#“WHERE ARE MY SISTER AND MY HUSBAND. WHERE.”

[forthelorewick]

Another one couldn’t hurt…. right? Pt. 2

WC 7.5k - daddy joel, but not in that way… is very persistent in his pursuit to get what he wants.

NSFW 18+ MDI !!!

- Warnings / content: explicit sexual content, no outbreak!au, husband!joel x wife!reader, domestic fluff, smut, pwp, unprotected p-in-v sex, breeding kink/ pregnancy kink/ impregnation kink, soft dom!joel, size kink, praise kink, possessiveness, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of going off of birth control, mild mention of a itty bitty lactation kink… after care, fluff, established relationship (reader & Joel are married), age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is late 40s), mentions of past pregnancy, results of pregnancy, etc.

pt 1 |

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

It’s been about a month since you and Joel started trying again, a month of him keeping you filled to the brim every moment he had you alone, and oddly enough… it seemed to be happening more and more.

Since the birth of your first, you’d both made a promise, spoken late one night over the soft snoring of a newborn tucked between you. A promise to choose each other, again and again, not just as parents, but as husband and wife, best friends and lovers. So every second Friday of every month, you carved out time to be just that. To have dinner alone, touch base, breathe each other in without any distractions and the ability to unapologetically be all over each other. Whether the kids stayed with your parents, your sister, or Tommy… who’d moved back in with Joel’s dad after their mom passed, it was your ritual now. Your rhythm.

Lately, though? It had become every Friday. Joel started arranging the hand-offs himself, and the moment the house was empty, he’d have you in his arms… pulling you close, whispering promises into your skin, leading you out the door with his hand low on your back.

He’d take you to dinner, always somewhere dim and romantic, with candles and wine… but recently only mocktails for both of you, and that look in his eye. The one that made your whole body ache with anticipation. The one that said, ‘You’re mine, and I’ll never get enough of you.’

He was never this intense about the other pregnancies. Never this deliberate. You figure it’s because you both know it’ll be the last. So now… it’s different. You swear the dinner’s just foreplay. Not in the way that it’s only the means to an end, but in the way that he uses it to tease you and work you up in a place where you can’t do a thing about it.

The restaurant is dimly lit, the kind of place with soft jazz playing under the low hum of conversation. It smells like rosemary and something slow-cooked. Joel’s thumb rubs lazy circles against your hand across the table, your fingers loosely threaded as he watches you with that infuriatingly smug, endlessly soft look on his face.

You roll your eyes at him, though your smile gives you away. “You gonna eat that steak or just make heart eyes at me the whole time?”

Joel doesn’t flinch, “Can’t do both?”

“You’re the worst.” You don’t mean that in any true sense of the word, and he knows that.

He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world to worship you in tiny touches. “Well, you’re wearin’ that dress, so that’s on you.”

Your stomach flutters, heat pooling low in your belly.

Every Friday, it’s the same game. The same sly glances, the same brush of his shoe against your ankle, the same way his eyes dip to your lips when you lick butter off your fingertip. The way his eyes drink you in every moment you’re preoccupied with your food or taking a sip of your drink. The way he tilts his head, and the low hum in his throat when your knee brushes his.

“You’re just mad I order better than you,” you murmur, lifting your fork to steal a bite from his plate anyway.

Joel watches you chew with a grin that you think he does just to show off his dimples which drive you mad, “You touch my potatoes, you get consequences later.”

You click your tongue thoughtfully and return a lopsided grin, “Promises, promises.”

He groans quietly and shakes his head, like he’s physically restraining himself from hauling you to the bathroom right that moment, “You’re a goddamn menace.”

You sip your drink, arching an eyebrow. “You’ve known that since you bought me that coffee on that fateful morning,” You bite your bottom lip and stifle a laugh at the thought of it.

He leans back in his chair and chuckles deeply in kind, you loved reminiscing over your life together. On how it all came to be. “You were such a young thing… so eager, y’just couldn’t help yourself. Had me wrapped around your finger from the moment I met ya,” his gaze travels over you, to describe it as him ‘drinking you in’ wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Not with the way you see his tongue peeking out to moisten his lips as if in anticipation of tasting you… you could see that look in his eyes where he was mapping out exactly how he’ll do it.

You have to snap yourself out of that thought as he tilts his head and clocks your body language immediately. But he doesn’t push, he just lets it simmer. But just like you knew him… he knows you. Somehow, likely, even more.

“And I’d do it all again. Every side eye in public, every dollar I spent on coffee from that overpriced café… to every sleepless night with the kiddos, every goddamn blowout, every tantrum… Just to end up right here.” He presses his finger onto the table between you to emphasize his point.

A life chosen and never regretted. Every version of you and every version of him, every turn and every choice that led to this. Joel never says anything he doesn’t mean, when he gives you something, it’s because he needs you to know it. And that’s what makes every word of his so impactful and that hazy arousal caused by just him such an issue on a daily basis. But he loved it, loved the game of getting you all worked up over seemingly nothing, but he always knows exactly what he’s doing.

You press your napkin to your mouth, not to wipe it, but just to give yourself a second to breathe, the man was so well-versed with you and you with him, but he still never failed to take your breath away, to make you so desperate for more of him in every way.

You knew you’d never tire of him, of the way he makes you feel, of just everything about him. You loved him so much that the anticipation of him coming home every day felt like you were only half awake until he wrapped those strong arms around you and planted his lips on yours.

You settle into the heat of his gaze, let it wrap around you like the warm candlelight dancing in his big, brown eyes.

And then you say it, too casual for what it means, but with your heart pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it across the table, “I missed my period.”

Joel stills mid-bite, fork suspended, “Yeah?”

You nod, slow. “Wasn’t sure at first. Thought it might just be late. But… there was some light bleeding last week. Not like a period. Just… spotting.”

His jaw ticks, eyes narrowing just a little in focus, “Implantation?”

“Could be.”

There’s a long pause like the air itself is holding its breath.

Joel sets his fork down gently, like he’s grounding himself. Then he exhales through his nose and gives you a look so full of love and want and need… like you hung the moon and he’s already cradling the possibility in his hands. It makes your ribs ache.

“Well, holy shit,” he says softly, his breath shakes for a singular inhale, then evens out again, “Guess I better keep doin’ what I’m doin’.” A flash of heat flickers in his eyes as his eyes slowly trail down your body and settle on the place a baby, your baby, his baby could be growing right that very second. It’s like the moment is suspended, his breath is slow and shallow like he’s really letting it settle.

You laugh, but it comes out shaky. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

He tilts his head, eyes locked on yours again like he’s seeing straight through to every part of you, heart, body, and soul. “You want me to say somethin’ other than I fuckin’ love you? That I want this?” He shrugs slightly, eyes going soft and dark all at once. “’Cause I do. And I just… I’m trying to process it but goddamn, this is big news.”

Your throat tightens, “I know,” you say quietly.

And you do. Because even across the table, even after years and kids and everything life has thrown your way, Joel Miller still looks at you like he’s choosing you for the first time.

You reach across the table again and trace his wrist with your fingertips, “You ready to not sleep for who knows how many more years?”

Joel’s lip twitches. He sets his drink down without looking away from you, “I wasn’t gonna sleep anyway. s’what coffee’s for, darlin’.” He eyes you up and down again as if imagining the changes already, “Worth it to see you all swollen and glowin’ again and I’ll be too goddamn gone for you. I’ll be at your every beck and call.”

You watch him for a beat, the curve of his forearms under rolled sleeves, tan and strong. The way the fabric strains just a little where it buttons over his chest.

He looks back at you, head tilted, “What?” he asks, his eyes studying yours, a toothy grin on that handsome face of his.

You shake your head, “Nothing. I just really like you.”

Joel’s smile deepens, but there’s something shy in it now, boyish almost. “Yeah?”

You rest your chin in your hand and nod, “Yeah. Like a lot. Think I’m falling in love all over again.”

He lets out a quiet exhale, like he can’t quite handle that, like no matter how long he’s been yours, you still catch him off guard too, “Think I’d say the same happens to me nearly every day.” His foot shifts under the table, nudging yours again.

You look at him with those doey eyes you never realize you’re doing until he points them out.

Joel clocks it immediately, and you see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his fingers tighten slightly around the base of his water glass like he needs to ground himself.

“There they are,” he murmurs, a little dazed, a little wrecked. “Those damn eyes.”

You open your mouth to play dumb, but he just leans forward, elbows on the table now, voice low and reverent.

“You look at me like that, baby, I start thinkin’ about forever all over again.”

The words settle between you like silk, weightless but impossibly thick with meaning. The air grows warmer, heavier, humming with something unspoken and ancient and so sure. That love that doesn’t need proving, just noticing.

You reach for his hand again, and he lets you lace your fingers through his like it’s instinct. Like it’s muscle memory. His thumb rubs along yours, slow, steady, and then he brings your hand to his mouth again, kissing the inside of your wrist this time.

“You nervous?” he asks, more serious now.

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek, “Not really nervous. Just… aware. Like I’m scared to get too hopeful too fast, y’know?”

Joel nods slowly. “I get it.” He leans forward again, his voice soft. “But I’m already hopin’, baby. Been really hopin’ since I came inside you that first week you went off your birth control.”

You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh, “Jesus.”

“Don’t ‘Jesus’ me, you knew what you were doin’,” he grins, those brown eyes lighting up and sending butterflies through your chest then… straight down, “You bent over the dryer that time, I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

You pull your lip between your teeth as you smiled, a blush spreading on your cheeks.

“Knew it…”

You break into quiet laughter, warm and completely at ease. “Okay, fair.”

He lets the moment breathe, then reaches across the table again, hand warm over yours.

“We’ll be okay,” his eyes flicker in the candlight, almost golden. “However this turns out. You and me, we always figure it out.”

You nod, squeezing his hand, thumb brushing over the calluses that showed just how hard he works to provide for his family, for you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The restaurant hums around you, soft clinks of silverware, the low murmur of conversation, the gentle flicker of candlelight casting amber shadows across Joel’s face. He’s watching you the way he always does, like you’re a sunset, a firelight glow he can’t stop reaching for.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, then leans back slightly, just enough to really look at you. He takes his time, he always does. His eyes trace your face, every angle, every familiar shift of expression, “I just… I feel lucky, y’know? That we still get to do this. That we want to. That I look at you and know with everything I am that I want you, that I need you, and that you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

The tone shift sends a shiver down your spine as his grip on your hand tightens and that flicker in his eyes darkens.

You see it hit him again, the possibility and the reality that you might be carrying his child. You see the realization in the tick of his jaw and how his thumb brushes against the back of your hand like he’s memorizing the rhythm of your pulse. He’s watching you, studying you as if he’s trying to comprehend it, to let it settle deeper, and you can tell the thought is consuming him by the way his tongue glides across the front of his teeth, a telltale sign he’s deep in thought.

You swallow, pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips.

His eyes dip to your stomach with a hungry, awed sort of longing. Like he’s picturing it, picturing the swell and the glow again.

And when his eyes return to yours, there’s no mistaking what’s behind them. You see his eyes flare with possession and devotion, with the unmistakable glimmer of ferality.

“You alright, baby?”

Joel shifts in his seat, shoulders tense like he’s holding something back, he nods once. “Can’t fuckin’ think about anything else right now, sweetheart.”

He leans forward again, eyes flicking to your lips. “Want you round and glowy and needy again. Want to take care of you every minute. Rub your back, kiss your belly, hold you at night with my hand right where the baby’s growin’.”

Your throat goes dry.

He huffs a quiet breath, shakes his head, “Ain’t right how bad I wish I could just keep ya pregnant, just round and full of my babies forever.”

But the way he’s looking at you says he doesn’t care if it’s right or not, because it’s real. And it’s clear to you that the moment he gets you home, he’s not going to be able to hold back. He never can and you truly hope he never does.

—

By the time you make it home and the front door clicks shut behind you, you’re already pinned.

Your back hits it with a soft thud, and Joel’s mouth is on yours before you can even catch your breath. His hands bracket your hips, possessive and warm, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress like he’s seconds from tearing it in half.

You moan into his mouth, and he swallows it whole.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” his voice is frayed at the edges. His thigh presses between yours, forcing your legs apart, rocking into you like he can’t get close enough. “All fuckin’ night I was sittin’ across from you, starin’ at your mouth, your fuckin’ eyes, thinkin’ about you soakin’ and needy for me, thinkin’ about you pregnant again…”

“I know… I was there..” you tease him as your fingers find purchase in his soft, greying curls at the nape of his neck. “You know what you do to me?”

He stills for a beat, his chest rising fast, eyes locked on yours like he’s clinging to every breath you take.

“What do I do to you?” he asks, his voice a rasp in your ear, wrecked and reverent all at once. His lips brush your cheekbone as he speaks, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a groan, and his hips jerk forward slightly like he needs the friction, needs your answer just to hold it together.

“You make me ache,” you whisper, breath warm against his jaw. “All day. All the time. You walk past me, and I forget what I was doing. I watch you roll up your sleeves and I’m wet. I hear your voice and I’m, god, Joel, I’m fucking gone for you.”

He exhales hard and his forehead drops to yours, and for a moment he’s still again, just holding you like he’s trying to regain some composure that was rapidly slipping away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost a plea. “Can’t get enough of ya.”

Then his mouth crashes into yours hungrily again and he walks you backward toward the couch without letting go of you for even a second.

“Joel,” you gasp, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering closed as his mouth trails down your neck, biting gently into the soft flesh there, marking you as if you could be anymore his. “We should, we should go to bed…”

“Nuh-uh,” He lays you down like he’s handling something fragile, even as his body covers yours with a need that’s anything but gentle. His palm splays over your stomach again, whispering something indiscernible to himself, “Can’t wait, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he presses you into the couch, his weight settling above you, heat and need emanating from him.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail higher, pushing your dress up and over your hips, then off entirely as you lift accordingly to assist him in his task, he’s quick to undo and discard your bra on the floor next to the couch. His knuckles brush your skin like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

“Gotta be careful,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Gotta be careful so I don’t—But I need, fuck, I need…” you don’t know what the hell he was trying to say, or maybe you did, but what you really knew was that you needed him inside of as soon as humanly possible and you couldn’t have that beautiful brain of his thinking too hard right now.

You tug him down to kiss you, one hand in his hair, the other already fumbling with his belt.

Joel groans low and deep like it’s being torn from his chest, his mouth finding yours again as he shucks his pants down just far enough and basically rips your panties off. His cock is hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he presses the length of it against your core, sliding through your slick with a sound that makes you both groan.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, forehead pressed to yours, voice rough but trembling. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, the scruff of his jaw. “Always. Forever. I want all of you.”

Joel presses in slow, deep, and careful… but the grip he has on your hips is bruising, and his breath betrays the need that thrums beneath his skin as he pants against your skin, groaning softly when he finally bottoms out.

He stays there for a moment, buried inside you, one hand cupping your face, the other still gripping your hip in desperation.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs. “You, carryin’ my baby… Gonna take care of you. Gonna fuckin’ worship you forever.”

His words melt into your skin, heat and promise wrapped in every syllable.

You moan, soft and broken beneath him, your arms curling around his shoulders like you could somehow hold him closer than this. “Joel,” you breathe, “Please move.”

His hips snap forward, deep and steady, and you cry out, nails digging into the fabric covering his back. He groans again, louder this time, a sound that rumbles in his chest and spills into your mouth as he kisses you hard and messy and desperate. Every thrust is deliberate, full of something wild and possessive, like he’s branding this into both of you.

“I think about it all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, thrusting harder now, hand sliding up to cradle your head like you’re breakable even when he’s fucking you like he’s starving. “You round with my baby again. Knowin’ I did that. An’ everybody who looks at’cha will know I’m the one who fucked a baby into you again. The only one who ever will.”

“Joel…” You gasp his name, voice cracking on it, your thighs trembling around his hips.

He groans and shifts, angling deeper until you sob, his name the only word you remember. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it for me, sweetheart.”

His forehead drops to yours again, you can feel the slight dampness to his skin as he perspires. The heat of your bodies literally melting you together.

His hips begin stuttering with every squeeze of your pussy around him, “can feel ya squeezin’ me, sweetheart… gonna cum for me?”

Your body is unraveling around him, every nerve lit up and frayed. You nod, unable to speak, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it. You reach for him blindly, your fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself in the only thing that feels real.

Joel moans like the sound’s been punched out of him, his hips faltering for half a second before slamming back in even harder. “C’mon, baby,” he pleads, voice wrecked. “Need you to cum on me. Wanna feel you break on me.”

You let out a gasp that turns into a cry as you cum, your legs locking tight around him, walls clenching down so hard on his cock it forces a growl from his throat. His mouth crashing against yours, swallowing your moans like he needed to feel it in his bones. Then he’s picking up his pace again, breaking the kiss and panting hot against your skin.

“That’s it,” he breathes against your temple. “Goddamn, that’s it. Just like that, sweetheart.”

You’re still shaking when he presses in deep and stills, his own release hitting him like a wave, his hips jerk once, twice, and then he’s spilling into you with a broken groan, muttering your name like a prayer. One hand grips your hip so tight you know you’ll have an array of bruises to admire later, his other hand slides protectively over your belly again.

When he finally stills, when the tremors ease and his breathing steadies, he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your shoulder, his beard dragging rough over your skin leaving it flushed and raw. His hand grips your thigh, keeping your legs wrapped tight around him.

“Goddamn,” he rasps, voice low and trembling. “You fuckin’ ruin me.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he’s already moving again slow, instinctual thrusts that make you gasp and arch, oversensitive but needy still. He’s only half-hard inside of you as he comes down from his high, but you know he’s just making a point of fucking his spend deeper inside as if he needed to really solidify your potential pregnancy, as if it would change a damn thing if you already were.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his nose brushing yours. “How full you are? That’s all mine, baby. I’m the only one that gets to do this to you.”

You pull his head back gently by the nape of his neck, eager to just look at him. You’ve always been obsessed by the way he looks after sex, that sleepy, dreamy look when he gets what he wants.

“You really think you’re pregnant?” He’s coming back to earth now, and you can see it in his eyes and the way they’re searching yours.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth again and nod.

He watches with apt attention, and you know how he reacts when you do certain things. Even when they weren’t always intentional on your part, you’re always aware of what you’re doing by his reaction.

“Goddamn, hun… can’t fuckin’ believe you’re makin’ me a daddy again,” his eyes light up in the way you’d known they would when he finally let it settle in his mind.

“A whole other person growin’ inside ya, darlin’, you’re a goddess… creatin’ life.”

“You’re part of this whole thing too, you know.” You run your fingers through his hair and he hums in approval.

“Thanks for the credit, baby, but I’m just the guy who got to fuck you raw until it took.”

You shake your head and laugh lightly, “a little underselling yourself, no?”

He just shrugs and gives you that toothy grin you never tire of, “just happy to be here.”

You smooth the back of your fingers down his cheekbone and cradle his face in your hands, memorizing this moment.

“I’ll be the best daddy and doting husband as I can be.”

“You already are. I'm so lucky to have your babies, I’d have a million of ‘em if I could.”

He peppers your faces with kisses and groans as you knead your fingers into the tight muscles of his back, “You spoil me, y’know that right?”

You grin and simply pull him into another kiss. He hums against you again and you feel a twitch of his cock which was still inside you. You squeeze around him in acknowledgement and he groans.

“Dammit, darlin..”

“What?”

He just shakes his head and smooths the hand that was gripping your hip up your body until it’s cupping one of your tits.

Joel’s voice is hoarse, reverent even as he mouths at your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. He leaves marks all over your neck, you can feel the sting of his beard over raw skin, it makes you whimper beneath him but he’s not done, he’s never done… “Been thinkin’ about your tits bein’ full again,” he rasps, breath fanning hot over your skin. “Leakin’ through your shirt, swollen and sore… mine to touch, mine to take care of. You, feedin’ our baby in the middle of the night while I hold you… rub your back… kiss that sweet neck, ease the ache of this needy pussy whenever you need it, alright?”

You whimper, arching into his touch as he palms your breast, thumb grazing your nipple, and he groans like he’s starving for you again.

“Fuck, look at ya,” he mutters, gaze flicking between your face and where his hand works your body then drags all the way down your body to look at where you and him are still joined, “You’re all flushed, still squeezin’ me tight inside like you want it again already.”

He rocks into you, slow and deliberate, just enough to tease, to feel that wet slide of his once again hardened cock still buried deep.

You gasp, the overstimulation starting to blur into need all over again, hips instinctively tilting toward him. “Joel, please.”

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “You spoil me so fuckin much. Every day you give me everything. Your body, your time, our babies, your love… you’re a fuckin’ gift, that’s what you are.”

You breathe his name like it’s holy, his words, his hands… his cock, you could’ve sworn you were in heaven. Your body and brain felt elevated like the only thing keeping you down on this earth was his body pressed into yours and his cock rocking in and out.

His hands keep you pressed into the couch cushions, the bead of sweat dripping down his neck and you pull him in, pressing his face to your neck so you have access to his, dragging your tongue up his pulse point like you’d been dying to do all night.

He groans and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, enough to leave a mark, he lavishes your skin with his tongue in what he calls “scenting you”. You’re a mess of moans and sweat-slicked bodies and his shirt being on still is driving you fucking crazy, you need his skin against yours, you need to absorb him into you.

He can sense your urgency as you finally unbutton his shirt and he chuckles, gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Something you need, darlin? Use your words.”

Oh, he was a goddamn menace. All you could do was whimper as he rolls his hips against yours again, the coarse hair above the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit.

“Cmon, baby, tell me what you need.”

You look up at him and his eyes are dark and intense as they look down at your desperation.

“Need to feel you… please.”

He laughs, and it sounds so maniacal to you, like he’s drunk on your body and your need, the slick heat of you wrapped around him. Like he knows exactly how fucking desperate you are and he’s savoring every second of it.

“All that whimperin’,” he grits out, hips still rolling slow and mean, “and you tellin’ me you need me? Baby, I’m already inside you.”

You squirm beneath him, breath hitching on a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a plea. “Joel,” you whisper, your voice breaking like you’re right on the edge, “your shirt… please..”

His jaw flexes and that little muscle ticks in his jaw as he stares down at you. His hands release your wrists but only so he can sit up and shove the shirt off like it’s offending him. His chest is flushed and heaving, and the moment it’s bare, he falls right back into you, finally giving his sweat-slicked body to your hungry eyes.

��Christ,” he breathes as his chest meets yours, skin to skin now, your nipples brushing his chest hair, your legs locked around his hips like you never wanna let him go. “You’re fuckin’ insatiable.”

You whimper again, nails dragging down his now-bare back like you’ve been waiting all night to do it. “You make me crazy,” you gasp. “I swear to god, Joel, you—”

“Yeah?” he cuts in, voice ragged and so full of affection it hurts. He presses a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, your temple, one hand tangling in your hair to keep your mouth near his. “Been sittin’ across from you all damn night thinkin’ about this… about how warm you are inside, how you fuckin’ grab at me when you’re close, how you look when I fill you up.”

You cry out as he thrusts again, somehow even deeper now, sweat slicking your skin and your bodies sliding together with every movement.

“Wanted to fuck you in that dress, baby,” he groans. “Was thinkin’ about tearin’ the damned thing in half.”

“You should’ve,” you rasp, clenching around him, trembling now as that wave builds again, heat flooding through your core. “Should’ve ruined me in the parking lot.”

Joel grins into your neck, voice low and wrecked, “Don’t tempt me, darlin’. I ain’t above makin’ a scene for my wife.”

“Maybe next week,” you say, breathlessly, and that causes him to lift his head from where it was resting in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” his grip tightens on your hips as he continues his relentless pace, a curl of his grey hair falling in his face and your fingers can’t help but bury themselves in the damp curls. Your hands move to cradle his face between your palms, your thumbs trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones and his jawline.

His eyes meet yours dark and intense, with his pupils blown wide. There’s something feral beneath the softness, something possessive that flickers hotter every time you gasp, every time you tighten around him.

“Yeah,” you whisper again, weaker this time, and your voice catches when he shifts his hips just slightly, hitting that spot inside you that makes you clench and cry out.

Soon enough you felt that white heat building at the base of your spine and low in your belly, that simmering heat that has you arching into him involuntarily.

Joel groans, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “You say that like I ain’t gonna spend the whole goddamn week thinkin’ about it. Thinkin’ about bendin’ you over every surface in that house while the kids are outta earshot.” His lips brush yours and it’s barely a kiss, more of a taunt.

You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair again, and he growls as he slams into you harder, gritting his teeth as your back arches.

“Fuck,” he rasps, “you’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby. Can feel you gettin’ close.”

You nod, unable to form words, mouth parted and panting, completely wrecked beneath him. He’s everywhere, inside you, over you, looking at you like he owns you. Like he’s going to keep doing this until the goddamn stars fall.

Your eyes roll back as he thrusts deep again, and this time it hits that spot, that devastating angle, and your whole body tightens.

“J-Joel…” you stutter, voice strangled and high, your legs beginning to tremble. “I… I can’t—”

“Yes, y’can,” he growls, hips pistoning now, relentless and so fucking deep. “Cum for me, baby… That’s it—my good girl, takin’ it like such a good fuckin’ girl.”

Your body breaks apart beneath him, a guttural moan ripping from your chest as the orgasm slams into you. It’s white-hot, full-body, and you go limp for a moment, spasming around him, legs twitching as your back arches into the air.

He watches it hit you, feels it in the clench of your body, the cry of his name from your lips, and he loses it.

“Fuck, baby…. fuck yes,” he pants, and then he’s gripping your hips tight enough to bruise again, holding you still as he pounds into you once, twice more, then buries himself deep and continues gently rocking his hips into yours, chest pressing you into the mattress as he spills inside you with a deep, broken groan into your shoulder. With a few more thrusts of his hips to really fuck his cum as deep as it will go, you feel the throb of his cock inside you as he empties himself.

His weight crushes you in the best way, heat rolling off his skin.

Finally, after a moment, he pushes himself up on his forearms again, studying your face as he slowly slips out of you.

You whimper at the loss of him, and he lets out a quiet hiss as his softening cock loses its warm sheath of pure bliss.

“So beautiful, darlin’.” He leans back, his big hands swallowing your frame as he massages the muscles of your hips and upper thighs, “My fuckin wife.”

You blush under his gaze as if he wasn’t just emptying his balls inside of you, as if this moment wasn’t something people usually got used to. Every time was like the first time with him, his heat simmered just as hot as that day he kissed you for the very first time.

Your hands find the hair on his firm chest, the sensation was one of your favorites, and you know you can’t keep saying that because everything about him was one of your very favorite things in the whole world.

His eyes met yours again, the deep brown settling from its darkened state, softening at the edges as he looks at you.

“I love you,” his hands come up to cradle your face, rough palms and calloused thumbs brushing across your flushed cheeks with featherlight care. You melt beneath him, aching and full and blissfully undone.

“I love you too,” you knew that with every fiber of your being you loved this man. From his morning coffee breath and the way he leaves socks on the floor, to the way he holds you and your little ones, to the way he loves with everything he is and holds nothing back. And for a million things about the man you’re lucky enough to call yours.

He hovers there for just a second longer, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead first, then your nose, one kiss on each cheek. And finally… finally… he presses his lips to yours again.

It starts soft, the kind of kiss that feels like coming home. His mouth moves against yours with a hum of satisfaction, deep and lazy, the kind of kiss you feel all the way down to your toes. Your lips part for him automatically, and when his tongue slides against yours, it’s slower this time, like you’re both savoring the taste of each other.

You sigh into it, one of your hands sliding up the back of his neck, your fingers curling into the damp, soft hair at his nape. His body stays pressed to yours, chest to chest, skin to skin. You can feel the stickiness between your legs and the feel of his spend spilling back out.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss for just a moment, drinking in every small sound you make. His nose brushes yours, and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours again.

“I’ll never get enough of ya,” he breathes, barely more than a rasp of air against your lips.

You run your hands over his back, feeling every dip and line of him, mapping him with your fingertips as if you hadn’t already memorized every inch of him, your hands find his strong shoulders and trail your fingers up his neck and to the back of his head again, “I’m having your baby again, Joel.” As if you needed to remind yourself of the very real reality that neither of you could stop thinking about.

Joel lets out this soft, broken sound… half laugh of disbelief, half sigh… and presses another kiss to your lips, slower this time. Like he’s trying to write his love into you with nothing but his mouth and his hands and the way he keeps holding you like you’re something sacred.

His fingers trace the side of your neck, then down over your shoulder, slipping lazily along your ribs like he wants to touch every inch of you all over again.

Somehow, eventually, you both find the willpower to move.

Joel helps you up with steady hands, his touch still slow and lingering, like he hates letting you go even for a second. You’re both laughing softly, half-drunk on love and endorphins as you stumble your way to the bathroom.

The water runs hot and full, steam curling in the air as he sinks down behind you in the tub, pulling you between his legs like you belong there, because you do. His arms drape across your waist, his chest warm against your back, and you lean into him.

He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then another, then another, lips trailing wet warmth across your skin as you hum in contentment.

You close your eyes as he pours warm water over your shoulders, his hands massaging your skin with gentle, soapy circles. Every now and then, he sneaks kisses on your neck, your temple, behind your ear.

You stay there like that for a while, tangled in heat and soft laughter, letting the water rinse away the sweat and the ache, but never the closeness.

When you finally climb out, toweling off and slipping into something comfortable, Joel’s pulling on a clean pair of boxers and getting the bed ready for the two of you to climb into.

“Gotta say it, I miss our munchkins,” you say softly as you climb beneath the sheets.

“Me too, darlin’. I’ll go get them first thing, okay?”

You nod your head sleepily, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as his arm wraps around you and pulls you in closer, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your arm. You hum softly against his skin, letting yourself melt into the weight and heat of him. His scent. soap and sweat and Joel, fills your nose and surrounds you in a blissful haze of him, grounding you in a way nothing else ever could.

“Think they’re drivin’ Tommy and your dad crazy yet?” you murmur, smiling against his neck.

Joel chuckles, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Oh, no doubt. Bet they’re running the whole show.”

You grin sleepily at that, your fingers tracing lazy shapes over his chest. “They’re good kids.”

“Yeah they sure are, darlin’,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You and I make good kids. Can’t wait to see what this one becomes.” His hand slides protectively over your lower belly and you can’t help but sniffle and fight back a tear starting to form in your eye. Not from sadness, no, from the surreality that you get to have another little him growing inside of you. Knowing he’ll be there, right next to you through everything. Once again, you were reminded how damn lucky the two of you were to have found this love and to feel it so fully and so completely.

He pulls you closer and leaves a lingering kiss on your temple, his fingers trailing gently over the soft skin of your stomach.

For a while, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the fan in the corner and the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“First thing in the morning,” he says again, his voice already fading into that low, sleepy timbre. “Gonna go pick ‘em up… bring our babies home.”

You smile against him, already half-asleep yourself. “Can’t wait.”

Joel tightens his arm around you, holding you close, and you both drift off like that, wrapped up in each other, warm and safe and full of everything you’ve built together.

Tomorrow would be noisy and sticky and full of little feet and laughter, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

The morning sun filters in slow and golden, the birds chirp outside, the same ones who greeted you and your family every morning.

Joel stirs first, he always does, his arms tightening around you like instinct before he even opens his eyes. You hum at the feeling, half-asleep, nuzzling deeper into his chest.

For a while, neither of you says anything. Just slow breathing, tangled legs, and the kind of heavy, warm stillness that only comes after loving someone so thoroughly they’re written into your muscles.

“Think it’s late enough to go get ‘em?” he finally murmurs, voice still thick with sleep, lips brushing your hairline.

You smile against his neck. “It’s barely seven.”

“Still late,” he says, stretching slow, muscles rippling under your cheek. “Feels like I been missin’ ‘em for days.”

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at him. “Didn’t you say you wanted just one quiet morning for once?”

Joel grins, eyes still sleepy and soft. “Yeah… and I got it. Now I want my kids back.”

You lean up to kiss him, slow and sweet and full of that same aching affection that’s been burning in both of you since you met.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both dressed—Joel in jeans and one of his old, soft t-shirts, you in a loose sweater and leggings, hair still a little damp from your quick rinse in the bathroom.

The drive to Tommy and their dad’s place is full of soft country radio and Joel’s hand rests on your thigh the whole way there.

When you pull into the gravel drive, you can already hear faint giggles through the screen door.

Joel’s barely out of the truck before Tommy’s opening the front door, standing on the porch with his coffee in hand and a grin way too wide for this early in the morning.

“Well look who’s here,” Tommy calls, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flick between you and Joel, lingering just long enough to let the meaning settle, “have a good Friday night, kids?”

Joel shoots him a warning glare, but there’s no heat behind it, “Knock it off.”

Tommy just smirks. “Hey, I’m not sayin’ nothin’. Just sayin’ you’re lookin’ about ten years younger this morning, big brother.”

You snort, trying to cover your laugh with a cough, and Joel immediately reaches behind him to swat your hip, muttering, “Traitor.”

Before you can retaliate, there’s a loud shriek from inside, “Daddy!!!” and then all three of your kids come barreling out the door, socks sliding on the wood floors, feet pounding the porch as they rush straight for Joel.

He barely has time to kneel before they’re on him. Sarah clinging to his neck, Artie talking a mile a minute, Ellie squealing and trying to crawl up onto his lap.

And god… the way Joel holds them, the way he laughs low and bright like they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, because you know they are to him… you swear your heart could burst.

You watch from the steps, smiling soft and full, and when his eyes find yours over their heads, warm and tired and still so full of love, you swear you fall for him all over again.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

I couldn’t stop myself, I’ve got some angst to write! I gotta balance myself out 😭

The baby fever is going crazy though thank god for my IUD or else i’d be making terrible decisions🙏🏼 that’s all I gotta say.

[rodeodeparis]

i’m mixed mizrahi & ashkenazi in the us myself, and i also read a lot, i have a lot of thoughts on this sentiment, putting it under a read more because it’s quite a bit

disclaimer: all of this is my personal opinion and may not be 1000% objective, and i know for a fact that not all sephardic/mizrahi/mixed jewish/jews of color-americans agree with me 👍

i’ve seen this sentiment from leftie american jews of all kinds over the past two years, and i get where it comes from, particularly due to israeli propaganda targeted at americans appropriating the language of racial justice to that end (and as a result a bunch of white jews going "jews are not white", and a circular argument about whether or not jews are white ensuing) and i am so so tired of it

for one, it's not accurate. people in europe historically didn’t see themselves entirely, collectively as “white people”. zionism was formed in the context of 19th century european nationalism, “jew” was a nation in europe at the time in the same way “french” or “german” would’ve been (and in some parts of europe still is, my sister's husband was born in russia and "jew" is listed as his race on his birth certificate). they were seeing themselves as a separate nation (with european jews in mind, but that's another can of worms) because europeans were seeing them as a separate nation. this view extended to groups like yiddishists, who were antizionist but used this to different ends. you can argue semantics about this particular point but "white people" wasn't the thing in the lexicon when they were comparing themselves to other europeans. as a result, like riki said, in the israeli context "white" isn't mutually exclusive with "jew". non-european jews were an afterthought, but they're still jews.

also, the european jewish connection to the middle east is like. not something zionists invented? it was a big part in why jewish people were discriminated against in europe, and to an extent the denial of jews having a connection to there is par for the course of european antisemitism. european antisemitism is essentially belittling jews for being both middle eastern and european, whichever is more convenient at the moment. (more on that later.)

a great book on this (and on how this impacted zionism and zionist racism) is orientalism and the jews, which you can actually read for free on archive.org. long story short is zionists (as well as some other european jewish political groups) ended up choosing "european" as the one of the two things they were assigned by following in the footsteps of other european ethnic nationalist movements, and looking at their own connection to the middle east through a euroentric/orientalist lens. edward said put it best when he said (to paraphrase) "white inside the country, and not white outside of it".

zionism is far from the only group of european jews who did something like this back then. there was the the alliance israélite universelle, which was an arm of french colonialism and set up "civilizing missions" more or less for middle eastern and balkan jews in the form of schools, which came to a head with the cremieux decree. (you can read about it in gross, racist detail here.) there's also ashkenazi american jews, who...well just read this article. i have personal experiences about this in jewish-american spaces and other mizrahi/sephardic-americans do too but i’d rather not make this all about me. and before that there were sephardic jews (predominantly western european but also in the ottoman empire) treating them the same way. even rich baghdadi jews like the sassoons, who were decidedly not european, got in on this, which reverberated back into israel in certain ways (which is talked about in orientalism and the jews).

so i would say that there is a much, much longer recent history of mostly european jewish tail-chasing about who’s more “like other white people” as the tagger put it than the other way around. in the american context, malcom x even has a little part in his autobiography about it. the hasbara thing is comparatively recent and plays on the insecurities of jewish americans and canadians as "in betweeners" so to speak in the context of the white supremacy of their home countries. people can make a big stink about how "no jews are white" for the sake of argument but everyone in my immediate family checks off"white" on the census ("middle eastern" is still under "white", after all).

so jews identifying solely as white has a bad precedent too. i personally can't really see statements like that taggers' and its exact opposite and not compare them to the more storied history of european-american jews aligning themselves to the white side of things at the expense of their syrian co-religionists, let alone the inter-jewish racism in israel. i've seen people pull out dna tests to either end. all of this is pretty ironic, considering that historically, european antisemitism has looked a lot more like this:

(pretend it just says jew, because it was like this with other jewish groups over there as well.)

it feels like both groups are trying to overcorrect a case of being hated for being "in between" by going either all the way one way, or all the way the other. ie defining themselves by the terms that they were discriminated against for not being easily definable by. and it ends up turning into a slew of either orientalism (in the not white camp) or genteel racism (in the white camp).

if you’re monoracial/ethnic it’s pretty easy to just belong to one category and not have to think about it much. in the us, an overwhelming majority of jews have ancestors who came here from eastern europe from the mid 19th century to the early 20th century, and most are also white, so i understand where the "jews" posturing comes from. when it gets annoying is when it's projected outwards, such as, of all things, an internet discourse topic from a few months ago.

(admittedly, there's more "important" things to complain about than this, but it's kind of the straw that breaks the camel's back, and i feel like once people understand this specifically, we can all make bigger strides towards the more important things.)

essentially, a bunch of people on the anglophone side of the internet were (rightfully!) criticizing the movie no other land online, and were referring to half-yemenite, half-ashkenazi director yuval avraham as a "white guy" as if that would make their points more poignant.

yeah, he "looks white" to most americans, and we can talk circles about comparative privilege in that regard all day long, but "white guy" is, from an american perspective, erasing his heritage to make a point. (and a specific heritage that there's been a long history of americans generally, and american jews specifically, erasing, not to mention one that's had an especially tough history in israel.) i'm sure i'm not the only one who's noticed this, but "white" has a few different implicit meanings in american english beyond how someone looks. one of the meanings is to do with the culture you were raised in. one means "has never been discriminated against on the basis of race and/or ethnicity (americans tend to mix these two up)".

i'm not entirely sure which one was being applied to yuval, but the implication in these seems to be that his "whiteness" is an intrinsic part of the film's problems and not like, idk, the very real material things that you can actually attribute it to, none of them in this case inherent to "whiteness". (the propaganda the israeli staff grew up with and probably internalized to different degrees, writing, funds management, representation and lack thereof, etc.) as if middle easterners can't be complicit in colonialism or be settlers or something, as if we're all innocent and dumb and in need of an american twitter user's defense, or else we're all "actually" white. genteel racism.

from experience, i can tell you that this is both a typical mixed person in america experience and a typical non-ashkenazi jew in america experience. (israeli society doesn't entirely "understand" mixed people either but that's another story.) ironically very similar to antisemitism in general. there's a lot of other things i can compare it too. if you know a little bit about queer theory, imo, what's going on here isn't too dissimilar from biphobia or the specific, weird transphobia towards trans men that self-proclaimed "trans-inclusive" feminists are fond of; essentially, "oppression and privilege are a binary and you, person who doesn't neatly fit into either one, get to be whichever one is most convenient to me at the moment". real people get pushed out of the way so a theory in someone's head can make more sense.

admittedly, a big part of this is the "jew/arab" binary that zionism created and the rest of the world adopted, so i'm not pointing fingers at the tagger here or anything. i'm not telling anyone to start checking off "other" on the census either.

i just like, wish that people like that tagger thought a little bit about what this affirmation that jews = white does for them personally? does it make them more comfortable to literally push yourself away from the middle east and associate yourself more with europe? isn't colonialism bad no matter who does it? are middle eastern jews "worse" than you for having a more recent connection to the middle east? should we just drop that connection so your anticolonialism can make more sense to you? if we're a different people, what's stopping you from excluding non-european jews from jewish things?

"white" isn't a barrier between you and other people, because "white" is ultimately made up bs. you and i aren't too different, even if we're not exactly the same. and i think the american jews who take "sides" in this argument re-reckoning with antisemitism as it is rather than making their experience in the us as a jew fully analogous to either people of color or white people full stop is one of the most effective ways to combat antisemitism *and* zionism, personally.

what made u anti zionist / helped u unlearn zionism

Unlearning is a work in progress, but basically finding out the information I was given wasn't true. I was taught the "a land without a people for a people without a land" - found out Palestinians, you know, lived here, actually. Was taught all the violence we committed was in self defense - found out we destroyed whole villages to take over the land. Was taught our military is very ethical and never violent without necessity - saw what we do to Palestinians even today (and by "today" I mean before the current escalation in Gaza, I have no idea how anyone can ignore this one now). Was taught we "made the desert bloom" - learned some about native and non-native plants, and about the colonialist nature of trying to transform a whole ecosystem to suit us instead of living with the land as it is. From "Israel vs the Palestinian territories" to learning that even the lands taken over in 48... were taken from them. From "this is our land because this is where we come from" to learning that we aren't the only people that originated in this land and we can't just override the claim of the people who lived here for generations.

None of this, like, inherently means you'll let go of zionism. I know zionists who would agree with me about many of these points. But, I suppose, for me it's a broader anti-colonialism and anti-isolationism thing, and... anti-exceptinalism?

Like, I had to unlearn the idea that antisemitism is a unique and singular kind of oppression that no oppressed group can ever relate to or have solidarity with. The idea that we're alone, we'll always be alone, we're destined to be hated and murdered in ongoing and repeated extermination attempts unless we segregate ourselves in our own state with our own military where we can double down on "kill or be killed" over and over. And because we're the only ones who are this completely rejected by the rest of humanity, anything we do to achieve that goal of safety is justified regardless of who we hurt. Or even that our unique state as victims means we can't actually cause harm in the ways that we were hurt.

Antisemitism is unique in the same way that anti-Blackness is unique and ableism is unique, they all have their own elements. That doesn't mean we can't fight together and form coalitions with other marginalized groups. Romani people are another example of how our experiences are both unique and not. They don't face antisemitism, but they were still part of The Final Solution. We're not The Ultimate Victims, we're one group among many.

All of this together, for me, meant going from "we're the only nation not allowed to have our own country, self determination," to understanding that the issue isn't the question of the right to self determination, it's the fact that we decided to exercise it at the expense of other people. Pretty sure Romani people would face the same reactions if they decided to displace another nation for the sake of their own self determination. This isn't a game of musical chairs, we can't just go "your turn in exile, get out" and expect that to be okay.

Some stateless nations live in a specific location under another country, and they can declare independence in that place without causing harm. It's unfortunate that we didn't have that. But Palestinians shouldn't pay the price.

And Jewish people should be safe everywhere, not just in the small patch of land where we're the oppressor.

Final thing is, had to read a bit about what Palestinians think of all of this. Which is complicated, no group is a monolith, and I don't think I'm qualified to break that down. But after unpacking all the "about us" things, I had to look at their goals from liberation, and now I try to do my best to stay informed and support those goals.

[meadowfics]

warning signs

father!jeon jae-jun x f!mother!reader

this is the fourth part to my mini series linked here

warnings: smut! 18+ minors do not interact. p in v unprotected. mentions/implied baby trapping. stockholm syndrome! angst

the boutique encounter with yeon-jin burns in your chest like acid, her psychotic laugh echoing as you drive home, your hands gripping the wheel so hard your knuckles ache.

you’ve always hated her, a hatred rooted deep in high school, where she was the queen and you were just collateral damage in her war for jae-jun or whenever dong-eun couldn't be her punching bag.

back in high school, yeon-jin didn’t just want him...she wanted to own him, to make sure no one else could.

you were his secret, his quiet obsession, but she sensed you, sniffed you out like a predator.

she’d corner you in the halls, her smile sharp as a blade, whispering insults that cut deeper than fists.

“you think he loves you?” she’d hiss, her eyes glittering with malice, “you’re just his sex toy, y/n. he tosses you around when he’s bored.”

you’d shrink under her gaze, your heart pounding, knowing she was half-right but too weak to fight back.

she’d flaunt her place at his side, her arm looped through his, her laughter loud when he ignored you in front of her.

once, in the girls’ bathroom, she’d shoved you against the sink, her nails digging into your arm.

“stay away from him,” she’d spat, her voice venomous, “he’s mine.” you’d wanted to scream that he wasn’t a prize, that he was a poison, but you were too scared, too caught in his web to break free.

now, years later, her smirk in the boutique, her casual mention of ya-sol and seo-yeon as sisters, reignites that old rage.

yeon-jin has her own husband, but its clear that she still feels for jae-jun. of course that woman wants to own every fucking thing.

she’s still the same, playing games.

you try to shake her voice off as you head to the dental office, the sterile hum of your workplace a temporary anchor. y

ou’re checking x-rays when the receptionist buzzes you.

“ms. lee sa-ra’s here,” she says, “its a walk-in. she says her father made her come.”

your stomach twists, as much as you want to laugh since that grown woman is still following the commands of other people.

sa-ra, another ghost from high school, part of yeon-jin’s cruel clique, was always high on something, always laughing at your pain.

you brace yourself and call her in. she saunters into the exam room, her designer sunglasses perched on her head, her skin sallow despite the expensive makeup.

she flops into the chair, her eyes and smirk lazy.

“well, well,” she drawls, her voice slurred just enough to confirm your suspicions, “y/n, the big-shot dentist. never thought you’d make it this far.”

“just shut up for once, and open your mouth,” you whispered, your tone clipped, pulling on gloves. you don't even care about remaining professional for this clique of monsters.

you’re not here for her games. she complies, but her eyes stay on you, mocking, as you examine her teeth. the x-rays don’t lie...her enamel’s shot, cavities blooming like dark stars.

“so I see that you’re still using,” you say, not a question, your voice flat as you adjust the light.

sa-ra laughs, a brittle sound.

“what, you think you’re my mom now? worry about yourself, y/n. heard you’ve got a kid with jae-jun. how’s that working out, keeping him from his own daughter for fifteen years?”

your hand freezes on the scaler, your jaw tightening.

“you’ve got bigger problems,” you say, tapping the x-ray screen, “these cavities? you’re one bad day from a root canal. maybe focus on that instead of my life.”

she smirks, unfazed, leaning back in the chair.

“touchy, huh? bet jae-jun’s not happy you hid his kid. he’s got a right to her, you know. what, you think you can play mommy and daddy forever?”

“i think you should shut up and let me do my job,” you snap, your voice sharp enough to cut glass, “or i can send you back to your pastor daddy with a bill for a full mouth reconstruction. your choice.”

sa-ra's smirk falters, but she doesn’t push further, letting you finish the cleaning in tense silence.

when she leaves, her sunglasses back on, you’re shaking, her words clawing at you.

she’s right about one thing...jae-jun’s not going to stop.

you think of dong-eun, her plan, her promise to end this, but the lines are blurring.

you head home, your mind a storm, expecting to find seo-yeon sprawled on the couch, her phone glued to her hands.

instead, you stop short in the doorway, your keys slipping from your fingers.

jae-jun’s there, lounging in your living room like he owns it, his suit jacket slung over a chair, his tie loosened.

no seo-yeon. your heart lurches, panic spiking.

“where’s my daughter?” you demand, your voice sharp, stepping inside.

he stands, his hands raised in mock surrender, that infuriating smirk on his lips.

“relax, y/n. she’s with her friends. told me she’d be out for a bit. thought i’d wait for you.”

you cross your arms, your skin prickling under his gaze.

“what the hell are you doing here, jae-jun? you can’t just show up in my house.”

he steps closer, his voice low, casual but laced with intent.

“i haven’t talked to you properly in, what, sixteen years? thought we could catch up. go out, grab some dinner. just you and me.”

your stomach twists, recognizing the trap.

he means a date, a chance to pull you back into his orbit.

you want to say no, to kick him out, but dong-eun’s voice echoes.

let him think he’s winning.

you swallow, hating yourself for it.

“fine,” you say with your voice tight. and lowered, “dinner. but that’s it.”

jae-jun's smirk widens while triumphant, “that’s all i’m asking.”

the restaurant is upscale, all dim lighting and clinking glasses, the kind of place where wealth hangs in the air like perfume. jae-jun’s at ease, ordering wine with a flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving you.

you’re in a black dress you threw on in a rush, your hair loose, and still beautiful. however, you hate how his gaze makes you feel...seen, wanted, but in the worst way.

he’s casual, charming, asking about your dental practice, your life, like he’s genuinely curious.

it’s all a performance, you know it. every laugh, every brush of his hand against yours, is calculated, pulling you closer to the edge.

“you’ve done well,” he says, sipping his wine, his eyes glinting over the rim.

“dentist, nice house, seo-yeon is in a top school. you raised her like a jeon without needing me... I didn’t think you had it in you back then.”

“you didn’t know me,” you say, cutting through his charm, “you never bothered to.”

he leans back, his smile softening, almost sincere.

“maybe not. but i see you now, y/n. you’re strong. always were, even when you didn’t know it. makes me wonder what we could’ve been if you hadn’t run.”

you bristle, your fork pausing midair.

“i didn’t run. i survived you.”

he chuckles, low, like you’ve amused him.

“survived me? come on, y/n. we were kids. we had something real. you can’t deny that.”

“real?” you snap, “you manipulated me, jae-jun. you used me. don’t rewrite history.”

he leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, his voice dropping.

“and you loved it, didn’t you? at least a little. i felt it, y/n. you can hate me all you want, but weissier we’re here now.”

your throat tightens, anger and shame twisting together. you want to argue, to throw your wine in his face, but dong-eun’s plan holds you back.

you force a breath, sipping your drink to steady yourself.

“that’s not the point,” you say, your voice cold, “the point is you don’t get to walk back into my life and claim anything.”

“i’m not claiming,” he says, his hand sliding across the table, brushing your fingers.

“i’m asking. for a chance. for seo-yeon. for us.”

you pull your hand back, your skin burning.

“there is no us.”

he smiles, undeterred, and the conversation shifts, his charm relentless.

jae-jun talks about seo-yeon, how proud he is, how he wants to be there for her. he talks about you, how he’s never forgotten you, how he’s changed.

you can tell he is telling the truth about seo-yeon but starts to lie when it comes to you.

you know it, but his voice is smooth, seductive, blurring the lines between truth and manipulation. you try to hold onto dong-eun’s plan, to the rage you felt after yeon-jin, but his words slip under your defenses, stirring memories you’ve buried.

by the time dinner ends, you’re exhausted, your resolve fraying.

he pays the bill with a flourish, guiding you to his car with a hand on your lower back. you expect him to drive you home, but the city lights blur past, and you realize he’s taking a different route.

“where are we going?” you ask, your voice sharp.

“my place,” he says, glancing at you with a smile, “just for a drink. i want you to see where i live, y/n. where seo-yeon could spend time.”

your heart pounds, warning signs flashing in your mind, but you don’t protest.

dong-eun’s voice is faint now, drowned out by the pull of his presence, the dangerous familiarity of it.

jae-jun's apartment is a penthouse, all glass and steel, a bachelor’s dream overlooking the city. he pours you a drink, his eyes never leaving you as he shows you around...sleek furniture, modern art, a view that screams power.

after about ten minutes, he stops at a closed door, opening it to reveal a small room, decorated in soft pinks and whites, clearly for a little girl.

seo-yeon is too old for a room full of unicorns, and its so much pink.

your daughter's favorite color is not pink, its sage green.

this was clearly meant for jae-jun's youngest.

“this for ya-sol?” you ask, your voice tight, the name slipping out before you can stop it.

he freezes, his eyes narrowing.

“how do you know about ya-sol?”

you swallow, cursing yourself.

“yeon-jin,” you say quickly, “i ran into her. she… mentioned her and seo-yeon being half sisters.”

he nods, his expression unreadable, but you see a flicker of something... suspicion, maybe.

“yeah,” he says while closing the door, “it’s for her. she’s… special, but not as special as seo-yeon... don't worry.”

you don’t respond, the weight of ya-sol’s existence, seo-yeon’s half-sister, pressing down on you.

he leads you to his bedroom, the air thick with tension.

you’re standing by the window, looking out at the city. for a couple of seconds, you try to ignore where you are.

this is for dong-un. you try to convince yourself.

this is when you feel him behind you, his chest brushing your back.

your heart starts to race as jae-jun's lips hover near your earlobe, his breath warm against your neck from behind.

“how could you leave me, y/n?” he murmurs, his voice low, seductive, “all those years, and you never looked back once?”

your heart races with anger and something else, something you hate, stirring in your lower stomach.

"you know why,” you whisper, your voice shaking, “you destroyed me.”

“and you rebuilt yourself,” he says, his hands sliding to your waist, turning you to face him, “look at you now. stronger, beautiful. but you’re still mine, aren’t you?”

you want to push him away, to scream, but his eyes hold you, dark and intense, pulling you in.

“i’m not yours,” you say.

your voice wavers, and he knows it.

he shakes his head in disbelief before he leans in to kiss you, slow at first, then deeper, and you lean into it, your body betraying your mind.

the room spins, his hands roaming, pulling you closer, and you’re kissing him back, years of anger and pain blurring into something reckless.

almost all of your clothes fall away, the city lights casting shadows across his bed as he presses himself into you.

it was easy and embarrassing, how soaked you were for a man who you swore you hated more than anything else in the world.

your legs up into a full mating press, where you were displaying the waterfall inbetween your legs as jae-jun easily pushes in and out.

“has another man been raising our daughter?” he asks, his voice rough, his lips brushing your moaning ones, “has some other guy playing daddy?”

you can feel the hate in his voice, knowing that his other daughter has been being raised by other man.

“no,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“no one. just me.”

“good,” he growls, his smirk returning, his hands possessive.

jee-jun keeps fucking himself in and out of you, pulling out until his tip is only inside of you before he pushes himself back in.

“I forgot how good you've always felt, mama," jae-jun groans.

the name almost broke you out of your horny state, but the pleasure has you hypnotized.

jae-jun pushes his upper body up, looking down at you as his dick rearranges your insides. your glassy eyes and swollen lips take over his mind.

the man has always found you so beautiful, which was why he was so obsessed with you.

nostalgia hits him as this reminds him of high school, where he took your virginity for the first time back in that gym locker room.

“for someone who fucking hates my guts, you’re fucking soaked.” jae-jun smirks, his arms on both sides of your head as you mumble for him to not stop.

"sh-shut up." you moan.

“no, because this is how it could be every night. just us, then. you and me. we could do it again, you know. another kid. one i’d raise from the start, not after fifteen years.”

you freeze, his words cutting through the haze, but your body’s too far gone, caught in the heat of him.

“you’re insane,” you whimper, but it’s weak, lost in the moment.

he laughs, low and cruel, his lips against your throat.

“insane? you’re under me, y/n, after fighting me for so long. look at you, falling apart like this. you missed my dick, didn't you?”

you hate him, hate yourself, but you can’t stop. you love and hate how your body responds to his touch, his words, and his degradation.

it’s high school all over again, his control, your weakness, but this time, you’re not a teenager.

you’re a mother, more wise, a survivor.

somewhere in the fog of pleasure, dong-eun’s plan flickers, a warning sign you can’t quite see.

he’s manipulating you, pulling you back, and it’s working.

the lines of your resolve blur into the night.

the fifth part will be linked here

full series masterlist linked here

[forsaken-headcanons]

oh god sry if this is annoying but oc headcanons (me, bsf and my sister yap A LOT) and I am on kindle so typing sucks :(

So there's a killer named skelly n they're like. Bones visible on 75℅ or so of their body??? Theyre a melee killer n they r VERY autistic. They're 26, a younger sibling, religious in like a Wicca sense, and had a HUGE hyper fix on the lore of 1x. (They definitely have a crush) they/them, pansexual

Lynks is Skellys brother. He's like thirteen years older than them (age gap siblings....) And a survivalist with abilities that make him real quiet, and an ability to hear the killer exclusively. He can also pick up other survivors but that's got like twice per round. He's 39, married to an amazing woman, biromantic asexual. He/they. Also autistic and has hella beef with shedletsky (shed hate club when?? /j I love him)

Kath is Lynks's wife. She's a sentinel.survivor, with a crossbow as her weapon. She's real nice and a good cook. She doesn't want to hurt people but will if they hurt her husband (or family in general...) She/her, around 40 (im sorry I love head canon ing these folks as old/silly) ALSO biromantic asexual. The third autistic person

Molotov is my sisters oc. She's a mix of sentinel and survivalist. Her whole thing is bombs. Robloxian terrorist, hates the admins for no reason other than they thwart her plans to blow stuff up. She/her, 23, unlabeled . may or may not be autistic my sister won't say

And then....

The characters based on us....

moon_dxst89. They're seventeen, and they're a support survivor. They somehow can give out medkits. They're constantly nervous, being the youngest survivor- hell, only Two Time and Molotov are close (22 and 23 in our au, respectively). They miss their sister. They were forsaken via suicide, and the spectre had to spawn in their meds after a moment where they threatened to hurt another survivor. (They hate causing harm) They/them pref, autistic.

Ember879 is my sister's self insert. She's fifteen in our au, and she's a killer. She hates bluudud and is corrupted by the spectre to hate moon. She's mostly long range killer. A part of her misses moon, but the spectre keeps trying to erase it. She/they, aroace.

Is skelanon taken? Cause I'd like to be that if possible. Thank you! (you can tell skelly is my favorite lol)

omg these ocs are actually so peak. LOVE MAKING OCS OLD ! WOOOO CHEERED! do not apologize for oc headcanons btw! we love ocs in this household /silly. kath sounds like she'd be super fun to play ngl... hehe.... love long ranged sentinels (curse of chance being the only one 💔)

Molotov is such a creative name oml... taking notes heh /j . taph gets a fellow saboteur on the team hooray ! (if that's molotov's kit)

love love love these ocs! would love to see them again once the inbox is reopened :]

[davrinsleftpectoral]

The Life Cycle of a Pirate

I had to do at least one piece for @rookappreciationweek on Laidir day. I need to celebrate my best boy. (Not like I don’t all the time, shut up I love him)

Thank you @blackwall-my-tiny-husband for the idea of this format and for helping me edit this so much.

I would love to see this for YOUR rooks too!

==

At 5 years old Turvi spends his days playing on the beach with his brother and sister. He’s not old enough to help his father on the fishing boat. He helps his mother with her laundry business sometimes, always with a smile. Turvi knows peace.

At 7 years old Turvi doesn’t have time for school. His family is happy despite being poor. But they need each member to help out as they can. His mother tries to read to him in the evening, but he’d rather be running than sitting.

At 10 Turvi is spending the chantry holiday on the beach with his siblings. They see a large ship coming to the docks, not knowing this was their last day, free, together.

At 10 and two months, Turvi’s family is separated as they are sold into slavery. The last thing his mother tells him is that she loves him and to stay true to his kind heart. He will try to stay hopeful for her.

At 12 Turvi works in the kitchen of a tevinter galley ship. He’s very scrawny still, too small to do much else. He spends his days cooking while wearing manacles on his wrists but he doesn’t let this wear him down. 

At 15 Turvi is still on the same ship. It doesn’t take multiple slaves to cook. He spends most of time alone, below decks, unable to see the sun. He wonders where the rest of his family is now.

At 17 he is still scrawny, but he’s old enough to row now. He splits his time between rowing and cooking. Cooking is lonely work, but at least it doesn’t leave him exhausted and sore. He refuses to become jaded.

At 18 the ship he is on is attacked by pirates. The captain- Isabela frees all the slaves, but Turvi has nowhere to go. Isabela lets him stay with her and the Lords of Fortune. And he finally sees hope manifest.

At 19 Turvi discovers that rowing built muscles that translate into shooting a bow. He trains hard in the Hall of Valor under the hot sun. He missed the sun.

At 21 he decides he wants to choose what marks are left on his body for once. And is showing off his first tattoos to Isabela and the lords. He knows laughter and good ale. 

At 23 Turvi swings in a hammock at night. He usually doesn’t have trouble sleeping; he keeps busy enough to ensure he’s exhausted at night. But this night he softly jingles the bangles on his wrists, and reminds himself that he’s free and surrounded by friends now.

At 24 Turvi is on a mission with the Lords of Fortune. They’re inside the ruins of an ancient temple, and he sees an amulet on display. He can’t resist it’s call. Rushing and impulsive, this acquisition ends in a curse and now he is a pirate who cannot swim. His friends need to pull him out of the water often.

At 28 his skill has grown and he’s chosen for an expedition to take a Rivaini noble into an ancient ruin. The noble double crosses his team and Turvi collapses the ruin to save his friends and destroy a dangerous artifact. Isabela sends him away with her old friend Varric to keep him out of trouble until things settle down.

At 29 Turvi is racing across Minrathous with Varric, trying to find their contact. He pops a magic bubble and his world tilts on its axis when he meets Neve Gallus. He thinks she must be the most amazing person he’s ever met. 

At 29 and a half, Turvi is skipping rocks with Neve and thinking that life doesn’t get better than this. He is quickly proven wrong when Neve kisses him. He’s still fighting to save the world but he’s never been happier. 

At one month before 30, Turvi is forced to face his regrets, trapped alone, in a place without sunlight. He softly jingles the bangles on his wrists, remembering how far he’s come. He is determined that he will make it back to his friends and Neve. 

Just shy of turning 30, Turvi and his remaining friends are victorious. Caught up in the moment of celebrating their win, he proposes to Neve, giving her one of his own rings off his finger. She looks like she might throw up but she still says yes. 

At 34 he is living in Dock Town with Neve. She has arranged a meeting for him at a safe house not far from where they live. He jingles his bangles on the walk, because it’s been such a long journey to get here. Neve gives his hand a squeeze before he enters the interior room alone. Inside waiting for him is an elven woman whose hair is more gray than blonde now. She holds her arms open to him, and as he hugs her, he hopes his mother is proud of him. 

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

So Katniss just really disliked Coin. And Coin knew that was enough to sway the districts and the war; only whether or not Katniss liked her. And Katniss doesn't even realize it, the one-track mind on that girl. Similar to how she's like "oh everyone must be trying to save Peeta because he's so kind and good and amazing 🥰" when really it's because everyone and their dead mother knew that if something happened to him she'd lose her shit and they wouldn't stand a chance. Iconic.

[crowliphale]

watching witchlight while i procrastinate the screenshot drawings but torbek and gricko just high-fived and called each other goblin bros. which is very cute and charming but my frostbek/grimmorning brain just said "hooly shit its two best friends who aren't dating but are unfathomably healthy about their shared girlfriend ohhh my god"

dynamics are shifting a little they just keep getting better and better

[motsimages]

As per Tumblr recommendation, I started Kevin can fuck himself yesterday. I see people comment on how the sitcom part makes it look the way people see an abuser and how the abuse can be disguised. People think he is just a funny guy and the abuse goes unnoticed. I personally see it otherwise, although it's similar.

People know he is an asshole. He spends a whole episode being mean to the new neighbours just because. He meets a dangerous guy at a bar, in public. He is an alcoholic who throws weird parties with lots of other people at home. Patty's boyfriend tells her twice in the 3 or 4 conversations we see that he is an idiot. People know, and people avoid him.

And his bubble know, but they justify it and excuse it. And that's the sitcom. The sitcom is the theater of excuses Allison has (and then other characters too) about his behaviour.

"Can you believe it? We were in our anniversary, such a fun party, we were both super drunk and I don't know how it ended, that I was face down on the floor and the table was broken! Anniversa-rager we call it lol"

"He is such a clumsy guy that just as I was leaving the house, you won't believe that I don't know how he managed to cover me in chilli sauce! What a silly goose!"

"He is so helpless without me, he couldn't find the printer and he called me all day because he needed me to explain to him how to work it. And he worries too! He called the cops because he didn't know where I was, maybe I forgot to tell him".

The conversations with her coworker about husbands help drive this point. That's what mariage is. You find ways to justify it and to avoid certain fights and that's it. We got lucky.

But he did all these things on purpose. And the unreliable narrator of the sitcom makes the joke of it and makes the audience consider that maybe it isn't *that bad*. Allison needs to believe that's what it is, so it is. It really isn't that bad, she thinks, he is just like that.

And we can actually see the worrying things and the threatening parts from minute one. It's only a joke because we have been trained to dismiss it. To justify it and to move on. He isn't doing any heavy lifting here.

In episode 1, just the fact that he ends up standing on the table (when she doesn't want him to even put glasses on without protection) says a lot. But then the table breaks and he fixes it poorly and visibly. It would be bad enough just like this, but I personally think there is more to it. It's just that Allison doesn't want to speak about it or look at it so it is just the table, but it's the switch that turns on for her, the last drop. But she did end face down on her living room, on top of the broken table. It's a very elegant narrative tool where we don't see, but if we wanted to see, it's there.

And the more she notices, the more off-putting the sitcom is. It's still played as a joke, with the laugh track, but she is more aware now, so we can notice too.

We start the series with her turning point, but if the series started a year before that, it would only be happening in her house, as it is her life, her only frame of reference, and it would only be a sitcom because isn't he such a clumsy but caring guy?

[happyk44]

[ID: Text reading: And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.

And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel they brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?

2. Text reading: What is evil anyway, a sad soul infected with devils who take his will, or a man thinking of all his mother’s children he loves himself the best?

3. Illustration. Two figures watch a flaming car from a safe distance. One of the figures is completely yellow, like a bright light. The other figure is dark and shadowed beside them.

4. Text reading: The first thing God made is love then comes blood and the thirst for blood

5. Text reading: Two brothers are fighting by the side of the road. Two motorbikes have fallen over on the shoulder, leaking oil into the dirt, while the interlocking brothers grapple and swing. You see them through the backseat window as you and your parents drive past. You are twelve years old. You do not have a brother. You have never experienced anything ferocious or intentional with another person.

6. Text reading: Brother, my brother Oh, now the darkness comes alive It comes for me and I come for you

7. Text reading: This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him.

8. Text reading: [Roman:] You fucking bastard.

Kendall: I love you, man.

Roman: I fucking hate you.

9. Text reading: They are the same and they are not the same. They are the same and they hate each other for it.

10. Painting. Abel lies on the ground, trying to shield himself with one hand while Cain stands over him, one foot on his brother to keep him down, arms raised and ready to swing his club. The colours of the piece are mostly dark and muted, but Abel is coloured much more lightly, as though a beam were shining down against his chest and face. Cain is heavily shadowed, save for part of his face displaying focused intent, the length of his arm as he prepares to kill his brother, and the leg he’s used to keep Abel pinned.

11. Painting. Abel lies splayed out on the ground. Gripping a stick in one hand, Cain leans against a nearby rock and stares at his brother.

12. Text reading: and I killed my brother I had to and only wish I hadn’t washed my hands in the river the water remembers so long

13. Text reading: I really love you, but I can’t fucking stomach you.

14. Text reading: “If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone?”

15. Text reading: there is something wrong with you

There is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me

16. Tumblr post from @/vampowers dated July 22nd 2023: sibling relationships are so strange… like I love you. You will never understand me in a way that matters. We are the same person in drastically different ways. We are sewn together. We don’t talk. We are attached at the hip. You wish I was never born. Can I call you. Let’s eat together. I forgive you. Etc

17. Text reading: You ask would I have done it for a husband or a child my answer is no I would not. A husband or a child can be replaced but who can grow me a new brother.

18. Text reading: Your sister haunts you. Your sister was wounded, long before she was killed. Your sister has always been wounded.

19. Text reading: Roman: Why do you love trying to hurt me do you think?

Shiv: It’s something to pass the time I guess?

20. Painting. The version of the painting has been cropped. In the full version, three women, anthromorphised depicts of Courage, Despair and Anxiety, hide behind a large rock observing a battle. What is visible in this cropped version is Anxiety gripping her shawl while Courage holds her wrist. Courage leans away from the other two. Despair sits further behind them in the shadows.

21. Text reading: You who I called brother How could you have come to hate me so? Is this what you wanted?

22. Text reading: And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

23. Text reading: Who kills their own brother? Well, someone who loves him very much.

24. Tiktok comment from corinne reading, “I was so selfish. I was just a kid. I was so mad. I’m so sorry”

25. Text reading: And what can I tell you my brother, my killer What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you I’m glad you stood in my way

26. Text reading: hello, brother, hello? hello in there, brother, can you hear me? it’s a long tunnel to the grave

27. Still from the TV show, Succession. The three Roy siblings - Roman, Kendall, and Siobhan - stand in a room. While they're standing beside on another, there's decent space between the three of them.

28. Text reading: Oh, I could call you names now. List a hundred reasons for why you were awful. But what would that do? Where would it leave me? [highlight] I still loved you. I still have to live with that. [end highlight]

29. Text reading: In the Field, the ground warms as blood seeps into the dirt.

/end ID]

MY BROTHER / MY KILLER

"The King James Bible, Genesis 4 / "Black Leopard, Red Wolf" by Marlon James / "Car Crash" by Jenna Andersen / "Stratis Thalassinos Among the Agapanthi" by George Seferis (tr. by Edmund Keeley) / "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken (1) / "Brother" by The Rural Alberta Advantage / "A Brother named Gethsemane" by Natalie Diaz / "Succession" Script (1) / "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken (2) / "Cain Killing Abel" by Pietro Novelli / "The Death of Abel" by Gustave Doré (1866), recolored / "Lupa" by Matthew Nienow / Succession, S04 EP 10, "With Open Eyes" / "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult / “Mirror Traps” by Hera Lindsay Bird / post by tumblr user vampowers / "Antigone", tr. by Anne Carson / "6 ways to draw a circle" by tumblr user filmnoirsbian / "Succession" Script (2) / "Courage, Anxiety and Despair Watching The Battle" by James Sant (detail) / "The Plagues", Prince of Egypt, dir. by Brenda Chapman / untitled poem by tumblr user nathanielorion (1) / "After Abel" by Dante Émile / comment from tiktok / "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen / "For my unnamed brother" by Toi Derricotte / Succession screenshot / untitled, Sue Zhao / untitled poem by tumblr user nathanielorion (2)

[genericpuff]

lord give me the wisdom to not actually attempt watching all this

[sukibenders]

"Rhaenyra isn't the stepmother, she's the mother who stepped up!"

The HOTD writers themselves are hardly doing anything to support that narrative, so I take this rhetoric with a grain of salt. While I think, in some way, Rhaenyra does care for Baela and Rhaena....if I had to point out a motherly figure for them that could pose as someone stepping in Laena's place, Rhaenyra would not be it.

[fentanyl-rabbits]

Little present for my grandmother

[fluffypotatey]

Wild to me they specifally say shes a sister. Someone canonically dating or married to someone else has never stopped shippers before

I KNOW 😂😂😂

they’re like “Sarah Kazansky??? Oh you mean Iceman’s sister???? Yeah no of course :) that’s what you meant when you casted a Sarah Kazansky right? :)”

nothing be stopping the IceMav shippers 🫡 (or any shipper when it comes to canon tbh)

[hollowsart]

If I ever got married, it would just be a reception. No ceremony. That's my personal preference cuz I hate being the center of attention. The reception is just the party after the legal binding. People are less focused purely on you, the bride/groom. And that feels a lot better to me, personally. I've always hated that since I was little. Extreme discomfort.

Plus, I can wear a wedding suit if I want with no issues :) No dress at all 💕

[forgottencormac]

She took both his hands and, despite his natural and overwhelming emotional courage, Cormac sniffled at the gesture. She said his name. Her questions were urgent and he sighed, touched by her obviously great desire, still, to unite with himself. Was this not a pretty tableau? Two lovers, here, sundered by the ambitions of an emperor? Cormac had no doubt that, in future days, many heartbreaking lays would be written of this heart-rending moment and he sighed, gripped with the knowledge that he'd been meant, always, to be a romantic hero. Granted, had she been Cassimir rather than herself, well, that is where the real drama might have occurred, but short of that -- was this not the next best thing?

Mentally attempting to conjure the yearning expression he thought such a hero ought to wear in such a moment, he attempted to turn towards her what he considered to be the most striking angle of his face -- imaging them caught in a painter's imagination and, for centuries to come, fixed in a portrait that would haunt generations to come. Had it not been Cassandra, herself, who stood between them, Cormac could think of no one who would better appreciate the drama of the moment, and he half-wished to tell her of it, though he would not risk wounding her either, by making her believe the idea of their life together had caused him any pain. He sighed again.

"Dearest Aoife," he sighed. Her pain, he knew, must be extreme to go to such a desperate thought, and his heart wept for her. "It is no use! We cannot over-interpret our way out of this, much as we both might prefer such an outcome! My hand is no longer my own to bestow." There. That sounded fittingly poetic, he thought.

"But it is not so very bad, Aoife. We will not be parted, not entirely. You will be everyday at my side as Finnegan's wife, will you not? Next to Aine, you shall be my very favorite sister." This was not really saying that much, given how he felt about his other sisters, but it sounded really quite splendid, he thought, and thus duly fitting of the emotional drama of the moment! He wondered what Cassimir might make of this moment -- how the drama of watched Cormac in such a situation might effect his heart and, despite himself, he smiled softly. It was always comforting -- pleasing, even, to think of Cassimir moved by his own actions and woes...

"It is desperately important that you think very hard about this conversation."

As she requested word for word account, Cormac screwed up his face in memory. How had it gone? He tried to remember, but the whole thing was a blur. But it had been a request, Marian touching his arm, determined to engage him and...

"Aha! Yes! I perfectly recall the occasion!" he cried, rather delighted with his gift of immaculate recall. "The Queen took my hands, just as you have now, and looking deep into my eyes, she said, 'My lord cousin, how I do so wish you to be my own son. Indeed, next to only Lord Malconaire, himself, there is no greater lord in all my husband's domain. But with our dearest lord already sworn elsewhere, I know of no candidate better to wed my own darling daughter. Lord Calleary, I wish you to wed Princess Cassandra. I'm afraid I must insist. I must know that my dear girl shall be cared for as she must be when I am gone.'

"Naturally, I could hardly refuse so tender a request -- and from so loving a mother! -- and, though perhaps not in that way, I do dearly love the sweet princess. I mean to make good on my promise, and care for her as she ought to be cared for, to the end of her days!"

Surprise registered in Cormac's face as she spoke of delay, and he was on the verge of protesting -- he did not see why they could not be wed within the next few hours, if they so wished! It was true that the imperial fashion was for long betrothals, but that was not always the Astairan way, and Cormac wished for Aoife to have her consolation prize secured as quickly as porsible, lest she do herself a harm! Yet, his face gentled into tragic comprehension as she gave her reasons.

"Aoife," he said very gently. "Your instincts do you credit! You are too right. It would not be seemly to outdo Cassimir, and no doubt your sister will have need of you and your sisters as she prepares the occasion to befit one of such august standing as your own most gracious brother! How good of you, how self-sacrificing, yet how wise of you to put such lofty needs above your own. You are right, of course. That is, indeed, how it must be, particularly if you believe it is what dear Cassimir would prefer.

"But Finnegan shall be awaiting you when the time comes! He shall not so much as see another woman! Besides our sisters, of course. We will not announce it, as you say, but I shall myself hold him as sworn to your most esteemed self, and I solemnly swear that I shall dress him, myself, for your wedding day, that he might bring all that masculine splendor a bride should be proud to look upon on her wedding day! I will spare no expense or article in conceiving of the perfect wardrobe! Oh, Aoife," he added, growing rather enthused at the thought. "What is your favorite color? Oh! Perhaps I ought to stud the garment with precious stones -- what do you think?" He gasped, eyes widening with excitement. "Shall I have you a dress made, as well. Oh, stand up! I will take your measurements, myself!"

At that moment, however, something occurred to him. Her measurements were due, after all, to change over the next few months. "Though...not to be indelicate, my lady, but..." He put his finger to his lips. No man had ever been more polite in addressing so delicate a matter, he prided himself. "I speak no word of recrimination -- believe me my brother will be delighted he need not...well, his heir is already secured -- but...Is it not perhaps for the best that...even if a quiet affair, the marriage go ahead...sooner rather than...later? It should not reflect well upon Cassimir should word spread further, and his sisters grow...visible, and yet unwed! No, no, fear not my lady, I shall settle it all with your brother, forthwith!

"Just think, Aoife! You could be married as soon as today, if all goes well!" He paused, agitation growing in his eyes, tears beginning to stand out in them. All he wanted was a way to make them all happy, all at once! Why was it proving so difficult? He wrung his hands. "Do you truly believe it would discomfort Cassimir?"

The Most Admirable Traits || Cormac + Aoife

Aoife stared at Cormac, wondering if he was finished with his speech. For some reason Aoife could not particularly understand, Cormac had decided to inform Cassimir of what he believed were Cassimir's most admirable qualities, possibly in alphabetical order though Aoife had not been paying particularly close attention.

It had been a long speech which was also quite surprising. Perhaps it had come from years of living alongside Cassimir, but she did not think there were enough to even made a two minute speech, let along going on five minutes.

Cormac had always been... unique, but this obsession with her step brother might be one of his most unique traits of all. Part of her felt sorry for Cormac-- she doubted Cassimir would pay him much attention when he had located to the new seat of House Calleary hundred of miles away. Cormac, however, didn't seem to notice that their friendship-- if it could even be called that-- was completely one sided.

"Oh... is that all of them?" Aoife asked before taking a sip of her tea. She realized she'd made it half way through taking a drink when she'd paused, not fascinated by Cormac's words but by just how many words he managed to say in such a short amount of time.

Not really wanting an answer, Aoife leaned forward and picked up the tea pot. "More tea, Lord Calleary?" she inquired, figuring he must be quite parched after such a soliloquy as the one he had just given.