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pengychan · 3 years ago

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[The Great Ace Attorney] A Case of Identity - Prologue

Summary: On that fateful night in Lowgate cemetery, the bullet finds its target in Enoch Drebber. When he awakens he's locked behind an iron mask, facing a lifetime of imprisonment as the mass murderer who survived a botched execution - the Professor. However, help is afoot. Characters: Enoch Drebber, Esmeralda Tusspells, Herlock Sholmes, Yujin Mikotoba, Tobias Gregson, Mael Stronghart, Gina Lestrade Rating: T

Prologue and all other chapters will be tagged as ‘case of identity’ on my blog.

A/N: Let's be honest, shooting the witness that night would have made a lot more sense. This idea hit me over the head with a spoon until I gave in and decided to write it. I gave in pretty quickly.

***

Give me a lever and a place to stand, Archimedes of Syracuse had once said, and I shall move the world.

The boast of being able to move the world may be a slight exaggeration, of course, but Enoch Drebber understood the principle perfectly. As long as the distance from the fulcrum to the object in need of moving - in this case, a stone slab - is shorter than the distance between the fulcrum and the input force - in this case, him - the lever - in his case, a spade - amplifies the input force, and makes heavy objects relatively easy to move.

Relatively being the key word there, because it couldn’t be argued that lifting the stone slab covering the freshly-dug grave was precisely easy. Enoch knew where his strengths lay, and his muscles was not it; he’d have better luck counting on his own meager weight to prove Archimedes right and move, if not the world, at least that damned slab.

Possibly before the guardian of the cemetery happened to walk by, spot what little light emanated from Enoch’s oil lantern, and caught him in the act. It would force him to flee empty-handed and maybe even abandon his spade there, and Hell knew he didn’t even have money to buy another one.

Things would be a lot easier if he had money to bribe the man, clearly, but lack of money was precisely the reason why he was there in the first place. Graverobbing was unpleasant work but always worth it in the end, with coin to last him a good month or even two as long as he was wise in his spending. Some of his fellow students did not see it that way, saying that all the money in the world was not worth the nightmares, or eternal damnation, or whatever it was they feared most.

As luck would have it, Enoch Drebber held no more belief in divine retribution than he did in ghost stories; if not for the risk of being caught, he’d fear those nocturnal walks across cemeteries in the faint light of a lantern no more than walking down the halls at university. Whether it had belonged to a murderer or a saint, a body was a body: a husk of flesh that no longer served a purpose, valuable to no one but the surgeon under whose scalpel it would fall and the students who’d learn from it. And to him, as a decent source of income.

It wouldn’t be long, either way. He was so close to graduation and soon all would be very different, with so much to look forward to. He could change the country, change the world. Within the next ten years, he imagined he’d--

A scraping sound of stone on stone interrupted his musings and brought him back to the present - on an uncharacteristically non-foggy night in the Lowgate cemetery, straining to push down onto the handle of his spade, the other end wedged in a crack beneath the slab that was finally widening.

Ah, Enoch thought, not a moment too soon.

A few more heaves, more scraping sounds, and Enoch was finally able to move it halfway to the side and reveal the coffin within. There was no layer of earth on it to dig out; unusual but, still panting a little for the exertion, he was only glad for it. He shoved the head of the spade in the crack beneath the lid, and pushed it down again. This time, it didn’t take much force.

Crack.

The sound of nails and cheap wood giving in was louder than Enoch would have liked and he stilled to look around, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, making sure he hadn’t been heard. The air was still, the night clear, and to his relief he could see no one: he was alone amongst the tombstones, no sign of the night guardian. Just him, and the faint flickering shadows cast by his oil lantern.

… Maybe it would be best to move it closer, though, to better see inside the coffin and make sure its light would attract no unwarranted attention. Enoch Drebber stood, spade still in hand, and went to pick up the lantern. His left hand had just closed around the handle when noises reached his ears, faint but unmistakable.

The squeal of a hinge being pushed open, a groan, someone moving around and wood splintering further...

… and again the scrape of stone on stone, as though the slab was being pushed further aside to… to...

No. It’s not true. It’s not happening.

Enoch Drebber was, at heart, a man of science. He believed only what he could see and touch to be real, and only what precise calculations and proven theories told him was possible to be possible. Corpses did not, could not, sit up and leave their graves. It was a scientific impossibility. The dead did not return to life, and the temperature in London on a warm Spring night could not drop by a dozen degrees within seconds.

And yet something was moving behind him, and the sheen of sweat on his skin seemed to have turned into frost. Suddenly, the hand holding the lantern shook so hard the tiny flame was almost extinguished. If that happened and he was left in darkness, Enoch was sure, no amount of logic and good judgment in the world could keep him from screaming.

Above him, dark clouds hid the moon. Behind him strone scraped against stone once more, followed by a noise that chilled him to the bone, carried by a faint wind.

“Uugh…”

Run.

No. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s someone trying to scare me off-- the guardian, another grave robber, some urchins from the slums--

He should have ran, dropped the lantern and spade and just left the cemetery as fast as his legs could carry him, but he did not and he would live to regret it. As his rational mind desperately fought to cling to a logical explanation and keep the growing panic at bay, Enoch Drebber gathered his courage and turned, mouth dry, to lift the lantern with a shaky hand.

“Who--” he began, but his voice died in his throat. There in the flickering light, face covered by an iron mask and halfway out of his grave, was the corpse. Enoch strained to open his mouth, to cry out, but no sound left him as he watched a dead man climb out of his coffin. The thing’s eyes seemed to shine from the dark abysses of the mask’s eyes, and Enoch knew they were fixed on him. It may have made him tremble, if he wasn’t frozen on the spot.

Divine retribution, he thought. They'll find me in the morning. I will make the papers sooner than I thought I would.

No!

A faint sigh of wind hit his face, chilling him through. A scream tried to claw its way through Enoch’s throat, but something held it back. He stared, eyes wide and terror paralyzing every limb, now certain he would die unless he could force his voice out; the silence and darkness all around him suddenly felt unbearable, suffocating, pushing down on him like gravity. He struggled to draw breath through the obstruction in his throat, and tried to scream.

He never got the chance: another sound cut through the silence of the night before he could.

BANG.

Something hit Enoch Drebber’s back with stunning force, sending him sprawling on the ground with scarcely a sound. He dimly heard his lantern shattering, but he didn’t get to see its light being snuffed out: his face was pressed in the dirt, and he didn’t have the strength to lift his head. The smell of earth filled his nostrils, along with another smell his mind refused to identify as blood. His back burned, but it was a distant burn with little pain as he tethered on the edge of unconsciousness. His fingers dug into the earth, but he was unable to move.

He’ll take me to Hell, he thought. Someone help me, he tried to call out, and again he could make no noise. He faintly heard something over the ringing in his ears - steps, someone’s voice - but he couldn’t make out any words. Enoch’s eyes fell shut and he let the dark claim him, utterly certain he would never awaken again.

He was wrong.

He’d wish he hadn't been.

***

Earth. He smelled earth and blood, something was

d r a g g i n g him

away from where he’d fallen

where had he fallen

why had he fallen

and whatever it was

the corpse

he was powerless to stop it. He was cold

so so cold

and couldn’t move, his tongue remained a dead weight in his mouth, his eyes remained shut as he

f e l l

and hit something hard, a clang of metal on wood

why metal and why was his head so heavy

covering his faint groan. It had felt like such a long fall, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was not. A hole in the ground large enough for a coffin was not a long way to fall.

“Wrong place. Wrong time .”

A voice so. far. away. So far. So close.

Enoch’s eyes cracked open only a few moments to see the waning moon high above, a dark shadow blotting out most of it. A sigh.

“... Wrong target. Damned fool.”

Enoch Drebber tried to call out

help me

what happened

God

mother

someone

but his tongue did not move, his head was much too heavy, and his eyes slipped shut again. The creak of hinges, a lid slamming shut, and all was dark. Above him, the scrape of stone on stone

give me a lever

sealed him in, but Enoch did not hear it. For a time, he heard and felt nothing.

***

Air. A clack like a metal latch right by his ear and then cool night air blowing on his face brought Enoch back to a state of faint awareness. He breathed in, or tried to, because suddenly something

pressed

on his face, something soft and yielding, and he couldn’t breathe. He tried to push it off, but he couldn’t move, fingers barely twitching.

No no no stop please I’m sorry I’m so sorry someone help--

Then, as his lungs began to burn, the pressure was gone and air hit his face again. He drew breath in a shuddering gasp; above him, someone else gasped much louder.

“Mon Dieu!”

The clang of tools being dropped, a silence and stillness that seemed to stretch on forever. Beneath close eyelids, he realized a light was being shone on him. The voice came again, this time a whisper.

“This… how… blood…? What happened here?”

A soft touch on his forehead, so so cold

or maybe he was feverish

and another whisper. “Monsieur, what happened…?”

“Who goes there!”

Another voice, loud as thunder, and the touch on Enoch’s forehead was gone. He groaned again, and strained to open his eyes. In the faint glow of the lantern he saw there were two figures standing above him. Neither was trying to keep their voice down, but all sound still seemed to be coming from so far away, words barely intelligible and blurring together.

“... doing here…”

“... still alive, call the wardens…”

“... botched the hanging, clearly…”

“... buried him alive…?”

“... will answer for the mistake…”

“... how…?”

“... none of your concern… national interest…”

Enoch groaned again, and tried to move. His body was too heavy, and something behind his shoulder hurt, a burning pain that seemed to flare all the brighter the more he regained consciousness. “H-- help--”

He managed to force out the word in a husky whisper, causing the two dark figures to fall quiet and look at him. The larger one, a man, heaved a sigh. “... Go fetch the guardian and tell him to warn the prison wardens at once. We will discuss your trespassing later.”

“I… oui. Right away.”

The woman seemed to pause a moment before she ran off, picking something up from the ground, but Enoch didn’t see what it was and neither did the man. Suddenly he was kneeling over him, blocking out the moonlight, staring down at him with piercing eyes. The oil lantern's light flickered across his features as he grimaced, pulling his lips in a tight line.

“Yes, Professor,” he said, very quietly. “It is clear that the execution was botched.”

The… the Professor, the infamous mass murderer? A botched execution? Then maybe… maybe he hadn’t seen a corpse return to life. The man-- the murderer -- was never dead. It happened rarely, but neither botched hangings nor men buried alive were unheard of. There were stories among grave robbers of such instances, bodies found with bloodied fingers from trying to scratch their way out, but Enoch regarded them as nothing more than legends.

After that night, he never would again. He had let a murderer out in the streets, the monster had tried to kill him and left him for dead. And now he was out there, he was… he was...

“A-- alive…” Enoch managed, his usually nimble mind struggling to put the pieces together. The man nodded gravely.

“Yes, unfortunately. You should not be alive. This is going to be a dreadful headache.” A shake of his head, and the man reached to pick something up from the ground - the iron mask that had been on the murderer’s face when he’d emerged from the grave, now open like a beast’s maw. The mere sight of it made Enoch shudder.

“T-the Professor, I saw… I…!” he choked out, trembling.

A long sigh, and the man nodded again. “Oh, yes. I know,” he said. Suddenly the mask was over Enoch’s head, and closed with a clack. He made a noise of surprise, looking at the man’s face; his expression remained unreadable. What… what was going on? Was he listening to him?

“The Professor--” Enoch tried again, struggling and failing to hold up his head. A large hand on his chest kept him from trying to rise, his head spun, and he knew he wouldn’t be conscious for long.

“No need to repeat your title, Professor,” the man said, and reached for the mask again. Another sound, like a key being turned into a lock, and those blue eyes once again bore into his. There was no joy nor sorrow in that unwavering gaze: only a steely resolve more terrifying than anything else he'd seen that night.

Enoch's own vision swam and everything went dark again, the next words barely reaching him as he felt himself sink into nothingness.

“We know exactly who you are.”

***

[Next]

#the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #enoch drebber #dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa spoilers #mael stronghart #esmeralda tusspells #dgs2 spoilers #case of identity

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rosalia-bonet · 3 years ago

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Full name: Rosalia Esmeralda Bonet Nicknames: Rosa, Rosie, Bonnie Age: Twenty Eight Birthday: 13th August Pronouns: She/Her Occupation: Seamstress at a bridal shop Hometown: Camp Pendleton, San Diego, California, USA Residence: Downtown (Apartment) Martial Status: Widowed

Please Note Trigger Warnings: Familial Death, Cancer, Suicide, Pregnancy

Rosalia was the daughter of a general and a housewife. She was raised on the Marine corps base called Camp Pendleton in Southern California. Her mum always imagined a nice simple life until she met Rosalia’s father when he was on a marine mission in Mexico. They fell in love and she came back to America with him. Within 5 months, they were married and her mum was pregnant with Rosalia. For the start of her life, everything was perfect. Sure, her dad would work away for potentially months at a time but when he returned, they were happy. Her mum was very loving and cared so much for the family she had made. It was when Rosa was 10 that this started to change. Her mum began to get increasingly more tired and more poorly but by the time she stopped being stubborn and actually went to the doctors, it was too late. She was quickly diagnosed with breast cancer and her outlook wasn’t good. Within six months of her diagnosis, she was being buried which was surprisingly three months more than what the doctors gave her.

Following her mum’s death, her dad became very different. He was colder. Distant. His logic? Rosalia always looked so much like her mother that it hurt him to even look at her. He’d promised his wife that he’d look after their daughter but as time went on, it just hurt too much. He started to take on more responsibility in his job to distract from his pain. It meant he wouldn’t be home as much. It meant he didn’t have to think about it all. Instead, Rosalia was practically raised by other families in the base who felt sorry for her. Rosa, herself, never really understood why her dad couldn’t stand to be around her. It strained their relationship and even more so when she became a teenager who had a dead mum and a distant father. She became angry at the world. She became rebellious. She’d make her way off the base and just take time to go crazy. However, the one thing she always remembered from her drunken binges was stopping outside this one bridal shop and staring at the pretty white dresses in the window. She would always feel so magnetized to it. Her mum often made outfits for Rosa and taught Rosa a lot about sewing and designing outfits.

Rosa began to clean up her act and get away from her dad by moving off the military base. She needed a fresh start and started to work at the same bridal shop she stopped at so often in town. First, she was just a person on the shop floor to sell the dresses but soon, she began to take lessons with the in-house seamstress. Very quickly, she became a professional seamstress by the age of 22. Rosalia was making dresses all by herself and not just editing pre-made ones and her own dresses were actually being sold soon after. It was when she designed the dress for her high school friend that she got an invite to her wedding and met the groom’s best man, Liam. They instantly clicked and it was no surprise that after a fair few drinks that they ended up in bed together. In the morning, they exchanged numbers and parted ways.

Liam was a police officer back in Colorado so they both knew it couldn’t actually work out with it being such a long distance relationship when they didn’t know each other. But still, they messaged constantly. Mostly as just friends but still, it was rare to go a day without a message. Liam ended up surprising Rosa by coming back out to California and made it clear how much he actually liked her. They would try to get out and see each other as much as they could until after a year, Rosa decided to make the move to Colorado when she was 24. They were finally able to be just a normal couple. After 2 years of dating, they finally got married (and of course, Rosa made her own dress). Following the marriage, they started trying for a baby which... didn’t quite go to plan. Every month just ended with disappointment. It was a rough time and although Rosalia worried about herself being the problem for why they couldn’t conceive, it was actually Liam that took it the worst. His head went to a dark place. He thought he wasn’t “man enough” to get his wife pregnant. He felt like he couldn’t give her what they both wanted. He was getting pressure from his parents asking when he’d give them a grand child. The more people asked about kids, the more upset he got. But the problem was: he never spoke about it. He kept it all inside which only made him worse. Rosa knew something was wrong but it felt like any time she tried to address it and tried to make it better, the more he pushed her away.

Just over a month ago, Rosa began to feel nauseous for a few days and very sensitive to smells which prompted her co-worker to tell her to take a pregnancy test. She didn’t tell Liam because if she wasn’t, she didn’t want to disappoint him if she wasn’t. She took the test and finally, a positive. She rushed home, knowing Liam had a day off to tell him the good news but when she came home, the house was quiet. She thought maybe he’d gone for a run since the car was still there but something just felt off. She went upstairs and poked her head in to the bathroom to notice the medicine cabinet was open and there were pill bottles scattered around. She followed in to the bedroom, calling Liam’s name and that’s when she found him. He’d taken as many pills as he could in a bid to go out peacefully. A note on the bedside table for Rosalia saying sorry. She called the ambulance before seeing the note and begged him to wake up but he didn’t. He was already done by the time the ambulance came. He died without knowing that he was going to have a baby.

Rosa has been absolutely destroyed by Liam’s death. All she wanted when she watched his casket getting put in to the incinerator was a bottle of alcohol but knowing she was pregnant with the last remainder of her husband, she couldn’t. She needed this kid to carry on Liam’s legacy. However, because she was only 1 month pregnant, she didn’t actually tell many people at all about the pregnancy. In fact, only her nearest and dearest know and some of them don’t even know. She just doesn’t want to tell anyone until 3 months when it’s safer to tell people. She is now 2 months pregnant and mostly just trying to keep working to distract herself. It’s now that she’s began to notice why her dad did everything he did to her in a sense, following the death of a spouse. Rosalia is simply trying to get through each day the best she can. She moved out of her house, not being able to stay in the house where he died and moved in to a two bed apartment in Downtown that she can afford on her salary and keeping the money left by Liam for the baby and the baby only.

POTENTIAL CONNECTIONS

Police Officers in Providence Peak - they would have known Liam as he was on the force for 8 years so would know Rosa

Anyone in the wedding industry or got married in Providence Peak in the last five years - Rosalia could have potentially been making the wedding dresses for brides and such

If your character fits in to any of these categories, feel free to message me and we can defo plot something out!

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Confidant - one of the very very few people who actually know that she’s pregnant and someone she can talk to about everything going on without feeling judged and vice versa

Foodie Buddies - literally just always have food together - be that take out or cooking for each other. just a wholesome friendship based on food

TBA

#providence.intro

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norringtxn · 2 years ago

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@emcads said: (marriage v1) Esmeralda knelt low at her husband’s desk until the fine softness of dust pink silk met the warmth of the rug of his study. there was pure mischief dancing in those dark brown eyes as she glanced up at him — but mixed, in part, with a fervent adoration, a deep red smile at her lips. gentle hands landed at the fastenings of his breeches, teasing, but she would go no further until she knew he wanted this just as dearly as she did. until he was aching and straining at them.“ you’ve been working much too hard, mi corazón. let me distract you. ”

There is no doubt in his mind that he wants this. Not the act specifically but rather any bit of attention she can spare in his direction. Pitiful? Perhaps. James has yet to encounter a husband that harbours the same obsession and devotion towards his wife that he feels. In fact, when discussing marriage and its daily trials and blessings with his social circle, James feels rather...alone. Where he writes poetry to fill the void that Esmeralda's absence (however long or however short) leaves, his fellows of the so-called stronger sex seem to prefer to fill it with either drink or the presence of another woman entirely. He cannot hope to understand it, nor does he want to. Why waste time considering such awful things when he could be enjoying time with his wife instead?

His wife. Just the word holds power over him, and as Esmeralda looks up at him with her hands at his fastenings, James realises that she holds that same power over him. Because he is her husband.

"Are...Are you sure, my heart? I-I do not wish for you to do anything you would prefer not to. Not even for my sake." Perhaps a ridiculous request when he's already aching for her from imagination alone, but it is a genuine request nonetheless. Her comfort is his priority.

#{ ask: ic }#{ emcads }#emcads #{ v: i found love in your laugh | marriage verse | emcads }#// james disapproves of all husbands that do not simp their wives #// what is the point of wife if no simp?!?!#// heresy

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years ago

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Butterflies 🦋: Part 1

A/N: Tumblr is a bitch so I had to re-upload this lol. Idek why I wrote this but I had an idea about butterflies and I just went with it. Sorry if the ending is a bit lame but I hope you enjoy this cute shit. There will be a Part 2 soon.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Tooth-rotting Fluff, Mentions of neglect, and Swearing.

Word Count: 2,435

Characters: Bonnie Gold x Reader

+ I also made Esmeralda have more of an appearance as well and mentioned his younger sister a tiny bit since they absolutely failed at acknowledging them in the show lol.

Summary: Y/n leaves her hometown after she and Bonnie learn they’re going to be parents. But after getting news of some urgent blinder business, Bonnie’s priorities shift as he prepares for his next mission by Tommy, and as he prepares for his new life with Y/n.

Requested: No

Part 1 | Part 2

Y/n never thought that she’d leave Small Heath, knowing that the very city she was born in was nothing but trouble. She was like a butterfly trapped in a cocoon that wouldn’t budge, wanting to go off and live and do as she pleased without facing the hollow shell of her parents that awaited her at home.

But she never thought she’d get that chance so soon, until she met him. The brown haired boxer boy who came in with stars in his eyes to where she was working on sewing the fighters robes at the ring, asking if she’d do some repairs to his. She always stayed after hours to get time away from her parents, causing her to have more run-ins with him than she could count. And little did she know, he’d tear a small hole in his robe on purpose every now and then just to get the chance to stay after with her and talk, and ultimately walk her home after the sun went down.

The two quickly started dating after a couple more of his boxing matchups, causing a jealous stir in the crowd of girls that she’d always seen sitting up front. But in a flash, she and the infamous Bonnie Gold had been going steady for a full year now. During this whirlwind of a year, she found out she was pregnant with his child and they both, along with his father’s insistence, decided that having her move in would be good for the both of them considering the circumstances back at home and the fact that they had a new addition coming.

But because this was Small Heath, and because nothing ever happened without the blinders coming into any conversation, the town quickly knew of them, along with the growing tensions between outside gangs and the blinders. There had been explosions and chaos ever since the other gangs stepped foot in Small Heath, and they no doubt stalked the boxing rings while the blinders were there, which was making it more risky for her to stay there as Bonnie had been working with the blinders as of late. And everyone in town knew full well that anyone who carried a razor-blade cap also often carried a possible death sentence.

Y/n shuddered at the thought as she reminisced on how she got here. She hated he was working for them, but she wanted to support his dreams nonetheless. As she shook herself from her thoughts, she laid in the back of the vardo, watching the sunlight streaming into the wooden structure. The inside was painted a dark green color, much like the vast expanse of trees surrounding the spot they all stopped at. As she looked up aimlessly, she marveled at the intricate gold-painted wood details that lined the inside of the space, nicely contrasting with the rich colors of the various curtains and small decorations hanging from the windows. As her eyes wandered, she saw the small drawers and a lamp that was resting on the wooden flooring, and a rug with floral patterns and golden thread weaved throughout, taking up the majority of the space.

As she took in her new surroundings, she heard the voices of Bonnie and his father Aberama talking with some people outside. They were voices she didn’t fully recognize.

Y/n stepped out carefully, the fall air creeping up around her dress as she walked down towards them. On her way over, Bonnie’s sister - and her new best friend, stopped her and pulled her gently to the side over by where her and her other sister were setting up breakfast.

“Hey y/n, let me know what Bon says when he gets done meeting with them, I hate him getting involved in that blinder business.” She said, skeptically looking out at them talking with a stone-faced man with two others behind him. They all had their razor-blade caps on, including Bonnie. Y/n knew the men they were talking to as Bonnie had mentioned them before, back when he had just started working with them. She had also met them at plenty of his boxing matches over the year.

“I know Esmeralda. But I’ve met them enough to know they’re not all that bad, but I’ll have a talk with him. Promise.” Y/n said hugging her.

She walked over carefully, draping a hand over her small bump she had forming under her blue dress. The blinders looked over and Bonnie and his dad followed suit, Bonnie tensing a bit as she made her way over. He watched her with a sweet smile, desperately trying to hide the strain in his eyes as he had been told some news about the gangs.

“Good morning love. Sorry for keeping you waiting.” He said as she put her arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“What I was saying Mr. Gold, was that we’ll need you both in Small Heath by 9 tomorrow. We have to be ready.” The stone-faced man, Tommy Shelby said to Aberama quietly.

Y/n observed the others and saw that they looked a bit uncomfortable, their trigger-fingers itching for action as usual. But no blood would be spilled, not here anyways.

She felt Bonnie relax as they said goodbye to them, the two of them watching as they walked off towards their cars that were glistening in the sunlight.

“What was that about Bon?” She asked as he walked with her back to where everyone was gathering for breakfast.

“I’ll tell ya later. It’s nothing for you to worry about now love.” He said pulling out a chair for her to sit at and then fixing himself and y/n some of what Esmerelda had cooked.

Y/n tried her best to eat as the morning sickness was more prevalent than in the previous weeks. But she ended up running off anyways to bring it up once again, frustrated at not being able to keep anything down. After getting herself under control, she wandered off to the creek nearby to rest, loving the sounds of the water rushing amongst the trees.

Bonnie sat for a moment fumbling with a small ring in his pocket while talking quietly to his father about the plans for tomorrow. His father noticed and winked as he took it out to glance at it, it was Bonnie’s late mothers ring, but Aberama made sure to keep it for him when he found “the one.” As he talked about his plans, he couldn’t shake the thoughts of y/n and how she was doing, so he excused himself, hastily shoving the ring back in his pocket, and running towards where she went off to.

Bonnie knew she was having a hard time adjusting to being away from her family, while also not wanting to go back. Her family were like ghosts in a way, they were present, but were never available when she needed them. They never once offered to meet him nor did they take their daughter seriously when she told them her news, and when she left they barely muttered a goodbye.

As he walked into the forested area he remembered that day and how she was sad to leave the town she grew up in, but seeing her finally open up once she was out of the confines of her house was one of his favorite moments. In his eyes she was like a butterfly bursting from a cocoon, ready to see what this new life had to offer. She had always been fragile in a sense, but at the same time so strong which he admired her for.

He heard her crying as he saw her sitting by the creek in the distance.

Slowly walking down towards her, he saw her stand up, wiping away the last of her tears on her hands.

“Y/n? Love are you okay?” He asked quietly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned around and smiled weakly, more tears falling reluctantly to the ground.

She immediately hugged him to her, letting the rest of the tears fall that she had held in for so long.

“What’s wrong love? You can tell me ya know...” he said patting her back gently.

She looked up as he wiped some of the stray tears from her face and sighed.

“I guess I’m just frustrated. I’m frustrated that I can’t eat, and I’m frustrated that you have to go and get involved in all these things for Tommy and them. You all are basically my only family now and I just don’t want you all to get hurt.” She said.

Bonnie pulled her closer to him and kissed her forehead and sighed, looking out at the trees as their branches swayed around them. What he would give to not have to do the things he did, he just wanted to box and to be able to support her but he had to do what he had to in order to keep them safe. Even it meant killing people.

“I’m doing this for us love, you know that right? I know what I’m doing, and so does my dad. No one will hurt you. I promise.” He said.

“Why were they telling you to meet them tomorrow? What was all that about Bon? I doubt it’s about boxing.” She said, a bit of anger taking over as she undid herself from his grasp and sat on a nearby tree stump.

“It’s about the gangs y/n...they’re planning to attack him and have already blown up one of his supply yards and they need our help. He wanted to come to tell us his plan. We’re leaving at 8 tomorrow to meet him, just me and my dad and a couple of the lads.” He said.

“I’m going.” Y/n said looking away from him.

He came over and sat by her, putting his arms around her as she leaned into him.

“As much as I want you to, I can’t let you sweetheart. You need to stay here where it’s safe, because none of them know we’re out here, Tommy made sure of it. It’s not just you I’m thinking about anymore you know. I need you, and I need you both safe.” He said placing a hand on her small bump, as she placed her hand over his, sighing in defeat.

“I guess you’re right, but you better come back so help me god.” She said and got up. Bonnie smirked and joined her as they walked back. A pretty blue butterfly fluttering past, making him smile.

“What’re you smiling at?” She asked smirking as their steps crunched the leaves that were beginning to blanket the ground.

“Did you see that butterfly going past?” He asked.

“No, I was too busy looking at you.” She said smirking as she held his hand.

He grinned. “Well, I was just thinking about how you remind me of it. Beautiful, yet fragile in the best of ways.” He said.

“In what ways am I fragile? Do I look like a mirror or a glass vase or something?” She asked laughing.

“No my love, you’re just fragile in the sense that you’re precious and I’d never want to hurt you. You care so much about everyone and it’s one of the reasons I love you, and why I’m so glad you’re going to be the mother of my child. I mean that...you’re strong and you’ve always been the one to help me out and put up with all my shit for so long. I just want to be able to help you for once. I want you to know that I care about you and that no matter what I’ll always be there for you.” He said stopping and looking down at her.

Y/n smiled and looked up at him, feeling like she could stare at him forever if life permitted.

“I love you too. And I care about you more than you know. We care about you more than you know.” She said cradling her stomach.

“We just want you to be safe, we just want you to come back to us.” She said quietly and walking ahead.

“Y/n...I’ll always come back to you, and with this I definitely will.” He said as he fished for the small ring in his pocket.

Y/n turned around to see him on one knee holding the diamond ring shakily.

“Will ya marry me at least? I’m 100% sure I’d come back knowing you’re the one wearing this.” He asked cheekily.

Y/n stopped and smiled.

“Bonnie fucking Gold are you serious?” She asked stretching out her hand for him to put it on.

“C’mon is it a yes?” He asked as she looked at the ring.

“You could’ve proposed with a piece of string tied together and I would’ve said yes! of course I’ll marry you.” She said smirking and bringing him in for a kiss.

Not soon after, they made their way back to camp and y/n immediately went over to Esmeralda.

“So what’d he say? Oh my god why are you so happy?” She asked raising an eyebrow and sitting down with a cup of tea.

Y/n took a deep breath and told her, no matter the outcome, it had to be said.

“He said they’re going to help the blinders with some peaky business...I tried to tell him I’d go with him and he said no because they’re going to take down a gang that’s been fucking Tommy over. And despite my protests he said it was unsafe for both me and the baby. Anyways, that means it’s me and you running this place until they get back....” Y/n said looking off to see Aberama hugging Bonnie, congratulating him.

“Okay...and that’s a good thing?” She asked as you smiled.

“Well no, I obviously don’t want them to go, but we’d get the place to ourselves for a couple of days, save the couple of others around. Maybe then we could start planning...” Y/n said.

“Planning for wh-“ Esmeralda stopped short as Y/n slowly held her hand up.

“Oh my god yes! I was going to whack him upside the head if he didn’t do it soon. I’m so happy for you! We’re definitely planning this wedding.” She said giving y/n a hug.

Bonnie came over after their little convo and sat with them around the fire, his arm around Y/n’s shoulders as she curled up next to him. As much as she feared for him leaving tomorrow, she believed he’d come back to her, and no matter what happened he’d always make sure his family was safe.

#katiesfics #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshots #bonnie gold #aberama gold #golden boi ✨#bonnie gold imagines #bonnie gold fanfic #bonnie gold oneshots

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justjessame · 3 years ago

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Sins of the Father: Chapter 5

The next time I woke up it was to voices that were doing a tremendous job of mimicking the worst case of stage whispering I’d ever had the misfortune of overhearing. Groaning, and rolling over from where I’d had my face pressed into my pillow, clearly having tried to blind out the brightness of the sunlight - I once more found myself trying to blink open my heavy lidded eyes.

“If the two of you are trying to NOT wake me,” I muttered, feeling slightly vindicated when the sounds ceased. “You’re failing miserably.” I managed to fight past the lead lining that my eyelids had grown overnight and the brilliance of the sunlight glowing through my curtains. A couple more moments fighting against my bed linens and my own limbs and I’d managed to get myself sitting up against my headboard.

Dad and Danny were watching me with rapt amusement, silent as they waited for me to situate myself. “I came looking for you little brother,” Dad finally spoke, deeming me ready for information now that I had both eyes more or less open. “And I was trying to convince him to go down and get breakfast -”

“But YOU promised that we’d spend the day together, Esme,” Danny butted in with the Roper spirit stubbornness. I bit my lip when my gaze met Dad’s over his towhead. “And that should include breakfast.” He crossed his arms over his chest and I was struck by how like our father he was growing.

Clearing my throat free of the cobwebs of sleep, I shook off a sigh. “If you’ll give me time to dress and do something with what I can only imagine is a birds’ nest of curls, I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast and then we’ll start our day.” I countered, and Danny started to agree, but of course Dad had to remind me of my newest family chore.

“Esmeralda, I think you might have forgotten our guest -” His eyes narrowed and I knew he wanted me to take care of my duties alone, but honestly this hero of Danny’s hadn’t shown any likelihood of saying or asking anything untoward while we were alone. Why would having the object that caused his convalescence in the room while I took care of him be problematic?

“I haven’t,” I argued, my eyebrow arching to remind him that Danny was still very present. “Danny can come along so I can show him how easy it is to change the bandages, in case I’m indisposed.” Danny’s nose crinkled in distaste which shocked me, given how he felt about this man.

“You want me to come with you while you rip off his bloody stuff?” I nodded and he shook his head. “No thanks. Couldn’t Jed do it?”

“No, Jed can’t do it.” Dad told him. “Who changes YOUR bandages when you rush headlong into madness? Or Corky’s or Frisky’s or -” Danny sighed. “Esme knows what she’s doing, and so she’ll do it. If you insist on spending the day with your sister, then -”

“Fine,” Danny’s excitement was draining at the idea of a full day of being with me now. “Does it take long?”

I chuckled. “Not too long, but I will take him lunch as well. And I make sure he eats it.” Another long suffering sigh. “Maybe for lunch you could do something else?”

“What?” He stared at me in a clear challenge. I thought about it for a bit and then smiled.

“Pick a movie for us to go to tonight.” His eyes widened. “Just you and me. And we’ll have dinner out as well. How does that sound?”

“Well the two of you and -” I rolled my eyes and Danny laughed. Dad would never allow us to go completely alone, but it didn’t matter. I’d made my little brother happy again. And that was all that mattered.

Breakfast was followed by a day that most people wouldn’t think was all that special, but what Danny missed. We spent part of it watching some of the shows he wanted to show me, and he promised me, while he watched me preparing the bandage portion of the tray for our guest, that he’d be looking for the BEST movie for our night out.

“I know you will,” smiling down at him, I went back to adding the things I’d looked up online that would give some comfort to Mr. Quince’s ribs - at least that’s what the websites I’d found had assured me.

“Will you dress up?” I glanced up to see Danny studying me and waited to see where he was going with this new tangent. “We never got to celebrate your graduation -” My stomach flipped at the thought of their celebration without me and what it had led to, but his mind wasn’t on that, it was on happier things - our night out. “So you’ll dress up, won’t you?”

Swallowing past the lump that had formed at the thought of what COULD have happened if Mr. Quince hadn’t stepped up and saved him from disaster, I hoped he wouldn’t notice my hands shaking as I kept adding my supplies to the tray. “Of course I’ll dress up if you want me to.” Anything he wanted me to do, I’d do. He could celebrate my return, and I’d celebrate the fact that he wasn’t - no, I wouldn’t do that, focus on the here and now, Esme, I reminded myself. You’re a Roper.

Lunch wasn’t soup today. And Mr. Quince didn’t try to argue against my aid in getting him sitting up, nor when I insisted on helping him with his meal. We put off changing the bandages until after, since I’d done it just the day earlier and I couldn’t see any blood peaking out. Taking my spot beside him on the bed, I started cutting up his food and he chuckled under his breath.

“Is there something you’d like to say?” Not looking up, my lips were twitching at the corners as I fought against a grin.

“I dare not,” he murmured, as I picked up the first bite and moved it toward his mouth. “Lest you attempt the airplane in the hangar.” My smile grew as his own flashed, before he took the food I offered him.

Once his lunch was finished, I asked him if he’d rather I start with his face or his ribs and he looked startled.

“I did some research and found that we had some salve on hand that might give you some relief along with a bit of wrapping, if you’d like?” He gave a small nod and started to pull at his shirt, but I stopped him. “Give me a moment to get everything ready, then I’ll help you again.” Fussing a bit with the tray, I moved what I needed to where it would be within easier reach and then with his help, we got his shirt over his head and out of the way. Pressing gently, I watched his face for signs of distress. “You have to tell me which parts are the most tender -” he sighed and so did I. “If you don’t, then the salve won’t be of much use.”

Giving in wasn’t something he did willingly or simply, but he weighed the wisdom of what I was saying and finally pointed out the places that hurt the worst. Picking up the pot of gooey medicine, I opened it and warned him that it wasn’t very pleasant smelling before sitting beside him again so I could reach him. Coating my fingertips with the sticky substance, I leaned closer, and applied the cream in gentle circular motion over the darkened skin that even battered I could tell was corded with muscle.

He tried to stay still and silent, but there were hisses and rippling across his abdomen that he couldn’t hide. The warmth of his skin working with the salve, I hoped, to soothe the pain and discomfort he’d earned when he saved Danny. Once I felt confident I’d gotten him covered, I put the container back on the tray and picked up the elastic wrap bandage and helped him lean forward again so I could wrap him up.

“I read that this will help -” I told him what I’d learned during my online search and he listened while I wrapped my arms around him and worked, our bodies close enough so I could feel his breath flutter my hair. “There,” I pulled back and smiled up at him, since we were still very close. “Isn’t that better?”

“It’s different,” he sounded conflicted, unsure. Which was strange since we’d only known one another for a few hours and in such an odd context anyway. “I - I should put my shirt back on.”

“Right,” I blinked, confused about how I’d gotten off track for those few beats. “Let me -” But we both reached for the white cotton at the same time and our hands linked, different from when he’d stopped me during my last visit, this felt intimate and - I pulled away as if I’d been burned. “Sorry. I - Do you need me to help?”

“I think I can manage,” we were still close, his breath fanning my face now and I had to swallow to try to fight a dryness that wasn’t there before. “Does my other bandage need to be changed as well?”

A glance down, which I’m sure made me look slightly cross-eyed, told me no - it could wait. I shook my head. “I think it’s fine for now.” My eyes flickered back to his and found him waiting for me. “I should go.”

“I’m sure you have,” his gaze flickered down, was he looking at my lips? “A great deal of plans now that you’re home.”

Plans? Did I? Danny. Right. That pulled me free from the bed, the gaze, his warmth. “Yes. I do.” He flinched, as if I’d slapped him. How odd. He pulled his shirt on as I stood up and started gathering the tray together. “Danny and I are going to the movies tonight.” When his head broke free of the fabric of his shirt, his gaze met mine and I bit my lip. “Hot date with my little brother.”

“That sounds fun,” he offered, less strained and more natural - but how would I know what was natural for this stranger? “You seem close?”

Ah, there it is, the questions. “We are,” I agreed. Anyone would tell him as much. “I made him a promise when I went away to university.” He waited, listening as if I were about to tell him a wondrous secret. “If he didn’t throw tantrums or give Dad and everyone too much trouble while I was away, and during my breaks when I’d have to go back, then when I finished I’d come home forever.”

“Forever’s a long time.” My smile grew. “He’s a good kid.”

“Danny’s -” I sighed. “Danny and I know each other better than anyone else in the world. And that’s all that matters to me.”

“He’s a lucky boy.”

“I’m the lucky one.” I gathered up the tray and bid him a good day. And I could have swore that he said something about hoping that I really was the lucky one.

#jonathan pine x oc #the night manager #slow burn #Richard Roper #eventual smut

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emcads · 2 years ago

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28 & 35

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC CHARACTER BUILDING / accepting !

28. What do they tell people they want? What do they actually want?

ohoho. so, Esmeralda tells people that she wants much the same as any other pirate: freedom, and adventure, and gold, and perhaps most importantly revenge for Don Rafael. this last one tends to define many of her interactions with others, including her crew who follow her blindly through the six year long revenge quest, the men and women she pays for information, as well as the relationships she’s not building while she’s focused on the goal of killing Christophe. and this is certainly true to a certain extent : she tells herself and believes that revenge is what she wants most, and she sacrifices a great deal in order to try to achieve it, even straining her relationship with God and with those close to her, like Luis. but if Jack lent her his compass it would not lead her to Christophe. what Esmeralda really wants is to feel whole again, and to have a family that she belongs to, and this is why she feels so strongly about avenging her grandfather –– it is a family obligation that she has been unable to fulfill, and she feels that revenge will fill the hole his presence left in her. ( it won’t ) she wants to be married, and have a family, and peace, but she doesn’t feel entitled to those things until she feels she has earned them –– which comes, necessarily, with the pursuit of gold and adventure along the way, but they are means to an end. it’s very difficult to live according to those values in the pirate community, much less actively pursue that life with someone, so she is content with what she has, which is loving jack, even at a distance, and embracing the family that is her crew.

35. What is the smallest, morally questionable choice they’ve made?

her lies to Marie in her letters. she has often made up many excuses as to why she can’t visit her and her family in the colonies, despite maintaining a regular correspondence with her –– some new insight into Christophe’s whereabouts, pressure from her crew, a naval ship tailing her and not wanting to bring that danger, etc etc. sometimes they are partially based in fact, but really she cannot help but imagine how incredibly worthless she’d feel when faced with Marie’s success at happiness when she herself is still unmarried, alone, and unsuccessful even in fulfilling the goal of killing the man who murdered her grandfather and attacked Marie. Marie undoubtedly has realized that at least part of the reasons are lies, and I think she might have an idea of the reason she does it, but she always reassures her that her door is always open. which only ever makes her feel worse about lying to her.

#sailsandgold #✘; IN A WORLD WITHOUT GOLD，WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN HEROES ( headcanon )#✘; LETTERS ( answered )#thanks for sending this in!

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themusicplayedherlife · 5 years ago

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Some Sugar

Prologue: The Walls Are Caving in

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader characters: reader, reader’s family: mom and sister, may parker, peter parker, steve rogers word count: 3k+ warnings: angst, family issues, money problems summary: your family money issues are only getting worse and you don’t know what to do a/n: its hereeeee and this is part of @the-canary‘s lyrics challenge! lol let me know what you guys think!

all || next

The nurses greet you with a smile as you pass by their station. You return their smile with one of your own, ignoring the struggle it is just to lift the corners of your lips to do so. They’re chatting excitedly about something amongst themselves, but you don’t bother stopping to check in with them, you’re only here to see your mom before heading out to pick up Esmeralda from school, anyway.

The hallways are a plain white and the lights are blinding in comparison to the fluorescent yellow in the patient rooms. The smell of strong chemicals lingering in your nose, getting stronger as you approach the room your mom is occupying.

Laughter reaches your ear as you push open her door, and you’re surprised to see Esmeralda sitting by your mom’s side, looking every bit a spitting image of you and your mom, only younger.

“Esme, what are you—“

“You’re here,” a familiar voice says from your left, and you’re even more surprised to see May and her nephew Peter sitting on the uncomfortable loveseat. “Esme said you wouldn’t be out for another couple of hours. If we had known we would have picked you up on our way here.”

“May! Peter! Hi. Yeah, I—I’m sorry. What are you doing here?” You had tried to keep your attention on May and Peter to not seem rude, but seeing your sister here instead of at school where she said she’d be is throwing you off. “I thought you had cheer-leading tryouts?”

“The pipes under the football field unexpectedly burst and flooded the field and half of the school. So cheer-leading tryouts were cancelled,” she says offhandedly and Peter nods, confirming she’s not lying. But something in the way his eyes shift from his Aunt May and your sister, and finally to you has you doubting their story.

But there’s no way that she’d come up with such a huge lie that you can easily debunk by asking May or calling the school—she’s too smart for that. There’s a reason they’re hiding something, and Esmeralda wouldn’t hide something from you unless she thought it was necessary—is she worried about the cost? Your heart drops to your stomach knowing that might be part of it. She’s always been hyper aware of what she can and can not have, even though you try your hardest to give her everything you can to the point that you took out a loan just to pay for her school’s tuition this year. But with your mom’s hospital bills added to the pile at home, she knows you’ll be working overtime to meet due dates.

“There’s always next year,” she says with a smile on her face, trying to cheer you up—when it should be you cheering her up.

“No, postponement date?” you ask, and she pauses briefly before shaking her hand.

“It’s at the same time as the Debate Team meeting.”

Your eyes move to your mom, who is watching you and Esmeralda with warmth in her eyes, but the small downturn of her lips tells you she’s blaming herself—again.

“Okay,” you start slowly, watching as your little sister’s face lights up. “Next year, then.” She doesn’t wave you away when you ruffle her hair.

May scoots over and pats the empty space between her and Peter. “You must be tired.”

“I’m fine, May.” Not really. You really could use a nap, maybe a whole cup of coffee sans sugar and milk. But you still trudge over to them and plop between them, laughing when Peter makes a show about being squished between the armrest and you.

You spend the rest of your break laughing at the stories Peter and your sister tell your mom about school and their friends. It’s easy to fall into a carefree mentality, to forget your worries when you’re surrounded by everyone, but it’s just as easy for it to shatter.

The alarm on your phone goes off, alerting you and everyone that playtime is over for you. With a barely concealed groan, you stand. “I should start heading out.”

“What time are you off, sweetheart?” your mom asks in her tired, gravelly voice, the machines hooked up to her frail body beeping rhythmically.

“After midnight, maybe. Depends how slow it is at the bar.” Which really means, I’ll be out at two in the morning, at best.

Her furrowed eyebrows says she doesn’t like that one bit. You don’t like it either and neither does Esmeralda. It was easier when mom was home, Esme didn’t have to spend hours alone in your shit apartment waiting for you to come home before finally feeling safe to go to sleep. But what else are you supposed to do? You need the hours and the money.

“Why doesn’t Esme stay with us for the night?” May’s voice steals your attention away from your thoughts.

“Can I? It’ll give Peter and me the chance to work on our presentation!”

“It’ll be awesome! We can stay up and watch Rogue One again and—and—I—I mean totally work on our History presentation, yep.”

You snort at the sheepish smile on Peter’s face and the glare your sister sends his way. “It’s your call, ma.”

She smiles weakly. “I think it’s fine. Thank you, May.”

May walks over to her and squeezes her hand gently. “You don’t have to thank me. You know Peter and I are always here to help. We should head out too. You need your sleep.” She turns to you with a smile. “Want us to give you a ride to work?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

The bar, known as Howlies to the regulars, was packed from the moment you arrived, surprisingly enough. Every inch of it covered by bodies sitting on the booths distributed throughout or standing in groups with their friends in hopes of finding an empty booth to claim for themselves. People ordered with a speed you had not seen since working here, but you kept up—appletinis, White Russians, Bourbon on the rocks, shots—so many orders and drinks flowing.

Guess your boss’ newest advertisement method is working.

By the time you’re getting ready to close, your feet are killing you and your neck is stiff. Even bending over to pick up something or to wipe a table is a pain on your lower back. Closing up is usually easy between you and your coworkers—wiping down tables, booths, counters; washing glasses and dishes; stacking the stools and sweeping the floor; mopping and removing the sticky residue on the floors, but tonight you just want to get it over with and get home.

Cassandra Jones, your boss and owner of the bar, hands you an envelope with your tips as you’re packing up your stuff in the back room.

“Good night?” you ask her, too afraid to open it and count how much you’ve made. The last few weeks have been bad, $50 to $70 tips in total, even when having a steady flow of customers.

Her tight, chocolate curls bounce when she nods with a smile. “It’s not a lot, but it’s better than we’ve had all year.” She bumps your shoulder with hers to grab your attention. “Let me just finish up at the register and we’ll head out.”

You nod as she walks off.

Opening the envelope tentatively, you pull out fives and tens, and surprisingly enough you count $190. It’s not great, but it’s better than you’ve seen since you started working here. With what you’ve saved up from tips, maybe you’ll be able to convince Esmeralda to try out for cheer and buy her outfit? Warmth fills your chest. Maybe this is a sign that things are going to get better?

You wake up to loud knocking, a familiar squawking coming from the front door—you strain your ears to make out their voice. Aunt Maria? Fuck! You’re quick to get up and throw on some decent clothes, hopping around the apartment to get to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Careful to not get any toothpaste on your shirt, you bend down close to the sink and brush harshly as the knocking gets more and more incessant.

You quickly wash up and yell out, “Coming!” but it does nothing to calm your aunt’s rapid knocking. With a curse, you kick stray clothing under the couch and pick up dirty dishes and place them in the sink in the kitchen, where she hopefully won’t traverse into. You pick up scattered tools and place them in your tool box and then open the curtains and windows to let in some air and noise that’ll hopefully drive her away quicker.

With a deep breath, you open the door with a practiced smile to greet your aunt. “Aunt Maria! Hello! I wasn’t expecting you.”

Her cat like eyes travel up and down your body, judging your appearance like always. “Tia Magdalena,” she corrects you when she finally meets your eyes. As if her name isn’t Maria Magdalena.

“Tia, right. Sorry,” you mumble, stepping aside to let her into the apartment. “Come in, Tia Magdalena.”

She flashes you a fake smile as she saunters inside. “I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I would stop by.”

“I see.” You close the door and take another slow, deep breath before turning to her where she stands awkwardly in the middle of your small living room. “Would you like some water or juice?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Would you like to sit, then?” You offer, sitting on the ugly, green armchair your mom likes so much.

She eyes the sofa with distaste and then turns to you with another fake smile that slips from her face when you don’t smile back. “No, I’m only here for a bit.”

“Well, what can I help you with?” So you can go on your way and I won’t have to see your face again.

“With your mom in the hospital, I thought you’d be the one I should to talk to about this,” she says, reaching into her purse to pull out a thin manila folder and hands it to you. “It’s an agreement your mother and I signed during your second year at NYU.”

“An agreement?” you repeat unsure, dread starting to build up. You flip it open and your heart just about drops to the pit of your stomach as your eyes land on the bolded lettering—Loan Agreement. “Aunt—Tia Magdalena, what is this?”

She makes a displeased noise in the back of her throat. “Your mother was struggling to help you and Little Esmeralda with school supplies and clothes, so she came to me for money.”

Your eyes scan the paper and you recognize the curves of your mom’s writing—her name and signature. $8,000. 8,000 fucking dollars. She asked for 8,000 from her? How did she—She hadn’t said anything! Why would she go to your aunt of all people?!

“I gave her six years to finish paying off her debt to me, which I thought was completely doable.”

“20,300 is how much she needed to pay back?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from quivering—how could your mom have accepted that?

“I gave her what I thought was right, honey. Her credit score is just about awful and I needed some kind of reassurance for myself,” she says in a matter-of-fact, a small smirk on her face.

“She’s family, Tia. Your sister-in-law—how—how could you—“

She scoffs, dropping the pleasantries. “She chose to came to me for money. If she didn’t like it, she shouldn’t have signed.” Rolling her eyes, she takes another sweep of your apartment. “Shouldn’t you be glad I’m not charging her or sending her to court for the missing payments? I get that she’s sick, but that doesn’t mean she can skip out on payments. Seriously.” She looks at her distasteful nails, long and pointy, ready to scratch someone’s eye out. “There’s no guarantee she’s going to die, anyway.”

She said it so spitefully, so poisonous, that you could feel it coating your own tongue, entering your bloodstream and injecting you with a searing pain and anger that you’ve never felt before. It's hot and unbearable, and you hate her! You hate her so fucking much! The paper and folder crumple at the edges from the pressure of your hands, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. “You need to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get out!” you practically scream as you stand, no longer able to contain your anger, dropping the folder onto the floor.

She rolls her eyes again and makes her way over to the door. “The agreement period is set to end in two months, honey. If she doesn’t pay the remaining 11,000, I’m going to sue her for everything she has.” Her lips twist into a horrible sneer as her eyes roam your apartment. “Which apparently isn’t much.”

The door slams harshly, reverberating through the walls, the picture of your family shaking at the impact and about ready to fall.

A frustrated scream rips from between your lips, hands swiping at your hair as you desperately try to get a handle on your emotions.

You try to keep yourself composed as you walk down the halls of the hospital, ignoring the chatter around you as you make your way over to your mom’s room. You keep a tight grip on the folder in your hand and march inside her room to find her awake, eyes on the television—until they notice you by the entrance. Her eyes widen and brighten at the sight of you, but when you don’t return her smile or greeting, the light in her eyes dim. “Baby? Everything okay?”

Your mind is yelling at you to throw the contents at her, to accuse her of ruining you and Esme. Anger fanning the flames as you wonder how she could’ve let this happen? How she could’ve put Esmeralda and you in this situation? Did she not think of the consequences? How this could lead to Esmeralda losing the only home she’s ever known? Lose everything you had both worked hard to get for Esmeralda?

But there’s an itch in your chest too, begging you to hide the contents of the folder, to leave and keep it a secret. Your mom has always been a hard worker, fighting for your family even after losing your dad in that accident, even after your brother abandoned you. She didn’t allow herself to grieve knowing she couldn’t afford to. Instead, she pushed herself forward for you and your siblings, never complaining once. She just kept going and going, overworking herself until she put herself right back into the hospital.

She wouldn’t have signed that contract unless she deemed it necessary, unless there was no other choice. She wouldn’t do this to you or Esme on purpose.

She wouldn’t.

You hide the folder behind your back. “I’m okay. Just a little tired.”

Her eyes water and you instinctively take a step forward, taking her thin hands in yours. “I’m sorry, baby,” she says softly. “If I—“

“Don’t,” you stop her with a squeeze, knowing she’s blaming herself for everything that’s been happening. “None of this is your fault, okay? You just focus on getting better and I’ll do the rest.”

Her lips are set in a tight, straight line, but she nods, knowing that whatever she says next, you’re not going to listen to or will wave away. Her eyes move to the beige folder you’re trying to hide behind your back. “What is that?”

“A job application,” you lie through your teeth, but to pay a fraction of what is owed to your aunt, you’re most likely going to need a third job. Or maybe you could convince Cassandra to give you more hours at the bar, or you could always pick up more shifts at the restaurant.

“Baby,” she tries again, but you shake your head.

“I’m just thinking about it, haven’t even filled it out, yet.”

“Please don’t,” she begs you, letting go of your hand to try and cup your cheek. “You’ve already sacrificed too much for us. Stop doing things for our benefit and start doing them for you.”

You bend down, taking her hand and holding it between your cheek and hand. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lean into her touch. “You know I can’t do that, momma.”

“I know,” her voice cracks. “I know, baby.”

She falls asleep with your hand in hers. Her breathing is steady and soft unlike the loud beeping of the machine and the television playing low in the background. She used to be such a light sleeper, any small noise waking her up at every minute, but here she is now sleeping as if the world was still (when it’s not).

You need some fresh air.

Picking up the folder, you leave her room, only looking back at her once. Would things be different if dad were still alive? If JC were still around?

The call of your name has you pausing, Esme is watching you carefully with worried eyes. She takes in your appearance—disheveled and red, puffy eyes. “You okay?” she asks, before panic sheens over her eyes. “Is mom okay?”

You’re quick to reel her back in with a hand to her shoulder and pull her towards you. “She’s fine, Esme. Just sleeping.”

“It doesn’t get easier does it?” Her voice is low and quiet, opposite of her usual loud and cheerful self as she presses her face into the soft material of your worn out t-shirt.

“No,” you tell her truthfully, resting your cheek on the top of her head. “No, it doesn’t. But we’re here for each other, right?”

She mulls over your thoughts, eyes darkening for a moment before they brighten and she smiles. “Always.”

You return her smile weakly. “Did you come alone?”

She takes a quick glance behind her back and nods, frowning. “No, Peter dropped me off before heading out for some outing he has with his internship. You sure you’re okay?”

You ruffle her locks and smile ruefully. “Mhmm. Stay with mom, yeah? I need to step out for a bit.”

Before she can say anything, you step around her and head towards the elevator, ignoring her call of your name. With a shaky hand, you press the button for the lobby and lean back against the metal walls of the lift, head falling back. You close your eyes and take a deep, shaky breath.

The small courtyard is strangely quiet for the early afternoon. It’s usually full of patients and their family members taking a breather, needing to smell something other than anesthetics and chemicals. But you’re glad it’s empty—you have all the space in the world to cry and be angry and sad at everything and everyone.

It’s not like you’ve thought of life as unfair—hard, maybe. But unfair? Never. You have a roof over your head, a mother and sister that love you and do what they can to help, two jobs that pay, and a best friend that although is miles away, you can call and vent to. Yes, bad things have happened—from your dad’s death, to your brother disappearing, and your mom’s cancer returning, but they were things that you got and are getting through with the people you love.

But right this moment? You feel so alone, and it’s unfair.

How is it that bad things just keep happening? Why can’t things get better before they get worse? It’s always hit after hit, never a break to just fucking breathe and live your life!

You sob into your hands, wanting nothing more than to have the whole world stop for a minute and just allow you to grieve.

“Ma’am?” A gentle male voice coaxes—deep and stern, maybe even a little worried.

You wipe away your tears harshly with the back of your hands. “Sorry. Am I being too loud? I’ll—I’ll keep it down, sir.” He doesn’t reply, instead a blue handkerchief is shoved under your eyesight by red gloves. Lifting your gaze as you take it, you’re taken aback by the man standing in front of you—Captain America?—wearing an exact replica of the one Steve Rogers used to wear in the 1940’s and the Battle of New York. “Thank you, uh, Captain?”

You had heard from a nurse that the hospital tended to hire actors to play the heroes you’ve only ever seen on TV, knowing that the kids loved seeing their favorite heroes in person, even if it’s not the actual heroes themselves. But it’s your first time seeing it since your mom has been admitted back into the hospital.

The man offers you a small smile, blue eyes softening at the sight of your blotchy face. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

You duck your head, sniffling and wiping at your tear stained cheeks with the handkerchief.

He shuffles on his feet awkwardly before sitting down next to you. “Do you mind if I sit—well, I’ve already sat down, haven't I?”

Your surprised chuckle comes out like a strained sob. “You’re fine.”

He flashes you a warm smile, but other than that, he’s quiet. He just sits with you in companionable silence—you should think this is uncomfortable or a little weird, having a stranger sit with you as you're trying to reel yourself in. But there’s something about this man dressed as Captain America that is soothing. It’s no wonder why the hospital hired him to keep the patients company.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely, breaking the silence between you. “You didn’t have to, um, sit with me.”

He flashes you a pretty smile, blue eyes twinkling with sympathy and kindness. “It was no problem.”

Your voice falters as you hand him back the handkerchief, used only to wipe away your tears. “Here, I—ah—“

“Keep it,” he says, closing your fingers over the piece of cloth, and you frown, unsure. “I have another one at home.”

“Thank you,” you say again, sounding like a broken record, but the kind stranger doesn’t seem to mind. “I should head back inside.” He nods and stands with you. Awkwardly, you turn on your heels and walk away.

“Ma’am,” he calls out to you, and you pause, looking at him over your shoulder—he’s frowning, fiddling with the strap of his gloves, but he looks up and says, “I may not know what you’re going through, but they will get better. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but I want you to know, that I believe it eventually will.”

You stare at him, and he continues to fiddle with the strap, eyes downcast and refusing to meet yours. There’s something endearing about a flustered Captain America, actor or not. Your lips twitch with an involuntary smile. “Thanks, Cap.”

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