, their sheep. When they sensed his dissatisfaction, they turned on one another, offering up their wives, their children, their kin—one even stabbed his own brother and threw the corpse at his feet, declaring a desperate loyalty.

Yet, the King of Curses had come to finish what was started, he took their lives one by one, laughing maniacally in ecstasy and joy.

And so, he sits amidst his carnage—waiting.

The best was yet to come.

He tosses the head in his hand, its expression of horror still etched on the pale face as it rolls across the ground, leaving a trail of blood. He shakes his hand to rid himself of the crimson droplets before resting his four-eyed face atop it. His glaring eyes fixate on the village entrance, marked by a large, old Torii gate.

He recalls the day you abandoned him.

He remembers it all too well.

Ryomen Sukuna was born a cursed, unwanted little wretch.

Everyone believed it and treated him as such: the adults and elders in the village, who instilled their beliefs in their children. Even his own father abandoned him as a mere babe, leaving the village under the moon of Sukuna's birth. His mother, on the other hand, took her own life shortly after he learned to walk.

The villagers whispered rumors of a sibling he had devoured while still in his mother's womb.

Everyone despised him, and so young Sukuna began to despise them too—except for one.

You.

You probably knew of Sukuna as ‘an ill omen’ and ‘a cursed child forsaken by the very gods,’ but what surprised him was your disregard for the villagers' cruel words.

(He remembers the first day you met.)

“Hey,” your soft voice called to him in the village woods. He wore dirty, ragged clothes that contrasted with your colorful kimono. “Do you want to play with me?”

“Go away,” he spat, leaning back against the trunk of a tree, pretending to ignore you.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a playful smirk. You crouched by the river, scavenging for the perfect pebble—a flat little rock. To your delight, you found a twin of it, and with both rocks in hand, you approached the bitter boy.

“Here, you have one,” you tossed him a pebble. “I’ll show you.” Your squeaky voice was impossible to ignore, drawing his gaze as you meticulously adjusted your stance. He recognized the blue fire coating the rock in your hand. His eyes widened, and a single thought sprang to mind.

‘Is this girl cursed like me?’

You threw the pebble expertly, and it bounced across the water’s surface three times.

“Did you see that?! Say it was cool, right?! Your turn now; it’ll be fun!” You jumped excitedly, pointing at the lake with a wide, joyous smile.

Sukuna snapped out of his thoughts and concealed his amazement. He didn’t want to admit it then, but it was a very cool shot. With a blank stare, he picked up the pebble at his feet and mirrored your stance. He held it between the tips of his fingers, took a deep breath, and unleashed his own blue fire. The pebble soared from his hand, bouncing farther and more times than yours.

You sparkled with wonder. “Say, can you teach me that? You can see it too, the blue fire!” Your tiny hands clasped his for a jolly handshake.

He remembers the burning embarrassment on his face, nodding and stuttering when you said, “Say… Let’s be friends!”

Back then, you were children who became great friends. You were so different, yet inseparable. You were a pretty daughter: kind, gentle, obedient, playful, and pampered by strict but loving parents.

On the opposite end, he was the village’s outcast. Shooed away from stores, despised by everyone. Parents forbade their children from being near him, adults mistreated him without remorse, and even the village priests scorned him.

Yet you laughed at his antics instead of scorning him. You cheered him on and even sewed him clothes out of spare cloth. You helped him flee when villagers chased him with pitchforks and torches and snuck him food or tea.

Like a moth to a flame, he basked in your warm kindness. As you two grew, he coveted your friendship, wishing for eternity with you by his side.

But as your teenage years approached adulthood, things began to change. While Sukuna detached from the village and its obligations, you became bound by expectations. Your mother filled your days with lessons on housewife duties—sewing, cooking, and manners—while your father began seeking suitors.

You wanted none of it; your spirit longed to explore the world, but your heart was tethered to your family, making it difficult to ignore your parents' wishes.

In a moment of desperation, he proposed an idea, but you laughed incredulously.

“So you say we ‘run away,’” you cocked your head. “I can’t just leave my parents behind. What kind of daughter would I be after all they’ve given me?”

He wanted to protest, to argue that he could take care of you, but you added, “Besides, we need money. A marriage would solve their issues. Yet…”

“I could marry you,” he blurted out.

The words spilled from his lips impulsively, and though he masked his bitterness, a knot tightened in his throat when you laughed.

“My parents would never give their blessings, they’d disown me first.”

“I’m not that bad of a choice.”

“Sure, a boy who steals and has no care or responsibilities makes a decent candidate,” you quipped.

He knew you meant no harm and understood the frustration behind your words. But he stood up and left, even as you apologized. You were speaking the truth. He was still an unworthy boy—weak, poor, a disgrace.

He couldn’t intervene as you left the village.

Three days before your departure, a foreign man appeared. Older, yet toned, with a staff in hand, he seemed a wandering monk- he later realized the old monk was a pesky sorcerer. He should have killed him back then.

The sorcerer interrupted one of your encounters, pointing his staff at you. His eyes sparkled with glee before darkening in disgust as they fell upon him.

Surely, he saw the monster would become - no, the one he was. The hate, the fury, the greed brewing in his dark heart.

The monk spoke with you, offering escape if you became his apprentice. Under the guise of holy work and financial compensation, your parents agreed to send you away.

“I’m leaving, then,” you stuttered, eyes cast down. You couldn't meet his dark crimson gaze, knowing the look of betrayal hiding beneath your stoic facade.

“I will come back to visit; I promise, Ryo,” you said, the pet name spilling from your lips with sweetness, but he huffed in response.

“I will be here waiting, [Y/n].”

Ryomen Sukuna left the same night you departed. He had nothing left in the village and without your presence, he could tolerate the shithole no more.

Two and a half decades passed.

He left as a cursed boy and returned as the feared King of Curses—Ryomen Sukuna.

As he stared at the Torii gate, his foot bounced impatiently, fingers tapping against the cobblestone edge.

Soon, a figure emerged in the distance—a traveler on a mule, donning a kasa. For a moment, he mistook you for the damned sorcerer monk, but he felt your familiar cursed energy. It seems you grew stronger through the years as well.

A wicked grin spread across his face, revealing sharp teeth and fangs. His four bloodshot eyes widened and pupils dilated in anticipation.

Finally, you crossed the gate.

“Welcome back,” the King of Curses greeted. “Do you like my welcome gift?” He gestured to the bodies and blood scattered throughout the devastated village.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled back your kasa, revealing a solemn expression on a beautiful face. To Sukuna’s surprise, your eyes held no disgust, fear, or even anger, only a pitiful gaze that irritated him.

“Did you enjoy it?” you asked, ignoring his question. He huffed, wondering if you were attempting to seek a glimpse of that playful childhood friend.

The King of Curses laughed at your question, finding it absurd given the answer was obvious. “I found it most delightful,” he cooed.

Slowly, he detached himself from the well and stood before you. Even a few meters away, you could see the transformation he had undergone. He had become a beast—two extra eyes and arms, a mouth in his abdomen, a colossal build, and black curse markings embroidering his skin.

“It’s true then,” you sighed. “You’ve become the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna.”

“Tis how I’m called now.” It struck him as strange to hear his full name from you. “I must say it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“How many have you killed by now?”

“I’ve lost count, darling.” Your frown deepened, and Sukuna’s smile widened. He noted how tightly you clutched the reins and how your body tensed. “My father and mo—”

“I’ve killed them both,” he cut you off, grinning wickedly. “Their deaths were slow and painful.”

“Ah…”

Now it gets exciting, he mused, watching as fury consumed your expression. This was the response he craved—a little punishment for abandoning him, if you will.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to hold back sobs.

“I have come to slay you, curse,” you spat, mixing pity with spite. You clutched the cloak around you, prying it off to reveal white and red Miko clothing. You held a shakujō, likely a cursed tool.

This was not the first time someone had come to exact vengeance upon him, and it wouldn’t be the last.

However, it would be the last time you left him.

The King of Curses made the first move, closing the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He lunged forward, delivering a devastating blow.

You leapt from your mule, who perished instantly. Your body shivered from his overwhelming strength.

Sukuna continued his relentless assault. Blow after blow, all you could do was dodge—there was no time to parry or block.

In a fleeting moment of opportunity, as you rolled away and encountered his exposed back, you swung your staff, chanting, “Cleanse.”

A blinding explosion of cursed energy erupted against him, bright light streaming from the metal adornments of your staff.

For a moment, you thought you had succeeded—what a fool you were.

He was the King of Curses, after all; he was no longer ‘Ryo.’

Sukuna remained unfazed, standing with his back turned to you. Before you could gauge the danger, one of his lower arms seized your staff, crushing it into splinters. He turned, crimson irises meeting yours.

“Was that all, [Y/n]?”

He reveled in your shock, and before you could distance yourself, he conjured his own spell. “Cleave!”

Hundreds of cuts ripped through your skin, blood gushing from every wound. You choked and coughed, your body crashing to the ground in a futile struggle for breath.

“Does it hurt?” he taunted, voice dripping with venom. Lifting his chin, he added, “This is but a taste of how I felt back then when you turned your back on me, spurning me like everyone else.”

He loomed over you, body casting a shadow. The wicked grin evaporated from his face, voice turning serious. “I find the fear in your eyes delicious. It’s a satisfying punishment for what you did to me.”

Crouching down, he drew forth a hand ignited with cursed energy. Not the familiar blue you knew, but a clear white. You had never witnessed such a technique, your weary mind too occupied to marvel.

Sukuna hovered his hand over your wounds, and in a short time, you found yourself healed, yet the damage had already been done—the fighting, the murder of people.

The King of Curses encircled you with his four arms, lifting you as a husband would lift his wife. Despite the tenderness once present in the boy you knew, you turned your head to avoid his gaze.

He scowled at your rejection; your silent tears pierced his resolve more than any weapon. One hand cupped your cheek, forcing your gaze back to his monstrous face.

"Spurn me no more, I will not let you, not again", he warned, his fingers digging into your skin.

“You’ve become a monster—what their words condemned.”

“I’ve become a king.”

“-of curses.” You cut him off.

His many eyes narrowed, “So what? Human or curse, it matters not in the face of strength,” he said nonchalantly against your melancholy. “All that matters is that I am strong now and that we are reunited. Even if you spurn me, I will make you love me again.”

He sighed, his voice as soft as a whisper.

“The boy you knew may be gone, but you will learn to love the man he has become,” Sukuna assured, his four eyes gazing back at you with an affection that twisted your gut, making your heart race in fear. He began moving toward the Torii gate, carrying you as if you were caged in his embrace.

He inhaled your sweet scent— it reminded him of the home he never had, the one he desires to build with you by his side.

“Finally,” he lowered his face to yours, “we are together again.”

His lips tasted of iron and yours tasted divine.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Dad!Changbin x F!Reader TW : angst ; talk of child loss ; reader is pregnant ; guilt ; anger ; reader has the baby (non-descriptive) ; postpartum depression ; paranormal experience ; happy ending because they deserve it ; (I know these TW's are all over the place, but trust me it makes sense I hope) ; Word Count : 2.6k Request : I feel like part 2 is needed for Changbin, he deserves it, reader deserves it.

The two lines faded into view on the little white stick, but instead of that feeling of excitement that most women would get when finding out something like this, you were filled with guilt. The therapist that you and Changbin had been going to for this had told you that over time, the feeling of guilt would go away and that the two of you would even begin to actively try having a baby again. The both of you were highly doubtful about that. 

To be entirely honest, it’s been almost 4 whole years since you and Changbin had tried for a baby, and it’s not like the two of you were trying for one now. Things had gotten… sloppy during a night of drinking, celebrating your 6 year anniversary does that to people, and now here you were, sitting on the edge of the bathtub trying not to cry. 

It felt wrong to be having another baby, it felt wrong to even attempt to be happy about it. It wasn’t just the guilt though, it was fear. Fear of the unknown outcome of this pregnancy. Would this baby make it, or would you and Changbin go through 9 months of dreams and planning and hope and excitement just to have this child taken away from you too? It was absolutely terrifying, and you didn’t know how or even if you should tell Changbin, not wanting to get his hopes up either. 

///

“It’s a girl!” “Your pregnancy is progressing well, your daughter is healthy.” “Your due date is October 14th! We’re coming right up on it!” All of these things you had heard before, but you refused to let yourself get excited. Now, as you sat in the waiting room where expectant mothers sat with their husbands or their boyfriends, smiles on all their faces, you could only feel sadness. 

It was a conundrum to be quite honest. You felt awful for having another baby, you felt guilty, like you were replacing the daughter that you had lost. With all of that, you also felt bad for this new baby, this little girl that didn’t know the pain that you and Changbin had gone through, yet her arrival wasn’t looked at in the same light as your other daughters. That made you feel even more guilty because it wasn’t this baby’s fault, it wasn’t anyone's fault. 

“The due dates are the same…” Changbin whispered to you as his thumb brushed along your tense knuckles. The irony of both girls sharing the same due date was scary, downright terrifying. It almost felt like an omen, or a way for the universe to preemptively prepare you for another loss. “She’s our little rainbow baby. She’s coming on her sister's birthday so that we won’t be sad every year.” 

You weren’t sure how Changbin could still be so optimistic. Maybe he was just trying to cheer you up so that you wouldn’t worry so much, but it seemed like he was happier than you were at the announcement of your pregnancy. He was ready to start this next chapter in your life, and you were still hung up on the pages from 3 chapters ago. “It doesn’t seem right. Why… Why would she decide to come on her sister’s birthday? How am I supposed to be happy and celebrate the life of another child on the day that we lost our girl? I just… It feels wrong, Bin…” 

It’s not that Changbin didn’t understand, he fully grasped what you meant. Deep down he was suffering with guilt, but he knew that it would be unfair to his second child to treat her any differently just because of the loss of his first daughter. “Baby, it wasn’t her decision on when to come. She might come earlier, she might come later. But her birth will never overshadow Chonsa. We can celebrate the both of them if she does decide to come on Chonsas birthday.” But even that felt wrong, everything about this pregnancy felt wrong even though things were going perfectly fine. “Maybe… Maybe this is what Chonsa wanted… So that you wouldn’t be sad anymore. So that day wouldn’t be one where you spent all day crying again. Maybe-” 

“Stop… Seriously, Changbin.” You mumbled, biting the insides of your cheeks as you averted your eyes, looking anywhere but at him so that he wouldn’t see you getting teared up. “You know I don’t like talking about that… I just want to get this appointment over with and go home, okay?” So he went quiet, nodding his head as he squeezed your hand. He was trying, he was doing his best. You had both gone through the same thing, but you were both handling it in very different ways. 

///

“Baby, you need to eat. Please… You’re worrying me…” Changbins voice was riddled with worry as he stood outside the bedroom door. You hadn’t left the room since you’d been home from the hospital after delivering your daughter, and what scared Changbin even more was the fact that you hadn’t even held her. As soon as you walked through the front door, you had grabbed Chonsas urn from the mantle and gone straight into your bedroom, refusing to leave for anyone or anything. It had been 2 days since then and Changbin was beginning to panic. “Ssoni needs you… I need you… We need you… Y/N, please…” 

Something loud thudded against the bedroom door, causing Changbin to jump back as he held Ssoni closer to his chest. “Leave me alone, Changbin! You finally got your baby, let me just stay in here with mine!” You screamed, and there wasn’t more than a second of silence before your sobs were heard through the door. 

This was expected, the doctors had all talked to you and Changbin about the possibility of depression after having another baby, especially considering what had happened the first time. The only thing is that Changbin hadn’t realized just how bad it could get. “Fine… If that’s what you want to do, fine. Just… please, eat something.” Begging hadn’t worked yesterday or the day before though, so he knew that begging today wouldn’t work either, but it was worth a shot. 

There was no response, only the continued sound of your crying, and Changbin felt absolutely helpless. You didn’t want to be near him, you didn’t want to be near the baby. He had called the guys to ask them what to do, he had called the doctors to see if there was anything he could do. All of them said to just give you a little bit of time right now, and if you weren’t starting to get better in a week that he should take you somewhere to get help, but that in itself felt wrong. Of course you’d be upset, and he knew that you had a lot of questions, questions that nobody had an answer to. He had those questions too, but right now, he had to push all of his feelings aside so that he could be there for Ssoni, so he could try to be there for you. 

Each hour that passed had Changbin panicking more and more, and it only got worse once you went silent. He’d press his ear against the door, straining to hear the sound of your fast paced breaths that would indicate that you were sleeping. God, how he missed sleeping beside you, holding you close against his chest, your hair tickling his nose whenever you’d move the slightest bit. He missed the smell of your shampoo, the way you’d steal all the blankets on the coldest mornings, the way you smacked your lips whenever you rolled over. He missed being able to just be with you, but it seemed like the sight of him and the sight of Ssoni only irritated you more. 

“Postpartum depression. It’s not rare, it’s actually quite common. In her case, we have to remember that Y/N has gone through more than what most mothers have gone through. She’s lost a child, and her emotions are very clearly still strongly affecting her. Now, with her hormones out of balance after just having another daughter, her emotions are only going to be stronger. I’m sure that it doesn’t make matters better considering your daughter was born only a day after the loss of your first daughter. She might have mood swings, she might sleep more or less, she might not want to even interact with the new baby. There’s a lot of symptoms that come along with PPD, but they should subside within a week or two, and if they don���t, we can set her up with a therapist, or prescribe her some sort of hormonal medication to balance out the hormones. For now, I suggest just looking out for her, taking care of her in a way that won’t upset her. We don’t want to overwhelm her, and we surely don’t want to force her to do anything. Just give her time and space, and I’m sure that she’ll be fine.” 

Changbin hated the fact that you were suffering silently, the fact that he couldn’t do anything this time because you didn’t want his help. It was the waiting game, and he tried to keep the doctors updated daily, hoping that they’d give him something different that he could try to do to get you out of the room, but they’d just say the same exact thing each time. How much longer was he going to have to have to wait? How much longer was too long? His heart was breaking. He finally had the family that he felt was stolen from him 3 years ago, and now you didn’t want any part of it. Was he never meant to be truly happy? 

///

“Momma! Dadda!!” Ssoni called from her bedroom, her shrieking voice jolting you from your slumber. You sat straight up in your bed, shaking Changbin from his even deeper sleep before kicking the blankets from off your legs and getting out of bed. “Momma!!!” Ssoni called again, and this time Changbin was jumping up out of the bed, his eyes not even open as he ran to the door and out into the hallway with you following close behind. 

“What’s the matter, honeybear?” Changbin groggily asked, the bright lights that had been turned on in her room were practically blinding after stepping out of the darkness of your own bedroom. Your daughter, who had been standing in the middle of the room, clinging tightly onto her stuffed bear, ran over to Changbin and lifted her arms, demanding to be picked up. “Did you have a bad dream?” He questioned, brushing his fingers through your daughter's curly hair. 

“Nuh uh!” Your daughter's head shook quickly before she pointed into the corner of her room. “Dere’s a girl! She over dere!” Panic set in almost immediately, as it would with any parent, especially the parent of a famous child that was known around the world. Her tiny finger continued to point into the corner, and what was worse was the fact that she was basically pointing at her closet. It was big enough for anyone to hide in, so you quickly grabbed your daughter out of Changbins arms and went back into your own bedroom. 

Changbin returned quickly, and the panic that was once written across his features was gone now, replaced only with confusion as he looked between you and his daughter that laid underneath the blankets in the middle of the middle. “Honeybear…” Changbin murmured, climbing into the bed beside her and brushing her hair away from her face. “Are you sure you weren’t just having a bad dream? There’s no one there…” 

Ssoni sighed loudly, her tiny bottom lip booting out as her face scrunched up. “Yes! Dere was a girl! She say… She want to see me! She say she love me!” You and Changbin looked at each other with narrowed eyes as you both listened to your daughter rant. “She say… She my big sister… Her name… Chonsa? Yeah! Chonsa!” Ssoni nodded her head just to ascertain that the name she said was correct, but it felt like the air had been knocked from your chest as you listened to your 5 and a half year old daughter say the name. 

Neither you, nor Changbin had ever told her about her sister, she was far too young to understand. The two of you never even brought up your daughter around Ssoni, not wanting to answer any questions that she might have because you both knew the topic wasn’t one that she would grasp. “Did she… Did she say anything else, honeybear?” You asked, trying not to get choked up already, and you could see in the low light of the moon cascading across the room the glistening of Changbins eyes. 

“She say you and dadda don’t have be sad no more… Cause she love you too… And she say… She say it not you fault…” Ssoni said it so lightly, as if recounting a simple conversation with a friend. She didn’t know that what she was saying had you swallowing back tears and clenching your teeth to hold back the sobs that were building in your throat. “She say dat she hear dadda talk to her evy night… And dat she miss you too… And she say dat she here all time… And dat she keep me safe… And she send me for you to not be sad no more…” Ssoni shrugged before nesling deeper into the pillows between you and Changbin, her childlike mind oblivious to the way you and Changbin were both silently crying. “I sleepy now… I go sleep here.” She muttered, pulling the blankets up higher around her body. 

It was hard to fall asleep, almost impossible, so you and Changbin both laid quietly beside your daughter until you were sure she was fully asleep before slipping out of the bedroom and going to the living room. “She wouldn’t know that… She wouldn’t know any of that… Bin… How does she know that?” You gasped out, falling against Changbins shoulder and he immediately held you close, his body trembling with shaky breaths. 

“I don’t know… But… She knows… She… She knows a lot… And I think maybe it’s time to tell her about her sister… Just a little bit. It’s clear that… Chonsa visits her…” You sighed softly. This type of thing wasn’t something that you believed in, not because it didn’t seem true, it’s just that you slept easier thinking that it was fake. Now, with everything that happened tonight, everything that Ssoni had said, you couldn’t not believe it. “She’s still here with us… She’ll always be here with us… And it’s nice to know that Ssoni was sent to us by our little angel… She doesn’t want us to be sad… And she knows we love her… She knows…” 

You nodded your head along with his words, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. It felt bittersweet, it felt like you had just finished an entire story, one that had more heartbreak, more sorrow than you could ever imagine. You were finally picking up the next book in the series, and this one was lighter, happier. There was no more sadness, there were no more tears to be shed as you flipped through the pages of life. You had both your little girls with you, one was an angel, and the other was sent by that angel so that you wouldn’t have to feel sadness, so you wouldn’t have to feel that loss. You were happy, Changbin was happy, and you both felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. The weight of loss, grief, guilt… It had all been washed away. You had each other, and you had been given back the chance to be parents to your beautiful little girl once more. 

A/N : Putting this at the end so I don't spoil the ending! I know that the whole ending is strange, and I know a lot of people don't believe in stuff like that. It's loosely based off of a personal experience though from when my own mom went through something like this with my baby brother who passed away, and my other younger brother who was about 5 at the time would talk to my baby brother and play with him. So it wasn't just some "gotta tie things together" ending. I was planning on it ending like that from the beginning. They needed closure.

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[jungkookslipring]

I Will Never Make You Lonely: Ch 4

Summary: When your life is falling apart, your 8 best friends are there to lift you up

TW: mentions of de&th, su!c!de, su!c!de tendencies, su!c!dal ideologies, depress!on, anxiety, crying. If this is in any way triggering I’d steer towards more of my happier works. If you or someone you love has thought of or acted on suicide, there is help and there is hope 

Call or text 988

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, non-idol AU

PSA: this in no way represents the artists. While their birth names are used in this story, this is in no way a reflection of the artist or artists in real life.

AU/Chapter TW: Mentions of su!c!de, su!c!dal thoughts, graphic descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, and so much crying. If any of this is triggering please refrain from reading this chapter.

CH 4

The car accident wasn’t an accident. There was no animal in the road that caused her to swerve and hit the tree; there was none of that, she planned it. Your brain went numb but your body felt a sharp pain like someone took a dagger and rammed it into your chest. It was getting a little harder to breathe. You got up from your bed and started pacing. You had your hands above your head trying to expand your lungs, but you were already too far into your panic attack to get back down. You let out the first sob since Carter’s death. 

Is this what dying feels like?

“Y/n?” Changbin called out.

As soon as you saw two of your best friends at the doorway, your vision got blurry. Chris could see how broken you were and he felt like crying right there. He was almost relieved that you were grieving properly, but this wasn't the way he wanted it to happen.

“Sweetheart…” Chris approached stepped foot into your room and you ran towards the boys, their hearts breaking into pieces as you covered your mouth, muffling another heartwrenching sob.

“Oh baby girl, come here,” he said gently as he pulled you against his chest. You spent a lot of time trying to distract yourself from the truth, doing anything and everything to avoid facing it. But eventually, you can't keep your mind numb forever. You cried and buried your face into Chris's shoulder, and he held you while Changbin rubbed your back for comfort. Your tears soaked into Chris's sweatshirt as he swayed you back and forth.

“We got you, we got you,” Changbin whispered as he threaded his fingers through your hair. You gripped Chris’s sweatshirt until your knuckles turned white. The sadness and anger that you kept under the surface came out without warning, and you completely lost it.

“Please bring her back, please!” You cried at whatever higher power was out there. Chris held you tightly as you cried into his shoulder. Changbin's hands had let go of you, but another set of arms reached out to comfort you. Though you missed Changbin's touch, you were grateful for Chris's warm hands on your shoulders, which helped steady you. Unbeknownst to you, your breathing had become more rapid.

“Hey y/n, hey let's take a deep breath okay? We don’t want you passing out on us, yeah?” Minho said calmly. You don’t know when he got in the room, but you were so out of it you didn’t know everyone was in your room. Before you knew it, you started panicking. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t breathe,” you exclaim shakily. You cried harder than you have all month, and maybe even in your entire life. Your body was convulsing with sobs so forcefully and rapidly that you found yourself gasping for air. You knew that you would never see Carter again. No more trips to the lake, no more spontaneous visits to the Space Needle, no more concerts, no more walks to Pike Place. All of it was gone. You held your chest tightly as you struggled to take in air. Your mind was in a fog, you felt nauseous, you weren't getting enough oxygen, and it felt like you were living through a nightmare.

“I *cough cough* I want her *gasp*, back *gasp* *cough cough* please” you pant out. The younger ones were in a state of panic. You were hunched forward with your hands on your knees. Changbin walked to the center of the room and embraced Seungmin, who was frantically reaching out for his hand. Hyunjin was hugging Felix and cradling the younger's head, who was shaking in fear. Han was standing in shock with his arms wrapped around Jeongin, who was hiding his face in his shoulder blade. Minho moved a little closer and spoke as gently as possible.

“Y/n? Honey? Can I touch you?” He asked, waiting patiently until you nodded. Chris slowly let go of your shoulders once Minho had a steady hold of you. He took his time to gently take your hands off your knees, squatting in front of you so he could look you in the eyes. He slowly stood you up and put your hands behind your head so your lungs could expand. 

“Breathe with me love. Let's do it nice and slow, alright?” He asked gently. Minho led you through a series of breathing exercises until you were able to control your breathing. Once you were no longer hyperventilating, you collapsed and Minho caught you, slowly lowering you to the ground and into Chris's arms. He embraced you from behind, holding you close to his chest with one hand on your forehead to help calm you down and the other arm wrapped gently around your waist. You covered your eyes, hoping to escape the overwhelming pain.

“Why did she have to go…” you wailed, relieving all the pressure that built up over time. The hurt, the sadness, and the anger were all being let out as Chris and Minho let you crumble because they would be there to pick up the pieces once you were done.

“Y/n…” Jeongin said tearfully. Your heart stopped. Shit. How long were they in your room? You could hear Felix crying into Hyunjin's neck while the taller of the pair gently shushed the sweet boy in his arms, shedding his own silent tears. You kept your hand over your eyes, not wanting to see their reactions, especially the kids.

“Binnie, can you take the kids into the living room please?” Minho asked calmly and kindly. Changbin nodded immediately and guided the Dongsaengs out of your bedroom. Chris held you close and kissed the top of your head. His lips lingered as he rocked you gently back and forth. 

“Oh bubs…,” Minho whispered as he watched you break down. After what felt like an eternity, your hysterical crying died down to hiccups. Chris continued rocking you gently and Minho was rubbing your knee with his thumb.

“I’m *hiccup* I’m so sorry,” you said, working yourself up. Chris quickly and quietly shushed you. He couldn’t bear to watch you go into another panic attack. 

“Shhh shhh shhh it’s okay, you’re okay, y/n,” he whispered as he petted your hair.

“Why are you apologizing, honey? You did nothing wrong,” Minho asked. You shook your head as more tears streamed down your face.

“D-did I scare the kids?” you ask tearfully. You swore you heard someone else bawling in the hallway; it sounded like Jeongin. Chris shook his head while rubbing your stomach with his thumb. 

“They’re just worried about you, we’re all worried about you, angel,” he said calmly. 

“What did I do w-wrong? Why couldn’t she come to m-me? D-did she really think I can just live without h-her??” you beg for someone to have the answer, but Minho only looked at you with sadness and confusion. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours and Chris’s. You grab a hold of your skull, your head pulsating. 

“Carter…t-took…she took her own- *hic* oh my god,” you cried as you dug the heels of your hand into your eyes, Chris and Minho exchanging looks of terror. Chris rocked you while kissing your head repeatedly, and Minho took both of your hands into his. Outside of your bedroom, Changbin guided the younger ones down the hall and into the living room. A bunch of them were sniffling, but Jeongin was crying hard. Changbin pulled the youngest into his side, handing Seungmin off to Han. 

“Hey, hey we’re here baby, Hyungs have y/n” he reassured the youngest, but the poor thing couldn’t calm down. 

“I got the others, Binnie Hyung, we’ll be okay,” Hyunjin said, never letting go of the sweet freckled boy in his arms. Changbin nodded as he led their youngest to the bedroom, the rest of the guys going the opposite direction to sit on the couch. Changbin opened the door with one hand, keeping a secure arm around Jeongin. 

“Binnie Hyung?” Jeongin whimpered. Changbin rubbed Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” Changbin whispered. More droplets fell from Jeongin’s eyes.

“Y/n…” he said brokenly before Changbin pulled him into a hug, running his fingers through his hair.

“Shh shh shh, she’s going to be okay. I promise she’s going to be okay, baby,” he said while trying to keep his voice steady. They were all a little shaken up from what happened, but Jeongin seemed to be taking it the hardest. 

“I want to see her, Hyungie, I want to see if she’s okay,” he cried, gripping the back of Changbin’s shirt. 

“We’ll get to see her love, but first we need to calm our bodies, okay? Can you do that for me?” He asked kindly as he rubbed his back. Jeongin nodded as he got into bed. Changbin promised to send you over to Jeongin once you were ready. After tucking Jeongin under the covers, he sat beside him, soothing him by wiping away his tears. Later, the three of you settled down in your bedroom, with Chris propped up against a pillow and you cuddled up on his side while Minho lay next to you two. They comforted you with soft touches and even whispered words of encouragement long after your tears had stopped. They waited until your breathing was back to normal before speaking.

“I know you want nothing more than to sleep, but let’s get you cleaned up, y/n, does that sound okay?” Chris asked as he moved a stray hair out of your face. You nodded as you let out a tired sigh. They took you to the bathroom and had you sit on the toilet lid. You looked in the mirror for a brief second before turning away. Your face and eyes were extremely puffy and red. Once he found the makeup wipes, Minho gently held your chin as he oh so carefully used a makeup wipe to remove the mascara that trailed down your face. You thought he’d stop there, but you were wrong.

“Minho it’s okay we don’t have to do all of that,” you say when he starts pulling out all of the products you use for your nighttime skincare routine. He gave you a kind smile.

“What kind of friend would I be if I let you go to bed without your holy grail, huh?” He asked with the sweetest smile, holding up your sleeping mask he gave you as a Christmas gift. You couldn’t help but giggle and you gave him the okay to proceed. Once the makeup was all gone, he took a warm washcloth and dabbed under your eyes and around your cheeks. You let out a sigh and closed your eyes; you were exhausted. Minho applied all the products necessary, because your routine was exactly like his, and hummed a random medley out loud to help with the tension in the bathroom. He wiped off his hands and put his hands on your shoulders.

“You are the strongest person we know, but don’t ever feel like you have to go through this by yourself, yeah?” He pulled you into his arms and rubbed your back as Chris smiled at you two fondly. 

“It's just really hard…” your voice breaks as your eyes sting. Minho continued to rub your back.

“I know sweetie, I know, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now…” he whispered.

“I wanted to handle everything on my own, so you wouldn’t have to see me like this *sniff* so we wouldn’t be where we are now,” you admitted as Chris comes up beside Minho and throws his arms around the both of you.

“You’re grieving, y/n, and that’s okay, it’s perfectly okay, happy or sad, stressed or angry, we have your back no matter what. We love you, sweetheart, let us be there for you,” he said gently as he rubbed a hand up and down both yours and Minho’s back. You sniffed looking up at Chris.

“You’re always there for me,” you said with so much gratitude in your voice. You looked back at the clock before looking at the boys. 

“Can I go out there and tell them what happened? So they don’t have to worry?” you ask hesitantly. They both nodded, even though they knew you weren’t okay, you were at least okay physically… sort of. The younger ones were going to worry regardless, but maybe they would feel a little better seeing you. The two let them know you don’t have to feel obligated to, and that you could just get under the covers, but you wanted to see the kids. They helped you up and guided you into the living room where four of the guys were. Two were missing. 

“Binnie Hyung is with Jeongin right now,” Han whispered. Your heart broke even more if that was even possible. You nodded as you sat down on the couch. After a few seconds of silence, you spoke up. 

“Are you guys okay?” you ask, cringing at how much your throat was hurting. You heard sniffling immediately after you started talking. You looked over at the source of the sniffles and then immediately looked down again. Felix’s face was red with dried-up tear tracks that trailed over his freckles.

“Y/n, shouldn’t we be asking you that?” Han asked, voice laced with sadness. He was wondering how even with everything that just happened, you continue to put their well-being over your own. Now you were questioning if you wanted to tell them the news, seeing how they reacted to you having a panic attack. Anxiety filled your chest before Changbin squatted in front of you and pulled you into a hug. When did he come back out? 

“Breathe for us y/n, breathe,” he shushed you gently as he rubbed your back. Seungmin came up next to Changbin to hug you as well. You took a deep breath. 

“Peyton found a note,” you said as Seungmin’s breath hitched, his arms wrapping tighter around you. 

“Oh y/n…” Changbin mumbled as he rested his head against yours. As the tears streamed down Seungmin's face, you started rubbing his back in circular motions hoping to provide some comfort. You tried to compose yourself so that you wouldn't break down again, and everyone could see that. While you were in Seungmin’s embrace, Changbin carefully pulled back and gently took your face into his hands.

“Hey…you know you don’t always have to be so strong,” he said reassuringly. Hyunjin still had Felix in his arms while you looked back at him. He got up from the opposite side of the couch, knelt in front of you and tenderly held your face, wiping away the tears under your eyes with his thumb. Seungmin and Changbin got up so you could wrap your arms around Hyunjin's neck. Hyunjin kissed your cheek, and rocked you in his embrace. Felix got up soon after and came to kneel behind him, grabbing onto the side of your shirt. You reached behind Hyunjin to stroke Felix's hair; he looked just as devastated as everyone else.

“You’re allowed to lean on us y/n, you don’t have to go through this alone,” he whimpered as he wiped away your tears. You loved your boys so much, and they loved you more than anything. You pulled Felix’s head in to kiss him on the forehead. The three of you held onto each other until Changbin spoke up. 

“You’ve had a long day, let's call it a night, yeah?” he asked gently as he patted your back. You nodded while still in Hyunjin’s hold, and the two didn’t let go until you did. Changbin wrapped an arm around your waist and walked you to your room. Everyone else scooted impossibly closer together and did a brief wellness check on each other. Back in your room, Changbin grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that you stole from Han and handed them to you with the kindest smile. You silently thanked him as you went into your bathroom to change. After you came out, Changbin smiled at you. 

“How many of our clothing items are in your closet?” he joked. You shrugged with a chuckle, and even if it was small, he would take that over anything.

“Not too many, I’m usually fighting with the kids over Chris and Minho’s clothes,” you giggle. Changbin smiles even bigger and pulls you into a hug. You hold him tight and let out a deep sigh. 

“Do you think he’s still awake?” You ask Changbin as you pull away from the hug.

“He might be; he was hoping to see you,�� Changbin said. You nodded looking into the hallway. Changbin squeezed your hand one more time before you walked out. Back in the living room, Chris suggested everyone get some sleep. Han roomed with Jeongin but he decided to go bunk with Seungmin. Once all of the younger ones were out of the living room, it was just Chris and Minho. Minho was about to walk out of the room before he felt a hand circle around his wrist. He looked back at Chris questionably.

“Hyung?” He asked. Chris looked at him with sympathetic eyes. 

“How are you doing?” He asked gently. Minho shook his head.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re asking, Hyung,” he said quietly, looking down at their hands. He did, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I know that was a lot,” he said as Minho looked away, pretending like he didn't feel stinging behind his eyes. He let out a shaky sigh. Chris’s eyes softened even more. 

"Min, if you need to cry, it's okay," Chris said, as he rubbed his thumb over Minho's wrist. Minho had always been the strong one for his brothers, but even he had a breaking point. His lip quivered when he made eye contact with Chris. The older of the two gently tugged on Minho's wrist, pulling him into his arms. Minho closed his eyes and let the tears flow. Chris rubbed his back as Minho silently cried.

“You did well Minho, you did so well,” he praised as Minho sniffled. He drew circles on Minho’s back, bringing up his other hand to leave gentle touches on his nape. 

“I’ve n-never seen her like t-that,” Minho stuttered thickly. 

“Neither have I,” he whispered. “But she’ll be okay,” he said. “She’s going to be okay,”. He wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, but they both needed to hear it. After some time, Minho and Chris parted and wiped their eyes. 

“Are you ready for bed?” He asked kindly. Minho nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. As Chris was about to head to his room, Minho grabbed his hand. Chris stopped and looked back at Minho. The younger one didn't say anything, but Chris knew what he was going to ask. He gave Minho a warm smile and squeezed his hand, pulling him to their shared bedroom. Once they were under the covers, Chris held Minho in his arms, and the second youngest buried his face into Chris's neck. Chris ran his fingers through Minho's hair and over his neck, while Minho rubbed his hand up and down Chris's arms. They lay in silence for a while until Minho finally spoke up.

“Do you think y/n will want to go back to America?” He asked hesitantly. They knew that your internship was highly competitive and that you wanted to stay in Seoul, regardless of whether you got selected for it or not. However, considering the recent events, Minho had been wondering for a while if you would get homesick and want to go back to stay with Peyton. Chris took a moment to ponder upon it.

“Gosh Minho….I’m not sure. I want her to stay here but if she wants to go back, that’s her decision, you know?” he answered. If he was being selfish, he wanted you to stay, they all did, but they respected your wishes if you chose to go back to Seattle. The idea of not seeing you every other day if not every day made his heart ache. Minho nodded. 

"I know... I just... I don't know... I want her to know she's her own person and is allowed to make her own decisions, but... the thought of her not living here anymore..." Minho couldn't finish his sentence. He pushed himself closer into Chris's hold.

"I know, agi, I know," Chris whispered as he pulled Minho even closer and stroked his hair when he felt wetness on his shoulder. The two lay there in each other's embrace, and by the grace of whatever higher power was up there, they fell asleep. As you walked down the hall, you ran into Han who was stepping out of the bathroom. He noticed the sweatshirt you were wearing and smirked.

“I was wondering where that was,” he said cheekily. His eyes were a tiny bit moist. Your heart hurt and he sensed that.

“If you need anything at all, we’re always here for you y/n, I hope you know that,” he said before pulling you into a tight hug. You let out a deep breath and nodded. 

“I do, thank you, Hannie. Same goes for you, yeah?” you said. He chuckled. Their health was always your priority, they wished you could take care of yourself the way you took care of them. He squeezed your hand before retreating to Seungmin’s room. You took a deep breath and knocked on Jeongin’s door, waiting patiently for a response.

“Come in,” he quietly called out. You opened the door slowly. Jeongin gave you a sad smile.

“Hi,” he said quietly. He was wrapped up snuggly in a bunch of blankets; you remembered Changbin tucked him in. 

“Hi,” you whispered. Jeongin sat up in bed once you closed the door.

“Are you okay?…” you asked. You knew it was a ridiculous question given you could see he clearly wasn’t okay but you still wanted to ask. Jeongin nodded slowly as you saw tears fill his eyes.

“Please don’t cry, sweet boy,” you whispered. Jeongin’s lip wobbled. Turned out he heard your conversation with Chris and Minho before everyone went into the living room.

“I just don’t- I…I can’t, I can't even fathom going through what you're going through right now,” he whimpered. You quickly sit down and pull him into your arms, and even though he is taller than you, he feels so small in your hold.

“I’m so sorry y/n” he choked out. You rested your head on his temple, shushing him gently. Jeongin’s tears were immediately soaking into your shirt.

“I can’t lose you, I-I can’t lose any of you” he cried out, fear evident in his voice. You cradled his head as he let out one of his worst fears.

“Shhh shhh shhh shhh…you boys mean so much to me, more than you will ever know,” you said, kissing his head and rocking him gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out, I am so sorry.” He shook his head. 

“I’m not m-mad I n-never could be. I-I understand. Just- you can always talk to us y-you know?” he said whimpering. 

“I do know that bug and I love you all so much,” you said sincerely as you pet his hair. 

“We love you too,” he whispered, hugging you impossibly tighter. Before you could respond, there was a small knock at the door. The door creaked open slightly and there stood a Felix, looking at the two figures huddled in the dim lighting.

“Are you two okay?” He asks, voice a little raspy. You look up at the angel and gave him a small grin.

“I think we will be, thank you Lixie,” you say stroking Jeongin’s head. Felix nodded and whispered “love you” before closing the door. You both stayed cuddled in each other's embrace, trying to provide comfort to each other, both absolutely exhausted from earlier. Eventually, you got under the covers and held each other tightly. Jeongin rested his head on your shoulder, and you were soothed by the sound of his even breaths. Finally, you both drifted off to sleep.

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

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow

[atuats-sidechick]

Helloo ask game time 🦢🐯

5. TV show of the year?

14.Favorite book you read this year?

20.What’s something you learned this year?

23.If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year, what would it be?

25.Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

I know that you did but still asking this ifffff you perhaps feel like talking about one of them?👀

Yaaaay! Thank you for the ask <3

5. So, I said "Hollywood" in the other ask, but "Night Country" also deserves to be mentioned. It's super tense, it has terrible womenTM, it's open eneded, and most important of all: *it's so fucking gay!* Again, this one has some very serious themes, but isn't didactic. And, again, TW for SA! And body horror!

14. "Wicked", for sure! I LOVE Maguire's descriptions. His writing is so vivid! And I love how sort of chaotic the book is, how the book tells the story of Elphaba's life from birth to death, but the narrative doesn't give her life a great purpose, she's not a chosen one, there's no hero's journey, etc

20. On a personal level, that I actually love exercising if the *vibes* are chill and non-judgemental LOL

On a fun fact level, that you can by seeds of a lot of highly toxic plants off amazon 🤫

23. "The prozac is finally gonna *truly* kick in this year! You're about to have the calmest, happiest, year of your life so far, babe, enjoy!"

25. Oh gosh gwkwbqkwgskqh it was a year of many ocs! But, ok, I know I've told you about her already, but the other characters are even less clear in my mind, so...

Eliza is a middle aged, unremarkable politian who leans center-right. She'd love to get a chance to run for mayor, but to do that, she needs to win the intra-party election, and she's leaning farther right to get support within the party. She's also no stranger to some purple and pinkwashing 😬 oh, yeah, she's bi! And besides that, she's a perfectionist and a control freak. I love her. But I do need to give her more positive traits, cause so far she's running on sass, good looks, and some of my favorite tropes, so... not a well rounded character yet!

I also need to work on her professional background, career, etc. But, let's see... she's upper middle-class, was raised catholic and raised her kids more or less catholic (private schools etc), though she's non-practicing... hmnn she doesn't really like dogs and that's important for the story? LOL

Awwww cute sculptures!!!

Have a pygmy hippo! <3

[vernys-atelier]

Profile : Vernard Mürrisch (?)

Image :

Occupation : prince, contributor

Crest : White Lynx

Love interests : can be paired with Emma or any other (female) OC or non-OC

Likes : Arts, books, painting, Contribute to help in any way regarding Rhodolite and the Domestic and Political Factions.

Dislikes : Alcohol, sugary foods, having a close brothers publicly insulted because he becomes hostile then.

Incest TW

Vernard is described as an eccentric, and sometimes unpredictable person. His most famous self-description is that he is the guardian and responsible for his wards. He was born from an incestuous relationship between his mother, who was said to be a prostitute, and the former king... and he was forced to bear the responsibility for what they did, especially since his mother died shortly after giving birth to him due to complications from premature birth and the effects of her previous failed suicide attempt.

[two-white-butterflies]

WAITING FOR A BUS

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Daemon Targaryen x Reader (MODERN)

Description: A new promotion at work prompts you to move into a small modest town with your boyfriend, Aemond Targaryen. There you meet a few friendly faces. It seems like life is going where it's supposed to. That is until you meet your new boss, Daemon Targaryen, who is your boyfriend's estranged uncle.

It doesn't help with the fact that you've been having dreams about him since birth.

TW: MENTIONS OF NON-CON.

masterlist | chapter nineteen

When the first rays of sunlight made its way inside of the room – you were the first to wake up. His hands were wrapped around you, like a vice-like grip that wouldn't let you go. Someone was ringing the doorbell furiously – and to your surprise, Daemon was sleeping soundly beside you. You moved your body slowly, trying not to awaken him.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled, hugging you tighter.

"There's someone at the door." you inform and his hands lazily reached for the phone on the bedside table. He browsed through his apps – looking for the one that could access his security cameras. "Aren't you going to get it?" you asked with a crunched eyebrow.

He lets out an angry exhale, seeing Aemond's unmoving body that was continuing to ring his doorbell. "My day is ruined," he said to himself while opening the drawer to reach for his gun. "Hey!" you reprimanded him, pulling his arm away from the table.

"I'm gonna kill that bastard," he stated as his face turned crimson red. He has punched his nephew before, it wasn't very hard to knock him down. "You're not killing anyone." you replied, and he turns his phone off. He takes a second to regain his thoughts.

There was no doubt that he was angry. There was too much blood pumping down his veins that he'd almost have a stroke. Aemond killed him – he could forgive that, but hurting and maiming you? That was something no amount of begging could forgive.

"I'm trying to calm down, but I'm getting angrier." he whispered while staring at your eyes – hoping that it would make his anger disappear. The doorbell was still ringing in the background, almost deafening you if it weren't for him silencing it.

"I'm angry too – I feel betrayed, Dae, but killing him isn't going to help us. The police won't believe us." you answer while standing up and peeking through the french-windows. "We're better than him." you turned your head to give him a glance.

He clenches his fists. His nephew was adamant in staying. He was still ringing the doorbell – but the sound was faint due to his tampering. "I can bury him in the garden, there's a hectare of land behind me, the police won't even know where to look." he suggested.

You give him a soft glare, eyes reminding him that the last time he defied your wishes – it cost him, his life. You looked back at the window, continuing to stare at Aemond whose ringing became more aggressive by the second.

You walk back to the bed, reaching for your phone.

PUMPKINPIE 🎃 1:39AM Where are you? I need you? 🥺

PUMPKINPIE🎃 2:00AM I'm sorry, can we talk this out? Please go home.

PUMPKINPIE 3:31AM Where the fuck are you????? YOU THINK YOU'RE SLICK???

PUMPKINPIE 3:40AM WHEN I FIND YOU I SWEAR TO GOD!

You drag his contact number slowly to the block-list, and Daemon leaps out of the bed to take your phone. "What's he saying?" he asked while using your thumb to unlock the phone. "His normal lines." you replied while sitting on the bed.

"My strong girl," he whispered while scrolling through your conversations. "You dealt with this?" he questioned and you nodded your head – unable to defend yourself in Aemond's abuse. Daemon opens his arms to welcome you into a warm embrace.

Aemond stopped ringing the doorbell after a couple hours. But Daemon still has a recording of him vowing to return.

He opens his phone, staring at you from across the bedroom – you were laying on the bed, and he was sat on the Ottoman. He figured that you would be tired after all the happenings last night, thus, he was the one to inform Corlys that you were taking a sick leave today.

He browses through his contact list. Some of them ranging from family members to esteemed members of society. His finger stops scrolling once he sees 'Olenna Tyrell's name on the dash. The woman was his colleague and equal – despite the age gap between them. She was the Head of the Police Department, his superior and mentor, who he used to work with in Iraq. She was amazing. The first female head in all records. If he wanted to get anything done – then she'd do it for him, all in the name of friendship.

"Why are you calling?" was the first thing she asked after picking up the phone. Daemon chuckles for a second, eyes flickering between you and his laptop that held all the evidences against his nephew. "You're still in Dragonview? I need you to check something." he stated while licking his lips in anticipation.

"I'm here for my grandkids, don't get smart with me." the woman replied in a bitter tone – but he knew that she used that tone when she was intrigued. "You can make time for your favorite pupil?" he charmed, almost feeling the woman roll her eyes from the other side of the screen. "I need you to look into someone," he began.

Olenna scoffs, mumbling something about 'abuse' and 'revenge'.

"I'm not allowing you to use my connections to mess with someone, boy." the woman narrowed her eyes, he could hear her stir some tea. "I'm not messing with them, ma'am. I'm providing justice for someone that I love." he answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

The woman laughed.

"Who is it, you wanna find?" she asked, tilting her head slightly while opening her Hewlett Packard PC – it was ancient but it was the only PC inside her house. "Aemond Targaryen." he mumbled softly, trying not to wake you with the sound of that cunt's voice. "Your nephew? You're in luck because of this – I'm sending you the information right away. Meet me tomorrow at six, bring that girl too." she smiled, as she was a fan of drama.

The Targaryens were the picture-perfect family of Dragonview. There wasn't a single scandal inside their circle – except for Viserys marrying his cousin, and only a few months after her death – he married a young wife right away. That was the only flaw about them, but other than that – they were perfect. Like gods.

You and Daemon walked inside the coffee shop, hand-in-hand. It was a small shop, near the borders of the city. You could see the United States which was a few dozen meters away, but you could also see nobody inside the cafe. "Are we sure that we're in the right place?" you asked and your – lover, nodded his head.

"It's an underground cafe, actually I think it's a beard for money laundering. You never truly know with the kind of things Olenna owns." he shrug while finding a chair for the both of you. The ambiance of the place was beautiful. There wasn't a barista or a cashier, but the smell of coffee grounds flooded your senses.

"It's a nice place, huh?" he smiled while a man suddenly appears with coffee for the both of you. "Thank you," you mumbled while accepting the drink. Daemon ushers for the server to move closer, "Where is Olenna?" he asked, like a man demanding for his share of work. The man named Loras smiles, his dimpled cheeks were in view. "She's in the back, Uncle Daemon." he replied.

Loras walked away, promising to call his grandmother.

"He's a nice boy." you mumble while taking another sip of the coffee. "He's the same age as Jace. Kids nowadays are innovative, they're always working – I can't say the same thing about me at that age though." he joked, earning a laugh from you.

"My lazy boy," you cooed and a woman enters the room from the curtain inside the kitchen. Daemon stands up, like he was giving her respect – you stand up too, feeling her aura. She was one of those people that you'd know was there when if your back was turned.

"Daemon, you look very dull." the woman says bitterly while pulling a chair to sit in between you. Olenna turns her attention towards you, staring at you deeply – trying to look for something behind your eyes. "You're a pretty girl," she stated while sitting down, prompting for the both of you to sit down too.

"Thank you," you mumbled while playing with the ring on your finger. She brings out a folder inside her suitcase. 'Aemond Targaryen' the file read out and your lover opened it as fast as he could.

"You had him checked?" you asked, and he nodded his head proudly. "You didn't?" he asked while narrowing his eyes. You were silent for a second, staring intently at him – there was silence, and then both of your lips cracked into a smile.

NAME: AEMOND TARGARYEN AGE: 27. GENDER: MALE

Daemon continued to read his file, the older woman opens her mouth to speak. "He killed someone." she said plainly, like it was a casual thing to do. Your eyebrows merged into each other in shock.

"He was twenty-one, and the girl was nineteen. The judge ruled that he wasn't guilty, but I have doubts about that – this is a small town. The judge was your brother's friend." Olenna pointed at the incident report. Daemon found the name familiar – the judge was their childhood friend. "I'm surprised that you didn't know." Olenna added.

"I was in Las Vegas at this time. I was watching a pageant. South Africa won by the way – now I know why they were all sullen when I returned home." he closed the folder, exchanging another glance with you. "Did you know?" he questioned and you shook your head.

"No."

"Where did you meet him?"

"A train in Canada – then we hitchhiked to the US." you explained, and he sighed. The dots were connecting with each other.

"If I see the timeline correctly. He fled Dragonview and saw you." he began while returning the folder back to Olenna. "Fucking coincidence." he mumbled while lowering his head on the table.

next chapter>>

taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @namelesslosers @immyowndefender @ammo2022 @perihelioneclipse @gracielikegrapes @joliettes

WE ARE NEARING THE END GUYS!!

[baravaggio]

ive never heard of birth orgasm

yeah one of my earliest tv viewing memories is of watching the show a baby story on TLC and seeing a woman orgasm during a water birth lol...I doubt it's anywhere near as common for hospital births because it's such a clinical non-sensual environment, but I could totally see it happening if you're relatively relaxed, at home with loved ones, getting a little massage, have the right anatomical situation, etc. this site has some really interesting quotes from people who experienced it (obvious tw for graphic descriptions of birth if you're squeamish about that kind of thing)

[belamcandas]

is that AVAN JOGIA? oh, no, that’s HARIJ ‘HARI’ VASAV, a THIRTY-TWO year old ER NURSE PRACTITIONER AT VALPARAISO CENTRO MEDICO who uses HE/THEYpronouns. they currently live in VALPARAISO, and the character they identify with most is CRISTINA YANG FROM GREYS ANATOMY . hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas! 

NAME — harij vasav  NICKNAME(S) — hari NAME MEANING — harij: the horizon. hari: lion, one who forgives all sins. vasav: lord indra AGE — thirty-two DATE OF BIRTH — october 25th STAR SIGNS — scorpio sun, virgo moon, scorpio rising PLACE OF BIRTH — boston, massachusetts SEXUAL ORIENTATION — queer RELIGION — agnostic, it's complicated SPOKEN LANGUAGE(S) — english, gujarati, spanish OCCUPATION — er nurse practitioner at valparaiso centro medico RESIDENCE — valparaiso FAMILY — munjal vasav ( father ), roslyn vasav ( mother ), hayva vasav ( sister )

tw: mentions of alzheimers, passing of a parent ( non descriptive for both subjects )

when your dad is a world renowned neurosurgeon it’s a hard pedestal to fall from, especially if you feel like you haven’t even begun to measure up. it’s even harder when that same father slowly starts to lose his memory. 

hari grew up as a shadow, at least, that’s what his dad called him when he would go to work with his father because him and his mother were fighting again and they couldn’t find child care. it seemed insane that a couple years later they would inevitably get back together again and have another child. then, his father would have two shadows. 

hayva would be the golden child, the one that would step up to the plate and do everything that his father had always wanted for hari, and hari wanted to make the same kind of difference – it’s just not in the way that their dad wanted. 

whenever they visited their mother on weekends she would look at her son, rest a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it as if she was saying that she understand what it meant to come second or third in his father’s life. 

but hari would always be his shadow, he was interested in the brain, but wanted to be at the heart of the action. 

when his dad is diagnosed with early on set alzheimer's their world shifts, hayva goes into overdrive into finding a cure, hari thinks that havya is a little naive to believe that they’ll be able to find one in such a short amount of time. it’s a slow process, and hari doesn’t want to just stand by and watch. 

they were a gifted student, but their extracurriculars lied behind a camera, growing up with other hospital kids gave them an abundance of free time and they would make movies, their playground was white walls and sterile environments but they made it into a kingdom. 

between weekends at moms, week days with his dad, he had his camera, but he stuck to his studies. he never knew what he wanted to do, and never felt like they quite fit in with their peers because they never had much time to get to know them. 

their dad used to say he was in his glory days before the disease finally took him out, their dad wrote books, did research, gave talks and began to prep hayva to take his place when she was old enough. 

hari loved their sister, but they loved their peace of mind more. 

it didn’t quite hit until their first year of college, that first taste of freedom when they were still deciding on what to major in. there was a college party, no one could really remember what really happened, too much drinking, too many kids who made stupid decisions, but hari had stepped in, with his calm demeanor and steady presence, he took control of the situation, saved a life. 

emergency medicine was what he was passionate about. they decided to become a nurse, and then eventually, an emergency nurse practitioner. 

his dad said that he was proud of him, but sometimes he wished that he would take his place, hari had said, why have me when you have hayva?

it would be years little communication, his dad’s disease worsening, and then, eventually a funeral. 

then there was a will, entitled to harij vasav, his dad had a little place in valparaiso and it was up to hari what they wanted to do with it. 

they’ve been trying to clean up the place, while living in it, with intentions to settle up. but they keep finding things in the house that belonged to their father throughout the years that makes it hard for them to let go. 

news articles of their fathers works, while harij’s school campus articles of the student film project they did when they were a sophomore, on top of him making the dean’s list, and when he got accepted at his first job, and how yes he might have been the munjal vasav’s child, harij was a good er nurse practitioner carving their own way in life without their father’s fame. 

maybe they’ll sell the house, but right now they’re finding that hard to do. 

headcanons & fun facts: 

kind of shy at first but once you get to know him a total goofball 

copes by playing video games 

has a letterbox account that they run like the navy 

actually a good little ‘filmmaker’ it was his passion all throughout his life but never got around to living it #sad but oh well !! 

a fan of so many muses in valpo like how come theres so many celebs and musicians living here this is crazy 

renting out a room so if anyone would like that connection im so down 

very good at their job !!!! like online they sound like an idiot but trust they know what theyre talking about when it comes to work matters !!!!! 

lowkey a pothead when they were not working but like thats fine theyre allowed 

also an avid vaper with esme and dante i fear :///// 

not close with their sister unfortch but she is a badass and is still currently in school etc to take up their fathers position 

mama’s boy !!! they talk all the time they’ve gotten very close over the years which is good but also sad bc theyve both felt that neglect ( even if it wasn’t purposeful on their dad’s end ) 

idk they’re an idiot to all relationships i fear

they wanna be loved so bad, and just like Seen

has a bearded dragon its their bestie frfr

[battleangel]

Why I am Antinatalist

TW: mentions & descriptions of r*pe.

Absolutely fucking sickening.

Dude, its motherfucking December.

Its practically freezing temperatures outside, in the 30s.

So, tell me why the fucking humidity is 80%+?

I am 42 and I have never seen humidity levels this high during winter.

Whats the cause?

Climate change endlessly driven by capitalist excess, human greed, zero sum late stage capitalism, consumerism, overconsumption, materialism, corporatism, lobbying and profiteering.

Basically, humanity.

Humanity caused climate change.

Therefore, end humanity.

Its not complicated.

Neither is antinatalism, which is the belief that is morally unjust to create a life.

Why?

The better question is, why is society so endlessly pronatalist?

Why is pronatalism the default stance?

Why?

Because people cant get over their disgusting self-serving obsessive egotistical need to have little mini-mes running around as extensions of their pathetic self-aggrandizing selves and their disgusting myopic need to continue their respective bloodlines, add to their lineages, create their own family trees and create and propagate endless children, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren and so on because individually if you (universal) have 1 to 2+ kid(s) and those kid(s) go on to have their own kid(s) -- when does it stop?

When does it ever stop?

How many ecocidal, environmentally destroying, climate change causing and contributing, landfill filling, ozone depleting, overconsuming, plastic using, oil guzzling, carbon footprint having, non biodegradable using, GMO consuming, pollutant causing, fast fashion shopping, Amazon Prime Delivery in 1 Day demanding, 1400 pounds of trash a year generating, thousands of gallons of water wasted a year just showering, electricity consuming, excessive indoor temperature control (AC/heat) energy vampire little cunts do you need to personally shit out to feel "complete" and "fulfilled"?

Pronatalism is a motherfucking joke but is the literal default in virtually all human societies.

Humanity is nothing but a self-replicating virus that has caused immeasurable harm to the planet and inexplicably to itself as a species yet still it continues to endlessly self-replicate as mindlessly as the Borg on Star Trek.

Never an independent rational emotionally detached logical reasoned out devoid of societal pressures, rewards and punishments thought, just wombs to be endlessly assimilated by the Pronatalist Borg Masculine Patriarchal Seed Collective.

How many little shits will you generate even from having "just 1 kid" because then how many kid(s) does that "only 1 kid" go on to have?

Just dont have them.

Stop your own personal lineage with yourself.

Stop adding to the human experiment.

It has failed.

Why?

I would think it would be obvious but here we are at this late stage in the game in 2023 with people allowing themselves to become impregnanted and I am endelssly pressured as a woman to immediately say, "Congratulations!"

Congratulations for fucking what?

The human experiment has failed for endless reasons:

Genocides. War crimes. Ethnic cleansings. Chemical warfare. Mass graves. Mass incarceration. Public executions. Lynchings.

Terrorism. Carpet bombings. Civilian slaughter. Bombing schools. Bombing hospitals. Hostage taking. Hostage execution.

Human experimentation. Tuskegee Airmen. Forced sterilizations (Puerto Rican women by the US government).

MK Ultra. Big agriculture. Big pharma. Military industrial complex.

Raytheon, Northrop Grumman & Lockheed Martin company stocks exponentially increasing 300%+ since 20k+ Palestinian civilians have been murdered over the past 2 months.

Endless wars. Endless profiteering. Duopoly. False agendas. Propaganda. Misinformation campaigns.

Burning innocent witches at the stake.

Forced births.

Crack epidemic in the 80s caused by Reagan flooding the Black inner cities with crack cocaine.

Endless exploitation.

Hundreds of millions killed by the death cult known as capitalism via houselessness, poverty, hunger, famine, lack of universal health care and affordable medical insurance, violence stemming from capitalist patriarchal systems held and endlessly reinforced by militarism, police states, toxic masculinity, sexual violence, misogyny, oppression of females and femmes, transphobia and homophobia, policing of women and femmes behavior, dress, mannerisms, sexuality, career choices, life decisions (marriage, motherhood) and personality and a constant demand for women and femmes to be polite, "nice", agreeable, inoffensive, pliant, and especially likeable at all times even and especially when we are being mentally/physically/emotionally/sexually/spiritually/financially abused, manipulated, gaslit, harrassed, assaulted, attacked, controlled, coerced, raped, beaten, isolated, ostracized, humiliated, silenced, repressed, suppressed, oppressed, intimidated, stalked, threatened and even killed.

As a woman and a femme, you are endlessly groomed, societally conditioned, raised, brainwashed and endlessly pressured and rewarded for constantly apologizing, shrinking yourself, making everyone else feel comfortable at the expense of yourself, endlessly justifying yourself, endlessly having to explain yourself and defend yourself, never being confident as it will be misconstrued as cocky, never being assertive because it will be misconstrued as aggressive, never speaking up for yourself because you will wrongly be called a bitch, never taking charge as you will be hated, never being logical by detaching your emotions as you will be accused of being cold and heartless, never deciding your actions and behavior through reasoning and logical deduction as you will be endlessly pilloried for not thinking with your heart instead of your head, endless pressure at all times to perform emotion and to "wear your heart on your sleeve", constant demands at a societal macro level to perform feminity, maternal care and emotional labor at work meetings & functions, holiday parties/dinners/events, performing emotional labor in all situations and environments regardless of personality (having to attend baby showers at work even if you are an antinatalist and/or childfree woman, having to excessively emote if there is a personal tragedy reported at work with no corresponding requirement for male employees -- miscarriage, hospitalization, accident, death, firing, layoff, etc.).

Rapes, sexual trafficking, sexual slavery, slavery, child sex trafficking, child molestation, child abuse, pedophilia, murders, tortures.

Pharmaceutical industrial complex, pathologizing of normal behavior by the psychiatric industrial complex, overmedicalization, misdiagnoses, overprescribing prescription medication, excessive nonsensical harmful medical interventions, extending life beyond all sense and reason to the point where the interventions are needlessly painful, harmful and completely unnecessary versus accepting death as not just a part of life but a beautiful transformation that should be embraced and not feared, contrived forced and constantly pushed and reinforced fear of death, sexual repression.

Women getting a scarlet letter for being a slut, whore, hoe; men getting an "attaboy" for being a player, stud, ladies man for the exact same sexually promiscuous behavior.

Tyranny of motherhood and demands for women to do constant endless unpaid domestic and emotional labor for their children for absolutely zero compensation and very little social reward beyond perfunctory lip service once a year on Mothers Day.

Endless materialism, endless consumption, endless consumerism, capitalist excess, corporatism, lobbying, fake news, us vs them, tribalism, political prisoners.

Child soldiers, child brides.

Famine, poverty, houselessness, lack of clean water, gun crime, gun deaths, drivebys, AK-47s, machine guns, serial killers, serial rapists, Columbines, Sandy Hooks.

False flag events, paid actors, green screens, sound stages, scripted events, rigged elections, Mandela effects, strangers in Moscow.

Gang violence, frat hazings, initiations, kidnappings, abductions.

Religious cults, priests raping altar boys, Eagle Scouts raping Cub Scouts, ISIS, Al Qaeda, Hamas, IDF, US military.

Elementary schools, churches and theaters being shot up.

Police brutality, Ahmed Arbery, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Say Her Name, Hands Up Dont Shoot, Sandra Bland, Trayvon Martin, Its just a bag of Skittles officer.

13 year old boy shot dead, not by the police, but by a Stand Your Ground civilian.

Dont Tread On Me Zionist Proud Boy.

Islamophobia, racism, white supremacy, racially motivated killings, hate crimes.

Donald J. Trump and Elon Musk.

Jeff Bezos and Tim Cook.

Mark Zuckerberg and Peter Thiel.

Roger Goodell and Vince McMahon.

She was asking for it, what was she wearing, was she drinking, why was she out so late, she went upstairs with him what did she expect.

Theres no such thing as marital rape, feminazis invented that term in the 90s.

I dont care if you have a headache.

I dont care if you dont like anal, flip over and stop complaining.

Its not my fault that youre bleeding.

Then stop tensing up and it wont hurt so much.

I bought you the anal numbing cream and youre still complaining? Its lidocaine. Shut up.

I want anal every week so were having it.

I hit you open handed no bruising. Stop complaining.

I want to cum on your face. Theres nothing wrong with facials. Stop complaining. Leave your glasses on. Now take them off. Open your eyes. Keep them open.

Im into golden showers. Stop complaining.

Im into scat. Stop complaining.

Im into spanking. I didnt hit you that hard. Stop complaining.

Im into choking during sex. Its okay to not be able to breathe. Its only for a few seconds. Stop complaining.

I like biting your nipples. Its supposed to hurt. Stop complaining.

I like slapping your cunt. Stop complaining.

I like spitting in your mouth. Stop complaining.

I like roleplaying. Youre going to be 8 years old. Im going to be your uncle. Yes, during sex. Its just a roleplay. Stop complaining.

When can I put one of our videos on stileproject? You'd be good in porn. Why cant I upload them? Why do you say no to everything?

Okay, put your forearms on the floor and your legs on the coach on either side of my waist. No, were going to have anal this way. Im tired of doggy and Im tired of you riding me and Im tired of missionary. Were going to have anal in different positions. Youre tiny and flexible. Do it. Stop complaining.

Then stop gagging and stop throwing up. Theres no reason why you shouldnt be able to deepthroat me. Then work on your gag reflex. Stop complaining.

Get in the bathroom stall. Now. We'll be done in time for the start of Revenge of the Sith. Face away from me. The wall. Stop complaining. Pull your shorts down. Hurry up. No, in the butt. I dont want to wait to get to my house. Hurry up so you can still get your popcorn shrimp. Stay still. Stop moving so I can get it in. Be quiet. Youre not bleeding that much. Stop complaining.

Take your jeans off now. Do it. Im not in the mood for your little girl shit. Take them off. Stop crying. Both pant legs. Now. Hurry up so I can take you home to your fucking father. Stop crying! Be quiet. Hurry up. Its the least you can do after you danced all night at your cousins party.

Dont lie to me. Youve had sex since the restraining order. Shut up. Dont tell me what to do. Nothing hurts. I dont believe you. Hm. It is tight. Youre not hurt. Shut up. Be quiet, let me do this. Stop moving around and stay on top of me. Stay still. Stop shaking. Youre not bruised and youre not swollen. Stop talking. I still dont believe you havent had sex since we stopped dating. Dont talk to me. Leave me alone.

Dark side of private life.

Abusive spouses, murderous spouses.

Respected couple, matriarch and patriach, pillars of the church and community, married for almost 50 years.

Golden anniversary, golden showers.

Dark secrets, dark pasts, hidden criminal pasts, hidden felonies, hidden convictions, hidden prison sentences, lies to daughters, lies to mothers, lies to wives, repressed background check reports.

Might makes right, force, violence, imposing physical will, domination, vanquishing, crushing, destroying.

Humanity has had hundreds of thousands of years to fix these issues.

But we havent.

Were still -- as a species -- murdering, killing, raping, shooting, stabbing, enslaving, ethnic cleansing, erasing, occupying, colonizing, settling, imprisoning, making thousands of animal species extinct, filling thousands of landfills, destroying thousands of acres of rainforests, destroying ecosystems, overfishing, overextracting earths resources, killing indigenous people for diamonds, emeralds, ore, minerals, etc., pillaging, causing climate change, unsustainably raising the planets temperatures, causing wars and genocides, profiting off of and creating jobs for the manufacture and sale of weapons and bombs used to kill civilians mothers daughters grandmothers babies toddlers children teens students hospital patients fathers sons grandfathers teachers doctors nurses volunteers protestors intellectuals conscientious objectors love warriors revolutionaries prophets, AI cloning metaverse social media messaging apps streaming shows endless scroll always on never off, non stop notifications Slack Teams Google Meet Citrix Trello Asana Outlook Gmail corporate slave golden handcuffs modern day plantation.

The solution to all of the above unimaginable suffering is human extinction.

The solution is stop reproducing.

Stop procreating.

Stop pronatalism.

Stop humanity.

Reject societys non-stop endless brainwashing, programming, conditioning, grooming, messaging, demands, pressures and coercion to be pronatalist and reproduce endless bodies for the capitalist Borg machine.

Stop producing workers for them!

Rockefeller invented modern day public education and school systems because he wanted a "docile and obedient" workforce.

Thats all K-12 is because its all it was designed to be -- a feeder system for corporate, nothing more nothing less.

K-12 -- and college -- works exactly the way its designed to.

It breeds endless acquiescence to authoritatian figures.

Coaches, band leaders, music conductors, dance instructors, choir leaders, school counselors, school nurses, teachers, disciplinarians, principal as God figurehead.

Organized religion is the exact same -- endless acquiescence to authoritarian figures (priests, bishops, nuns, ministers, pastors, imams, Catholic pope as ultimate authority and God figurehead).

Corporate is the exact same (supervisor, +1, VP, Officer, CEO as ultimate authority and God figurehead).

Nuclear patriarchal family is the exact same (older siblings, older cousins, aunts/uncles, grandparents, mother, father as ulimate authority and God figurehead).

Government is the exact same (local representatives, mayor, governor, Congressmen/women, Senator, Speaker of the House, Supreme Court justices, President & Commander In Chief as ultimate authority and God figurehead; provinical representatives, Prime Minister, princes & princesses, dukes & duchesses, King as ultimate authorities and God figureheads; Queen is ultimate maternal archetype - "God save the Queen!").

Law enforcement is the exact same (beat and traffic cops, detectives, officers, seargants, captains, Chief of Police as precincts ultimate authority and God figurehead).

Military is the exact same (foot soldiers cannon fodder sausage for the sausage factory, squad leaders, corporals, seargents, captains, generals (1 through 5 star), Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff as ultimate authority and God figurehead).

End the karmic cycle of humanitys universal suffering.

Say no to pronatalism and no to breeding.

Say no to continuing environmental destruction, ecological destruction, ecocide, rainforest destruction, landfills, environmental waste, climate change, ozone depletion, animal species going extinct, wars, genocides, ethnic cleansing, chemical warfare, civilian slaughter, carper bombings, hostage taking, executions, tortures, lynchings, slavery, sexual slavery, sex trafficking, child trafficking, rapes, molestation, abuse, child abuse, domestic violence, murders, shootings, stabbings, drivebys, fatal hazings, kidnappings, abudctions, child soldiers, child brides, political prisoners, civil wars, tribalism, homophobia, transphobia, racism, misogyny, hate crimes, racialized violence, toxic masculinity, military industrial complex, police states, militarism, empire building, war machines, commodification, profiteering, capitalism, excess, materialism, overconsumption, consumerism, lobbying, duopoly, fake news, agendas, misinformation campaigns, forced births, misdiagnoses, overmedicalizations, pathologizing of normal behavior, CTE, concussions, head impacts, permanent brain damage, violence, misogynoir, terorrism, mass shootings, human experimentation, forced sterilizations, mass incarceration, prison industrial complex, military industrial complex, medical industrial complex, corporate plantation, man as machine, dehumanizations, beatings, objectifications, fetishizations, cheapening of human life, commodifications, globalism, slave labor, slave wages, exploitation, endless wars, death squads, rape rooms, comfort women, profiteering, religious cults, forced baptisms, family secrets, abusive family patriachs and matriarchs, capitalist death cult, dictatorships, cults of personality, strongmen, deceivers, manipulators, gaslighters, thieves in the night...

Stop contributing to the endless cycle of human suffering and do something to end it.

Dont reproduce. Dont procreate. Dont have children.

Abstain from sex and be celibate, masturbate, watch porn, read erotica. Or have sex and use birth control, pills, sponges, patches, injections, surgical implants, spermicide, condoms, tubes tied or lasered, withdrawal, Plan B and/or abortion. Or have sex other than vaginal sex (oral, anal, manual, intercrural, etc.).

Just dont add to the already failed and flailing on its ass 7 billion plus strong current human experiment.

[vstrcl]

HARU LEE / COSMIC. ASTRAL PROJECTION.

001.  GENERAL

name:  Haru Lee nicknames:  Ru ( like rue ) age: 30 date of birth:  March 4th, 1993 zodiac:  Pisces place of birth : New Haven, Connecticut current residence:  New York gender:  Cis Woman pronouns:  She/Her sexuality:  Bisexual occupation:  Ballet Teaching Assistant

faceclaim: Kang Seulgi height : 5' 3" tattoos:  None piercings:  Ears ( earlobes ) distinguishing features:  Jet black hair and sharp eyes positive traits: Diligence & affable negative traits:  Insecure & pessimistic likes:  Lo-fi & 80's synthwave music dislikes:  Bugs/insects fears:  making mistakes hobbies:  anything distracting: watching shows/movies, blasting music through her headphones at dangerous volumes habits:   listening to the sounds of rain/storms to help her sleep

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

tw: head injuries, mention of medical procedures

haru was performing in a competition in a group of four. she still can't recall how exactly it happened. she was doing a turn she had done a thousand times, and the next thing she knew she was falling off the stage. when her family and friends retell the story they all talk about the sickening sound of her head hitting the floor. how it thundered over the music still playing.

there were complications. her brain had swelled, and surgery was required. her mom was horrible at recounting the events but the gist is she was put into a medically induced coma and they weren't sure if/when she would wake up. she was in it for 9 months because her mom had refused to give up.

one of the few things she remembers were instances of sort of out-of-body experiences. she could see her hospital room where her mom would be by her bedside or a nurse would be checking on her. then those out-of-body experiences continued when she was able to return home and sleep in her own bed. but they were a little different.

it often happened while she was asleep. she had never been able to lucid dream before but after looking online that's what she chalked it up to be. though when it extended past people in her vicinity she became suspicious.

NOW, she can easily put herself into a trance when she wants to astral project.

it will still happen when she is asleep, even when she doesn't want it to. although her physical body is "resting," she will feel tired when it happens during the night.

Things she can't do yet:

project for longer than three hours before she begins feeling negative effects (fatigue, migraines, unable to focus)

project while conscious

interact with physical objects while projecting

shield/protect her body while away from it

Things she can do:

plant ideas/suggestions in others' heads while in astral form through a whisper that the other can't actually hear

interact with non-corporeal beings (in astral form)

choose whether or not she wants to be seen by others in her astral form

project anywhere of her choosing

truthfully, she doesn't think much of her power. she can't imagine herself using it for some greater good or evil. so she is just doing what she wants with it and actively trying to learn more about it/ how she can control it; to what end? she doesn't know yet.

codename COSMIC was given to her by her friend with vague descriptions about space and traveling the cosmos in her astral form with metaphors that didn't make sense. haru thought it was silly and rolled her eyes any time she was called that, but it's pretty, so it grew on her. she doesn't mind being called 'cosmic', but she prefers her real name

003.  EXTRA

Haru is a second-generation Korean-American. Her Korean is good but not enough to escape some criticism from her grandparents for not being fluent.

She moved to New York a few years ago to further her career in ballet. She has been dancing since she was five.

Haru lives alone in a one-bedroom apartment. Her parents will still help her financially even though she never really asked them to (but she's still gonna take it)

Her older sister is deceased. She died while Haru had been in a coma. They were very close.

She has not performed since the accident out of fear something bad will happen. So, she chose to help teach kids ballet instead.

Wanted connection - her bestie that gave her a codename. Gender doesn't matter. Close in age to Haru ~30-35.

[dcpamines]

[ quintessa swindell, non-binary, they/he ] - was that HUNTER KING i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-EIGHT year old who has been in nightrest for TWENTY YEARS and works as a/an PARAMEDIC has a reputation of being SHARP, but also DISTANT. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with flirting on the edge between life and death, finding comfort in chaos, not knowing who you are anymore but trying to find it, and missing a person so much you pretend it doesn’t exist. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next. 

full name — hunter king nickname(s) — hunny ( only by their brother and it’s to annoy him )  name meaning — one who hunts, pursuer age — twenty-eight date of birth — november 3rd place of birth — bronx, nyc star sign — scorpio sun, scorpio moon, aries rising  current location — salem, massacusetts  gender — non-binary pronouns — they/he sexual orientation — bisexual religion — atheist  occupation — paramedic/firefighter  education level — paramedic school  family — roscoe king ( father, estranged ), marianne tinley ( mother, estranged ), janine king ( aunt ),  jordan king ( brother ) finances — could be better spoken languages — english, spanish

inspos: rue bennett ( euphoria ) , tk strand ( 911 lone star ) , meredith grey ( greys anatomy ), jo march ( little women ), evan buckley ( 911 ), jeremy gilbert ( the vampire diaries ), steve harrington ( stranger things ), hayley marshall ( the originals ), nick miller ( new girl ), ian gallagher ( shameless ), sarah ( palm springs ), shawn hunter ( boy meets world )

tw: npc character dies on the job, non descriptive

“don’t go where i can’t follow you,” it’s the saying that jordan and hunter have been pinky promising each other since they were kids. hunter was raised by his brother and aunt janny, the three of them thick as thieves, and nyc was hunter’s playground. jordan taught him how to ride a skateboard when he was four, jordan holding onto their small arms, hunte’s legs never hit the ground but it was like they were gliding on the pavement, by ten hunter was skating circles around their brother with janny on her bike trying to keep up with her two children. 

janny was well loved in the community, a mother to many who needed it, always serving home cooked meals, jordan and hunter often bringing home some kind of stray ( whether it be a friend or an animal, all were welcome ). 

when hunter is eight they move from nyc to salem for a job opportunity. it wasn’t an easy thing for hunter to pack of up the only place they’ve known and live somewhere else, while it was phrased as a job opportunity their aunt thought that the two kids needed a change. 

it’s only really when hunter becomes a teenager does the woes of identity crisis start to hit, on top of wishing that you had a mom or a dad to teach you certain things. he’d never tell jordan or janny that — in many ways they knew that jordan probably felt it too. but janny was home and love and comfort. it didn’t mean that it fixed everything. 

hunter was hot and destructive and their teachers not understanding how hunter can be so smart but make such stupid decisions with their life, like it was some sort of gamble. they could never sit still for long, they had to be going somewhere, could never sit still and it would be the downfall, that kind of impulsiveness. hunter made a lot of wrong choices. 

jordan and janny loved them anyway. it wasn’t love that saved them, but the willingness to not become the ghosts of their parents. ( hunter thinks its funny how ghosts work, their parents were still here, just never… here. )

hunter becomes a firefighter after high school, then becomes a paramedic, either way — they see the firehouse more than they see their own apartment. it’s good for hunter, they’re good at what they do, their recklessness and impulsivity will always be their own downfall, but in the end it wouldn’t have mattered. it would take months of their own investigation, friends and family saying, it wasn’t your fault. you did the right thing. 

hunter and their partner got a bad call while on the job, it seemed off at first, hunter had been the one to say that they should wait for backup, its what they train for – scene assessment. scene size up. scene safety. it didn’t feel right, and hunter was usually correct when it came to their gut feelings. it didn’t matter. their partners funeral was days later. and their feelings for their partner would be buried with them. 

jordan moves in with hunter for the first couple of months, janny wants him to come home but he never does. on the outside they’re okay, they try to heal. 

hunter gets a new partner. life goes on.

more fun stuff:

ok look their story is sad but like on the outside they are very chill and act like everything is fine its called repression baby and they are living proof of it !!

v much loves their brother he's their bffl and probably comes as a duo most of the time

looking for best friends & possible roomie , hunter needs a ride or die fr

lowkey a slut ngl !! but they're hot so its ok asdkfnlsd

honestly just needs a hug

hunter still keeps the post cards that his parents send him, in a little box that's kept under his bed. is it healthy?? no !! but they're secretly sentimental and a softie at heart

[an-epic-complex-deep-existence]

TW: Mentions of unalive (Not used to censoring that word but unfortunately we live in a shit time where EVERYONE is sensitive)

Meet Melody Conway!!! One of my favorite O.C.’s and one of the main protagonists of my show Epic Club!!!

I know I have shit handwriting so here:

Name: Melody Conway

Gender identification: Female? (She/it)

Biological gender: N/A

Sexual/Romantic orientation: N/A (but possibly ace-biromantic)

(Note: I put N/A because this character is a minor.)

Age: 9 (Start of Epic Club)

Height: 4’10

Weight: 83.9lbs

(Note: This is equivalent to 38.056 in kilograms for my non-American folks)

Blood Type: No

D.O.B: 4/22/2013???????

Place of birth: The Fuckin’ void Santa Monica, Los Angeles, California, USA

Reason Level: 0 (…)

(Note: Reason levels are supposed to represent you reasons to live, something very important later on in Epic Club)

Race: Unknown? Anti-human

(Note: I just realized I forgot to put “Species” in here. What I mean by anti-human is that Melody isn’t exactly human despite acting like one. It’s like a different variant of human, except it isn’t.)

Allergies: Not yet

Physical Conditions: Super Fast Runner Syndrome (joke)

Mental Conditions: Suicidal

Neurological conditions: Idk

Diet: Normal foods

-Main Character of Epic Club

-Extremely apologetic

-Slightly emotionless

-Obnoxiously fast runner

I hope you enjoyed this description. I’ll be showing more character descriptions later

JASON

MELANIE

CRYSTAL

LUCAS

MORGAN

[hvrbingers]

[ quintessa swindell | non-binary | they/he | twenty-five ] ——   welcome to grimrose, hunter king. it’s cool that you’re here, you know. haven’t you heard of the history of this place… anyway, how’s being a newcomer who has been in town for one year, especially since you spend most of your days as a firefighter/paramedic at grimrose firehouse? also, not that it’s a bad thing, of course, but i’ve heard people say you can be a little impulsive more than you are loyal… but that’s just coming from people who are bored here, i promise. to me, you remind me of (i just) died in your arms by cutting crew and flirting on the edge between life and death, finding comfort in chaos, not knowing who you are anymore but trying to find it, and missing a person so much you pretend it doesn’t exist, hope to see you around, hunter.

full name — hunter king nickname(s) — hunny ( only by their brother and it’s to annoy him )  name meaning — one who hunts, pursuer age — twenty-five date of birth — november 3rd place of birth — bronx, nyc current location — grimrose, nh gender — non-binary pronouns — they/he sexual orientation — bisexual religion — atheist  occupation — paramedic/firefighter  education level — paramedic school  family — roscoe king ( father, estranged ), marianne tinley ( mother, estranged ), jordan king ( brother ) finances — could be better spoken languages — english, spanish  voiceclaim — quintessa swindell powers — oxikinesis , the power to manipulate oxygen 

inspos: rue bennett ( euphoria ) , tk strand ( 911 lone star ) , meredith grey ( greys anatomy ), jo march ( little women ), amy antsler ( booksmart ), jeremy gilbert ( the vampire diaries ), crystal ( marvel, 616 ), willow rosenberg ( buffy the vampire slayer ), steve harrington ( stranger things ), hayley marshall ( the originals ), nick miller ( new girl ), ian gallagher ( shameless ), sarah ( palm springs ), shawn hunter ( boy meets world )

tws: parental negligence, npc character death on the job non descriptive

hunter was raised by their aunt and brother, and new york city was their playground. it wasn’t a magical childhood by any means but it was so because their brother tried to make it one for them. they are thick as thieves in every sense, trying their best to make a bad situation good, and most often did. 

their parents weren’t meant to be parents, it was just their unfortunate draw of the cards, but sometimes they’d send a postcard to where their parents ended up, but after a while they stopped coming, and phone calls would get shorter and shorter, but you can’t miss something that you never had. 

hunter was always a very active child, could never sit in one place too long, and it would later bite him in the ass during high school, making friends with the wrong people and doing reckless things that would land them in trouble, but their brother would always bail them out no matter what it was. 

when you live your life in the fast lane it’s easy to get caught in it, but by the time they graduated high school ( barely ), it was time to make some choices. the best thing that hunter ever did was become a paramedic, they were smart enough to do it, but no one else believed in them too which drove them to be the best. 

long gone were the days of recklessness, and traded for a uniform that fit them nicely in nyc. their partner joined when they did and everything was going just fine. it was like the other could think about what the other was going to do without saying anything, they had balanced each other out in ways that hunter would never understand–they were each other’s best friends and person. and if there had been feelings there, well, hunter would never say it. 

life is easier as a young adult, their brother was just starting to become someone and hunter was finally making enough money to get a place of their own, and those bad decisions that used to haunt them as a teenager weren’t as bad, and whenever their parents would come unannounced it didn’t put them in a spiral that it used when they came around. 

a lot of that changed during a bad call, the details are blurry to hunter, they’ve blocked a lot of it out to protect themselves but their partner died on the job, and there’s just a small inkling that they could have prevented it. it would lead hunter into a spiral of ‘what ifs’ that they could never fix or leave behind even if they tried. 

they spent that first year without their partner deteriorating but doing their best, whatever partner they were given never lasted long, hunter had always been an easy person to get along with but after the fact something had fundamentally changed within them. they found it hard to trust people, and more importantly, trust themselves, they thought about quitting but then that would prove what all his old teachers had thought about him, so he had stayed in the job. it didn’t help that his partner’s family always reached out to ask if hunter was okay when all they wanted to do was isolate themselves. 

a lot of that changed about a year ago, when they got a postcard from a town that their father grew up in with nothing else. it had been a couple of years since hunter had heard from their father, and despite how things were going back in nyc they knew that they needed to follow their gut. 

this is how they find themselves in grimrose now, working at the fire station, still as a paramedic, with a new partner, and a power that they don’t understand that can make or break someone. 

headcanons: 

generally hunter is easy to get along with, but they have a lot of regrets 

with their powers it truly is make or break, it’s dangerous and could make hunter the luckiest paramedic or feels like a curse, but they don’t even realize that yet 

hunter changed their name before high school and their brother jordan was very accepting of it, they are very close and probably rely on each other too much. 

very much into snakes & reptiles, owns a mexican black kingsnake and will talk your ear off about it 

lowkey a slut, truly trying to fill the void in anyway but like it’s fine they’re hot i cannot blame them 

despite their powers – they’ve always been a good paramedic, they take a lot of cases and patients to heart, it’s a tough job with little pay but they think that it’s worth it 

honestly probably just needs a hug

[sunset-peril]

Sat still for too long and created Midna Marie's absolute basket case of an ancestor from the Divine Beast/Ancient Hero era.

~~~~

TW: Breeding programs involving humans, extremely dehumanized humans

~~~

Name - "Perfection" (later known as "Failure")

Sex - Male

Breed - Wolfbred

Program Classification - Perfect Standard

Short Description -

Also known as "Failure," Perfection is a genetically modified Hylian werewolf (known as a Wolfbred) who is regarded as the Yiga Clan's greatest accomplishment. (Back when the Yiga were still part of the Sheikah tribe). He, along with a distant descendant of his named Midna Marie, are two of the only Perfect Breed Standard Wolfbred in history. (I based this last bit off the Ideal American Quarter Horse which, according to the last time I was at the American Quarter Horse Association's HQ, has never been 100% met by any registered horse)

Rambly Description -

Hey! That face looks familiar!

This was the Pre-Yiga's (Sheikah before the split who had Yiga-like behaviors) greatest accomplishment. The perfect Wolfbred, loyal to no one but the Queen of Hyrule, ruthless on the battlefield, and physical perfection in accordance to the Wolfbred Breed Standard. Bred to be the Chosen Hero's Living Divine Beast, there was not a single Wolfbred more Wolfbred than he.

Too bad he's 👏bat👏crap👏cra👏zy

Wolfbred are known for being hyper-monogamous, only taking one mate for the entire lifespan even if that mate permanently disappears, which made the breeding program a problem (which is why the Wolfbred were usually "mated" to a researcher so that they could be artificially "bred" to multiple Wolfbred despite their monogamous state.) This guy, however, has actually ZERO qualms about laying with any Wolfbred lady in heat! This, combined with his "perfect" genetics, made him the breeding program's most priceless creature. If this guy isn't properly restrained, he will be either tearing something to shreds or making more puppies.

Hence his registered name of "Failure." He's perfect in every physical way, but his extreme behavior issues make him seem almost non-Hylian, and eventually became a catalyst for the program's shutter. He actually has two registered names: He was registered as "Perfection" at birth due to the reasons listed above by the Pre-Yiga, but after he reached adulthood, the Sheikah (non Pre-Yiga) and Hyrulean Royal Family re-registered him as "Failure" due to his extreme problems.

Sunset's notes - I haven't decided whether he is euthanized when the program is shuttered, or if he somehow escaped euthanasia. Either he or multiple of his offspring made it to Hateno Village alive, because his genetics are very prevalent even in the modern Wolfbred population. He's the source of 99% of the behavioral problems in Wolfbred males, especially Link. Link is the descendant of many of Failure's children.

~~~

Hyrule's Final Stand Masterlist