#FETAL Solutions

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

How Can Sonio.ai Transform the Healthcare Industry?

I present my independent review of an AI-based healthcare solution, which is making a global impact and bringing us a step closer to Medicine 3.0 by documenting the transcript of an interactive podcast. Dear Subscribers, For those who haven’t met me yet, coming from a science and technology background for over four decades, I am dedicated to keeping technologists, health scientists, and…

[mewguca]

do you ever think about how moon is one of the few Iterators to ever be "born"? (having her umbilical severed)

I wonder if that was intentional symbolism; Moon has a renewed perspective that gives her (ironically) more hope and vitality for life itself, despite almost dying.

of course, as death and birth are connected like a ring (or maybe a spiral?) I suppose it makes a ton of sense, actually. Something really fun to think about.

God I love rain world.

I wanted to make this some Full Ramble tm but I'm honestly too exhausted / busy from Job rn so this is just a twitter crosspost. but I hope this can spark some meaningful rumination / discussion. ^^

and in case anyone is confused — the umbilical refers to the puppet's wires, not the armature that supports it. I think it was very purposeful that it was called an umbilical specifically.

This symbolizes iterators as unborn, a trait they seem to share with Echoes, who often assume a somewhat fetal position. Echoes also exist in the Interstice instead of as living beings within the material plane who experience death and rebirth. Iterators do not die easily, and so they are not born easily, either. There are some notable differences of course — Echoes are partway towards ascension; if they can let go of what keeps them from moving on, they can experience the final "death" and final "rebirth" — Ascension. The ultimate change and the culmination of one's thread. Iterators, meanwhile, are designed not to ascend (without finding the Solution first). Of course, entropy shall inevitably claim them, and the Void Sea shall inevitably claim their structures as it eats away at the world beneath them.

So, in the end... everything moves on. but there's plenty to talk about before that end, and I do find the imagery of Iterators as unborn to be quite fascinating. I don't think it's mere coincidence that Moon seems to be accepting and at peace with her place in the world while ALSO having her umbilical severed. Again there's a lot to ramble on about with moon being changed so drastically it is a sort of rebirth in itself but I am. tired. Apologies for any poor / confusing wording.

[hazy-malaise]

The princess has a secret — one that she cannot share with anyone in the kingdom beyond her loyal retinue, lest her noble suitors discover. Her attentive maid and dutiful retainer are the only ones who know that, for reasons unclear, the princess has become a bedwetter.

It starts as smuggling soggy sheets into the washing room, forbidding entry into the princess’s chambers before she is properly bathed and ready for the day. But before long the maid approaches the knight with a proposal.

The two of them share another problem: their mutual infatuation with a princess being actively whored out to the young scions of noble houses. These worthless boys would never love the princess the way the two of them do, and no amount of subtle hints from either lady of the retinue has convinced her of this fact. But in this new issue, the maid says, they may have found their solution. None of these shallow princes of foreign kingdoms would ever bed a princess who’s still in diapers!

And so through subtle manipulation and drawn-out deceit, the maid and the knight work to undermine the princess’s autonomy and turn her into the perfect diaper girl. Putting her in her first night diaper is easy enough that she’s quickly wearing each night, but convincing her to start wearing during the day takes some clever administration of diuretic tinctures into the drinks the maid serves her.

Meanwhile the knight is hard at work spreading whispered rumors in the retinues of her suitors. Hush-hush leaks of information to knights of foreign kingdoms that are sure to reach their lord’s ears. But never, never quite loud enough to come back to the homeland.

The princess is distraught one night, lamenting her struggles to her dear maid. Her pool of suitors is drying up. Her mother, the queen, is breathing down her neck. And on top of all of that, she’s more and more dependent on these damn diapers every day! Thank you, she says to the maid, for being such a precious friend. Such a dear confidante. She lays her head on the maid’s chest, curled up in the fetal position on her soft bed.

The maid hears a soft whimper and a subtle hissing from below. She places a hand gently upon the front of her lady’s diaper as it grows warmer. She presses her hand in against the soft padding and feels a wet squish. The princess shudders in her arms and buries her face into the maid’s breasts. She’s sorry, she says, she couldn’t help it.

The maid smiles, then nods affirmatively towards the knight standing in watch across the room. The knight makes her way to the bed and sits down next to the maid, the princess curled up now between them. They both know what the little princess doesn’t: that the diuretics stopped a week ago. That this accident was exactly that: a full accident. That she now belonged to the two of them.

[froggiewrites]

Bloody Hands

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You're struggling with horrible period cramps, and luckily, Law has the perfect solution. Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Period Sex, Fluff Word Count: 2.1k Notes: Did I write this in one sitting instead of just taking ibuprofen for my cramps like a normal person? Maybe. Anyway, this is my first time writing for Law, so I hope I did him justice!

This is going to kill you.

You say that every month, of course, but you really, truly mean it this time. You’re practically immobilized, laying in the fetal position on your bed trying not to let out pitiful moans every time another wave of pain hits. You fail every time.

Several members of the crew had come to check on you, bringing offerings of heating pads, ibuprofen, and various other remedies, but they hardly helped. After the fifth visit (Penguin bringing you more water while anxiously checking you over), you couldn’t even thank your friends, only letting out a sad whimper to acknowledge their presence before once again squeezing your eyes tight and trying desperately to ground yourself.

Your captain had been noticeably absent from these visits, probably burying himself in work as he always does, and you’re torn between being grateful he hasn’t seen you in such a sorry state and hurt tearing through your chest that he didn’t care enough to check on you. You would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he was doing as poorly as you were. He wouldn’t want you to, of course, would lock his door and burrow so deeply into his bed he wouldn’t see a single speck of light until his illness had passed, but you would come anyway. You would at least try.

You regret the thought the moment you hear a familiar hum at the doorway. You should have known he would never leave you alone when you needed him. “I almost didn’t believe everyone when they said how bad it was.” You whine, and you hear a sympathetic chuckle. “I know.” The heels of his shoes click softly against the ground, and suddenly Law’s warm hand has slid under your shirt, warm and gentle as it rubs circles onto your upper back.

“Everything hurts.” You’re so lost in the pain you can't even bring yourself to hate how pathetic you sound. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzle into it, welcoming the affection gratefully.

“I know, sweetheart.” He doesn’t often call you pet names, and it makes your heart flutter when he does. Usually when you hear them it means you’re going to be taken care of, cherished in a more tender way than the quiet and understated (but no less wonderful) way he normally shows his love for you. His lips ghost over your forehead, and you finally open your eyes to see his own staring at you with undisguised concern, bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. “Can you describe it to me? Is it just the cramps, or is there something else?”

“It’s just cramps. And a small headache, I guess.” Another wave crashes over you, and you pull yourself in even tighter. “They’re…they’re not normally this bad.”

“And the pain meds haven’t helped?”

“Not enough.”

“Hm.” You can see the exact moment he flips from lover to doctor, racking his brain for any knowledge he can use to help you, and the moment he finds his answer. The light flickers on behind his eyes, and he carefully looks over you, assessing the situation, before your lover is back, sly grin slowly creeping over his face and a quiet excitement makes its way into his voice. “I think I know something that could help. If you’re willing.”

“I would do anything for this to stop,” you whimper, and his amusement once again fades into fondness as his eyes soften with pity.

“I’ll do my best to help, sweetheart, I promise.” His lips brush against your forehead again before the bed shifts and his warmth has left you. You cry out, but he gently shushes you. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back, really.”

He probably is only gone for a minute, but it feels like hours. You don’t relax for even a second until you hear a quiet, “Shambles!” and find yourself in the familiar dim light of Law’s room. Your back is pressed against something rougher than his usual blankets, and you turn your head to see you’re laid out against a mismatched array of towels, clearly stolen from the shared bathroom the rest of the crew uses. His pair of towels are separated, one lying directly under your lower half while the other sits folded and ready at the end of the bed. Law is staring at you, unblinking, directly next to it.

“Hi.” Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, barely a whisper, but he slightly smiles when he hears it anyway.

“Hi.” He leans forward a bit, eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light, looking almost like a predator stalking his prey. It makes you tense despite yourself, causing another flash of pain in your abdomen. The vulnerable noise you make causes him to grin, showing just a bit of sharp canines through his parted lips. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Your treatment, sweetheart.” He maintains eye contact with you as he slowly pulls latex gloves over his tattooed hands, covering the letters on his fingers. Once they’re fully on, he lets the material go, making a small thwap as it snaps against his skin. He repeats himself. “Are you ready?”

“Yes?”

“I need you to be sure.”

“Yes.” You repeat, more firmly this time.

“Excellent. I promise you’ll feel better soon.” With that, you can feel the cool latex against your skin as he slips off the loose pajama pants you were wearing in a single fluid motion. You then feel his hands against your thighs, forcing them apart and leaning forward. You let out a soft noise of surprise, and he gives you the same predatory smile as before before muttering, “Just relax.”

His gloved fingers slowly trace up your thighs, before he quickly removes your panties, depositing them somewhere nearby. He turns his attention back to you, fingers retracing their path, and you shiver as he runs a single finger down your slit. He lifts his hand closer to his face as though to inspect it, and you can see the blue latex becomes stained with blood. You can see his pupils dilate, black overtaking the normal steely grey of his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s fascinated or aroused. Probably both.

He allows his hand to find its rightful place again, slowly inserting his first finger into you. You gasp quietly, and he laughs under his breath. You feel yourself stretch around him as the slick of your blood makes it easy for him to slide himself knuckle deep into you. You let out a stuttering breath as you get used to the new sensation. Your pain hasn’t subsided, but this is certainly a good distraction.

“Everything alright?” His voice is low, thick with want, but he tries to maintain an even tone.

“Yeah,” you managed to squeak out. “I’m fine.”

“Only fine?” He lets out a displeased hum. “Next time I ask, I want you to be doing better than ‘fine’.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” You regret the words the moment they come out of your mouth. As much as Law loves to pretend he is some even-keeled professional, he’s easily riled up by a challenge, and challenges relating to you are some of his favorites. “I mean–”

“I know what you meant. Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen.” With that, he begins pumping, keeping a steady slow pace that isn’t nearly enough for you, before suddenly adding a second finger. He curls them, hitting a sweet spot that makes you sing for him, and he gives you an absolutely shit eating grin. “Sounds like we’re already well on our way, hm?”

He speeds up slightly, his other hand leaving the plush of your thigh and finding your clit. The material feels strange against you, but that thought is quickly shoved out of your head as he slowly begins to rub small circles against it. You let out a whine of, “Law!”

“Yes?” His voice is dripping with smugness. You can do nothing but let out another small cry of his name, and you can see the way his chest slightly puffs out with pride at the sound. There is nothing in the world he loves more than making you come unraveled, and he loves any reminder of that, especially those that remind him that you’re his and that he is the one making you feel this way. “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.” He adds a third finger, reveling in the way you clench around him. You see his eyelids drop slightly as he takes in the sight of you splayed out before him, blood and wetness covering his fingers as they pump in and out of you.

You finally, finally begin to feel something stronger than your pain as the coil in your stomach tightens, making every part of you begin to tense as you approach your precipice. Law leans over you, taking his eyes off of your cunt for the first time since he started  just so he can look you in the eyes and whisper, “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You gush around his fingers, crying out. He doesn’t look away from your face as your eyes squeeze shut and you throw your head back, taking in every inch of your sweet expression. He works you through it, not removing his fingers until he knows for certain that you’ve ridden your high to the end, leaving you spent and relaxed against the towel below you. Once he slides his hands out of you, he quickly removes his gloves, dropping them into a nearby trash can. He grabs the towel at the end of the bed and uses it to wipe up any blood on your thighs, placing a gentle kiss to each thigh once he’s sure they’re clean.

“How are you doing?” His voice carries no challenge like earlier, only a genuine concern for you.

“I’m great.”

“No cramps?”

You close your eyes, taking in your current state. You feel a little sore, and there’s still a small pressure in your skull, but you realize your abdomen doesn’t hurt at all. “No cramps.” You can’t keep the pleased smile off of your face, and when you open your eyes you see his expression mirrors your own, if a touch more smug.

“Good.” He kisses your forehead before gently gathering you into his arms. You let out a soft noise of protest, but he pulls you into his chest anyway. “After a quick shower and some sleep I think your treatment will be over. …For now.”

“For now?”

“You’ll have to come see me if your cramps return, of course.” His eyes shine with a gentle mischief you don’t often get to see.

“Oh, of course, Dr. Trafalgar.” You expect him to roll his eyes at you, but he smirks further at you using his title. Interesting.

For now, he carries you into his personal bathroom, setting you down and beginning to fuss with the shower. Your eyes spy the empty towel rack, and you have a realization. “Law?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any towels not covered in blood?”

“I–hm.” He leaves for a moment, returning with another clearly stolen towel. The crew is going to have a bad night once showertime rolls around, but you can’t bring yourself to care too much, still caught up in your sudden relaxation after your day of suffering. In the shower, Law pampers you thoroughly, refusing to let you lift a finger to do anything for yourself. His fingers are gentle as he washes your hair, your face, your body. He wraps you tenderly in a towel once all is done, even helping you dress once you’ve dried. He only stops pampering you once he’s tucked you tightly into his bed, heating pad and pain meds ready on his nightstand just in case. And in a very rare treat, instead of rushing off to work, he lays down next to you.

“You aren’t going to leave?” You can’t keep the tentative hope from your voice.

“Not until you’re asleep.” He pulls your head into his chest, and you happily make a home there.

“I’ll have to stay up to keep you here.” Even as you say it your eyes are drooping, and you can feel the rumble of his laugh.

“You can try.” He runs his fingers carefully through your hair.

You lose quickly, falling into an easy sleep, surrounded by warmth and care, and pain far away from your mind.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[lullabyes22-blog]

i just discoveredd this immaculate rarepairing of yours, and i was immediately obssessed <33

idkk if someone asked this butt after finishing mal de mer, i just kept wondering what would Silco be like around a laboring Mel— is he the going to be beside Mel holding her hand while Mel's crushing his or is he going to be the type of husband who just stands outside the room?

Thank you so much<3 I'm so thrilled the Melco agenda is spreading :D 

Interestingly, in the Mal de Mer timeline, when Mel goes into labor, Silco is actually overseas on business. He and Mel have been keeping in touch via missives. But as fate would have it, he gets stuck in a particularly remote village which delays his mail for days. She writes to him that the contractions are coming closer together now, and that it won't be long before she finally goes into labor... 

And then he never hears from her again.  

Naturally, this sets his paranoia off into overdrive: not knowing how she and his unborn child are doing. It's worse when he gets a Morse landline code from Sevika, alerting him that Mel's ready to go into labor, and that it's much more risky than initially anticipated.

The message ends with 'RETURN ASAP' — no other updates. 

Silco makes haste home by commandeering the fastest vessel, traveling at warp speed towards Piltover without rest, the desperation churning inside him like sea-froth against jagged cliffs.

His worst fears only seem to manifest, because when he arrives back at the mansion after nearly a week away, he finds Mel's penthouse aswarm with Piltovan doctors and chemists.

Sevika is waiting for him outside, flanked by blackguards. There is also, berthed at the nearby wharf, a Noxian medevac zeppelin which Silco doesn't recognize, and dread settles deep within the pit of his stomach. 

Sevika, reading his grim silence as 'explain,' wastes no time describing exactly how things deteriorated after she'd sent her last telegram. Mel was hit by preeclampsia, which escalated into severe HELLP syndrome once active labor started. It was so bad, the Topside doctors had to induce general anesthesia. The baby, in her mother's haywire body, had gone into fetal distress; she had to be pulled out via forceps.

Unfortunately, the blood loss from the procedure and her internal hemorrhage sent Mel spiraling into multiple organ dysfunction syndrome. With sepsis rapidly overtaking her body, the doctors informed Sevika that she'd be lucky to live another twenty-four hours.

It would take a miracle cure to save her. 

Right around this time, Ambessa —  who'd been docked at their port for two nights already, ostensibly to be at hand in case of crisis, and in Silco's estimation to kidnap the baby —  stepped in with her own personal squad of doctors.

She'd locked herself inside with Mel. Her guards have been blocking everyone else from entering ever since. 

Hearing this, Silco's panic boils over into rage. He elbows his way past the guards, Sevika on his heels, bursting through the door to Mel's room only by dint of force— 

— and stops dead in his tracks. 

The sight greeting his eyes is nothing short of a tableau straight out of H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos.

Mel is submerged in some sort of cylindrical aquarium that resembles an autopsy tank; the water is tainted dark red, almost black. Inside the glass, Mel floats unmoving, swathed in the same translucent gossamer gown she wore the night they consummated their marriage. Her long hair wafts out in tangled streamers, giving her the appearance of a drowned siren.

An horde of Noxian chemists cluster round, administering solutions from various tubes fed into the tank itself. Whatever the solution is, it has rendered Mel's skin deathly translucent.

She isn't moving, except to drift slowly, suspended as if weightless in the eerie darkness. 

Ambessa, her tall figure with its back to Silco, turns just as he enters. There's no surprise on her face. She lifts one gauntleted finger to her lips, commanding him to silence.

And Silco, stunned, finds himself obeying, rooted in place.

Because nestled in the crook of Ambessa's arm... is a baby. 

Though clean and freshly-bathed, it's obviously newborn. At first, Silco doesn't register what he's looking at. The shock has caused all cognitive functions to momentarily flee his brain, until he finds himself moving automatically, gliding forward with both arms outstretched to seize it, because he doesn't want Ambessa touching something so fragile, not when he constantly senses something profoundly avaricious about this woman, no matter that he perhaps owes her his child's life, no matter that they are ostensibly allies.  

Ambessa, for her part, hands it — no, her — off without protest. Once he has taken possession of the bundle, he looks down, seeing her face for the first time: scrunched up features, pouting lips, wispy curls. She's feather-light, fitting easily in the space between his wrist and forearm. 

He stares, transfixed. 

His child.  

There's no doubt it's his; the resemblance to himself and Mel is undeniable. Though he will, at his soonest convenience, summon Singed to administer a blood test. He wouldn't put it past Ambessa to swap his heir with a decoy, and smuggle the real deal back to Noxus.

"You're fortunate," Ambessa says, imperiously. "If I were a few hours late, they'd both be dead."  

And she slants her glance towards the tank where Mel stays motionless, floating like a sea witch under a spell. The tank's contents, she explains, are a breathable vapor from the Shadow Isles; just being submerged within it is enough to neutralize most of the patient's inflammation and endotoxin. Since it's classified as a controlled substance outside of Noxus, Ambessa had it brought all the way over in that huge airship moored nearby. 

"You expected this to happen," Silco says, accusingly. 

"Childbirth is fraught with danger. A battlefield, some might call it." Ambessa lays a hand, contemplatively, upon the tank holding Mel. "And the Medarda women have a history of fighting the bloodiest campaigns of all." 

She tips a nod to her doctors. Obeying, they drain the tank of its solution. As it flushes out through the grates set near the bottom, Mel sinks in tandem, like a puppet cut from marionette strings, still clad in that lacy shroud.

If she really is healing as promised, then it certainly can't be seen on her wan, unconscious features. 

Silco moves closer. Before he's able to pull her up, Ambessa leans over and does it herself, lifting Mel bodily out of the empty vat and laying her on the bed.

To her credit, the older woman's touch is careful. Almost tender. 

"She will heal now," she says. "Though it may take several weeks. Keep the babe close to her, so she knows it survived." Here, she flicks a near-pitying glance at the bundle nestled against Silco's chest, then at Mel. "And heed my advice. Don't expect any future whelps after this." She raps the glass tank with her gauntlet, once. "Even this vapor can't save a lost cause." 

Silco's bad eye smolders. He says nothing.  

"Also keep your harridan Head Wife well away," Ambessa continues, nodding to Sevika looming in the doorway. "Mel will need every bit of peace and quiet for the weeks ahead. Not a jot of stress. My guards will be posted at all entrances; any attempts at aggression, even of the verbal variety, will result in ejection from the premises." 

Sevika glowers, taking issue with being addressed as Silco's 'Head Wife' but otherwise holding her tongue. Her stance, however, radiates just how badly she wants to deck the Noxian matriarch across her sneering mug. 

For Silco's part, he says nothing. Nothing about the absurdity of Noxians crawling all over his property, or the ridiculousness of Ambessa giving orders while under his roof, or his newborn being brought into the world via forceps, as if to foreshadow the bloody conflict she'll soon inherit. 

No. All that matters is Mel's safe delivery. The rest is a bridge to be crossed later.

And they've got their whole lives for that, don't they? 

And so, all he does is gently lay the baby girl onto the bedding next to her mother's unconscious form. His gaze never leaves Mel, who slumbers so peacefully that it could almost pass for death. 

"You have my thanks," he says, without looking at Ambessa. "And my utmost gratitude."

There's no inflection, but nor does it seem obligatory politeness. 

Ambessa takes it as victory. Her grin shows teeth. 

"No thanks required, Eye of Zaun." Ambessa lays a possessive palm over the baby, as though asserting her own ownership. The touch is gone after half a second, but her meaning is clear enough. "But you will repay me this favor, in due time. Never doubt that." 

"Get out," is all Silco answers, weary of the games and gambits. "Before I decide the debt's been repaid in kind already." 

And Ambessa, cognizant of when she's overstayed her welcome, nods.

Gesturing to her guards, she takes leave — sweeping imperiously past him, trailing expensive perfume, bloodlust and a palpable sense of wickedness, which will remain until well after she's back aboard her grotesque warship and setting sail out of sight. 

Once Silco hears her party exiting belowstairs, he finally exhales the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

With steady fingers, he touches Mel's pulse. Her heartbeat is strong, thudding against his fingertips. As he smooths the curls from her clammy forehead, a soft sigh escapes her. One arm slides reflexively around their child, cradling the baby as naturally as if she'd been awake all this time. 

Sevika, watching them in silence, finally ventures: 

"Congratulations, sir. At least you know the kid's inherited your lucky streak." Seeing Silco's bridling lip, she elaborates: "Dodging death." 

Silco, looking over at Mel and the sleeping baby, smiles a smile that isn't wry, or bitter, or, for once, tinged with rage.  

"I suspect," he says, pulling up a seat at Mel's bedside, "she'll inherit a great deal more than that."  

Sevika, conceding with a grim nod, and takes her leave.

Alone, Silco doesn't break the stillness except to gently caress his daughter's cheek. He stands guard over his two treasures — alert, protective — until sunrise starts filtering in through the windows. 

Then, naturally, Jinx gets wind of her brand-new sibling and sets off a whole fusillade of fireworks to wake up both cities and chase sleep right the hell away. 

But that, again, is a story for another day... 

[hctsummernights]

faith in love ༺☆༻

summary: in which alt!reader support matt through thick and thin and life with celiac disease (part of the kissing in cars universe!) warnings: autoimmune disease

You frowned as you rubbed Matt’s back, hating how small he looked, despite the fact that your bed was a twin XL. “Can I get you anything?” You asked gently. 

Matt shook his head, clutching the heating pad that you’d loaned him closer to his stomach. “No. ‘M okay.”

You curled up behind your boyfriend, allowing him to be the little spoon as you always did. This was the fourth time this week that this had happened, and it was only Wednesday. Matt would go about his day, only to end up curled in fetal position in either your or his bed less than an hour later. He had tried what felt like everything; smaller snacks instead of large meals, no greasy food, no dairy, and nothing seemed to help the awful stomach pains that would render him debilitated. 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well, baby.” You mumbled, tucking a curl behind Matt’s ear. 

“‘S not your fault,” he groaned. “Fuck this shit. Can you hand me my phone?”

You nodded, sitting up and plucking Matt’s phone from the bed caddy that hung on your lofted bed. Matt whined at the pain in his abdomen as sat up, pressing the phone to his ear. You were curious for a moment until you heard the soft “hi mama” fall from his lips. Matt had always been a mama’s boy, so it didn’t surprise you that he was calling MaryLou while he wasn’t feeling well.

You continued to lay next to your boyfriend throughout the conversation, rubbing his knee softly. Finally, Matt hung up and tossed his phone towards the end of the bed, curling back into your side. He whimpered for a moment, clutching his stomach before he looked up at you with teary eyes. 

“Mom thinks I have celiac,” he mumbled. “So I have to get tested for it.”

Now that you thought about it, that would make sense. Matt’s stomach problems seemed to arise after a wheat-heavy meal; like today, when he had downed a plate of pasta for lunch. You hated the fact that he was dealing with all of this while, especially when the two of you had just moved away to college a few weeks ago. 

“That could explain it, sweetheart,” You hummed softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “Besides, getting tested might help you figure out how you can help yourself feel better.”

Matt groaned but nodded, shoving his face into the soft fabric of your System of a Down hoodie. The boy whimpered as his stomach let out a long, low grumble. “I hate this.”

You kissed his forehead, your hand snaking under the soft knit of his green sweater to rub his warm, bloated belly. “We’re gonna find a solution, babe. It’s not gonna be like this forever.” You promised. 

-

That’s how you found yourself standing over the stove four years later, stirring a pot of gluten free pasta. Matt had ended up being diagnosed with celiac disease over Christmas break of your freshman year of college. It was rough at first, having to find swaps for all of his favorite foods, but when you had made the pact to go gluten free with him, things had become a little easier. Obviously, he still had to worry about the risk of cross contamination and accidentally getting “glutened”, but the brunette’s quality of life had drastically improved since then. 

You both had graduated college with honors, Matt receiving a degree in social work and you in music education. There had been rough patches of course, including a break up for a few months somewhere in there, but things had worked out for the better. The love you and Matt shared for each other was stronger than anything else.

As your Spotify flipped from the previous song to “Kissing in Cars” by Pierce the Veil, you couldn’t help but to smile. That had been your and Matt’s song for years. Despite being quite literally polar opposites, you both loved the lyrics. As if on perfect cue, you heard your fiancé’s keys jingling in the lock of your front door. A few moments later, Matt appeared in the kitchen, shedding his flannel and tossing it over a chair.

“You’re still playing this song, huh?” he murmured, coming around the island and wrapping you in a hug from behind. 

“Don’t even play with me,” You joked, kissing his cheek. “You know you love it too.” You said, smiling as you noticed the vampire-red lipstick stain you’d left on his soft skin. 

“Gluten free?” Matt asked, peering into the pot of pasta. 

“No.” You said deadpan. 

“Oh,” Matt feigned sadness. “I guess you want me to die then, huh?”

“Not until we’re married.” You giggled. 

Matt smiled, taking in your beauty as drained the pot and plated the food. People were shocked about you two as a couple, but to Matt, you were the most perfect person in the world. You had been there for him through thick and thin, supporting him through his journey with an autoimmune disease, and even going as far as to still be kind to him when his mental health had gotten so bad he had broken up with you for a few months. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts as the song playing from your phone ended. Rather than sitting down for dinner, he hit the rewind button and grabbed the plates from your hands, setting them on the counter. 

“May I have this dance?” he joked, smile lopsided. 

“You may.” You smiled. 

Matt pressed his forehead to your own, swaying softly. “I love you.” he hummed. 

And he meant it. He would mean it every day until he died, and then every day after that. You had saved him in so many ways and continued to do so. No matter how different the two of you were, he was sure that you were his soulmate. He'd find you in every lifetime if he had to.

“…Cause there's faith in love”

a/n: me when i google "how to make fictional people real" so kissing in cars matt can be my bf

[cultkinkcoven]

The one major thing I’ve taken away from my couple days of arguing with Christians about abortion in the Bible is that they always must insist that I am saying these things because I want the Bible to agree with my views. I know this is only because they use the bible as justification for their views… but guys….

Babes,… I’m a fucking Luciferian. Come on. Why would I care about whether or not the Bible agrees with abortion? I’m obviously not following the Bible anyways. If i wanted a reason to justify my beliefs…I wouldn’t be using the Bible… because the Bible clearly does not follow my morality anyways.

I am a supreme lover or theology, history, and culture. I am far more interested in the followers of Christ than Christ himself. And likewise, I find the creation of the Bible fascinating. I think the evolution of Judaism to Christianity is one of the most interesting things in the world. I love humanity, far more than I care about its God. I want to know what values, characteristics, doctrine, they considered to be divine and projected onto their God. I only study the word of God so I can understand the human hands that wrote it.

When I say “the Bible never condemns abortion, here are some contextual pieces of history and scripture that clearly explore God’s perspective on fetal life” I’m not saying “look guys! The Bible is pro abortion and that means we all should be too!!! This totally proves me right about everything!!!”

because it simply doesn’t.

I woke up one morning with a curiosity: “How did people in antiquity regard abortion?” and the clear solution to that curiosity was to read the manual they created for their people. Turns out the manual isn’t all that conclusive, and would actually point towards a complex answer. Does that mean their views were correct, moral, or justified? I honestly don’t care! My opinions on their beliefs don’t matter! The only thing that matters was the intention of the people and the effect these intentions had on the people.

Whether or not the big G-D is truly against abortion could not be known to me, a mere pagan heathen. But what I will continue to say, because I know it to be true now that I’ve spent this much time researching it:

Abortion and/or intentional miscarriage is never at any point stated to be a sin in the Bible or any Biblical text. Never is abortion condemned in the Bible, never is any woman said to be sinning or going to hell for having an abortion or intentional miscarriage. Never at any point, ever, does God say abortion is a crime, and never at any point is it implied that abortion is murder. On the contrary, it is established that it is not.

There are pieces of scripture that clearly establish that the mother is of greater significance than the fetus, and people in antiquity did not consider an infant to be a full person until at its first breath at least, and usually only after a few months of life because of the fact that around 50% of newborns would die anyways. To terminate a thing that might not even live anyways was regarded far differently than killing a fully established person. Due to the increased risk of death during childbirth and the slim chance of newborn survival, it was very normal and common for women to induce intentional miscarriages to save their life. The only instance in which infanticide may have been considered the same as murder was only in the case of late term “abortions” where the fetus had a full form, and looked like a baby (which, we still do not do to this day. It’s illegal to have an abortion in the 9th month).

and to be extremely clear: Premature babies did not survive in antiquity. A premature birth was a still birth or miscarriage. When Exodus 21 says: “If people are fighting and hit a pregnant woman and she gives birth prematurely[a] but there is no serious injury, the offender must be fined whatever the woman’s husband demands and the court allows. 23 But if there is serious injury, you are to take life for life, 24 eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, 25 burn for burn, wound for wound, bruise for bruise.

they are referring to a miscarriage. That’s why on every single version of this verse you can find online and in most english translations there is always a footnote on the word “prematurely” that says “or miscarriage”

This isn’t some secret pro-choice agenda. This was the intended meaning of the text. Translators are not trying to support abortion, they are trying to support the intended truth.

Because the fetus was the property of the husband, the loss of the fetus would result in a fine paid to the husband. Further harm caused to the living mother was paid via execution if she died, or a hand for a hand, foot for foot etc. This is the most agreed upon interpretation that makes the most sense in accordance to the customs of the Jewish people and other laws of nearby nations in which Hebrews inhabited.

So, to conclude this shit show,

I don’t give a shit a fuck or a damn what YHWH thinks of abortion. I find the opinions and beliefs of his people to be far more interesting and historically significant. Based on their literature, we can get a pretty comprehensive view on their ideals when it came to this topic. Their ideals have absolutely nothing to do with mine nor do they add legitimacy to mine.

I just like theology guys lmfao

and you bet your ass that I’m going to take the time to do my research if there’s a chance that I accidentally shared misinformation (which I did! Numbers 5 are not instructions on how to do an abortion! That’s not the correct verse to use for this argument. That was totally my mistake.) In that research I only learned more about the ancient word that supports my original thesis.

and so, my original claim still remains true. The Bible does not condemn abortion. No biblical text ever condemns abortion, and God did not call it a sin.

💋

[fearfulfertility]

PATERNITY COMPOUND FINANCIAL SAVINGS

DRC, Facility Operations Command, Compound Oversight Unit

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Paternity Compound 124 Creative Cost-Saving Efforts

Executive Summary

Paternity Compound 124 in [REDACTED], Idaho, has demonstrated exceptional productivity and cost efficiency this quarter, primarily due to implementing creative new budget policies to optimize management. The data indicates significant savings and output increases, positioning Compound 124 as a model for future compounds.

Total revenue saved this quarter: $[REDACTED]

I. Implemented Cost-Saving Measures

Clothing Elimination Initiative

After an exhaustive review of material costs, the decision was made to eliminate medical gowns and paternity clothing for surrogates. This measure, dubbed the "Bare Necessity Protocol," is based on the premise that clothing offers no functional benefit to surrogates who are perpetually growing or confined to medical beds due to mobility issues.

Rationale: Eliminates clothing costs entirely and simplifies laundry operations.

Savings: Reduced laundry, textile, and replacement costs by 98%.

Revenue Saved: $[REDACTED]

"Honestly, it’s just practical. They’re swelling up fast, and we’d need new gowns every other day. It simplifies things for us." - Staff Feedback

“They’ve taken everything—my freedom, my body, my dignity—and now they’ve taken my fucking underwear too. It's embarrassing! Thank god this belly is a furnace!” - Surrogate Feedback

"One Size Fits All" Feeding Solution

The compound replaced most surrogate food options with a cost-efficient pudding substitute nicknamed "Big Berry Bliss." Each serving contains a carefully calibrated mix of high-calorie nutrients, tranquilizers, appetite stimulants, and growth hormones to promote fetal growth and docility.

Rationale: Simplifies meal prep, reduces dishwashing needs, and ensures surrogates receive consistent nutrition. Eliminate the need for personalized meals or cafeteria staff while ensuring continuous weight gain and docility. Minimize pharmacy visits by delivering hormonal therapy directly in the food.

Results: Food service costs were reduced by 82%, pharmacy staffing by 65%, and food waste by 20%. Staff food options will be maintained. With revenue saved, high-quality options can now be considered.

Revenue Saved: $[REDACTED]

"Big Berry Bliss is so easy—just scoop, serve, and go. Hell, we just hand them a tub of the stuff, and they choke it down, then ask for more." - Staff Feedback

“This stuff tastes like sugar mixed with cream. A few of us complained, but they told us we didn't have to eat it. But we need so many calories for these pregnancies... most of us lasted until dinner.” - Surrogate Feedback

Wheel-In Baby Showers

To reduce the need for consoling services and bolster surrogate morale with cost-effective activities, staff introduced a celebratory “babies shower” where surrogates are wheeled out of the paternity ward before being removed for childbirth. Activities include:

Rationale: Boosts surrogate morale and reduces the need for psychological services. Staff wearing party hats and blowing noisemakers (repeat usage). Playing uplifting music like "Push It" by Salt-N-Pepa and "Baby Got Back."

Revenue Saved: $[REDACTED]

"The baby showers are kind of fun. A little music, some confetti, and you’re done. Their pregnancy brain is so bad they are more confused and distracted than anything, which makes rolling them out all the easier." - Staff Feedback

“They roll me out in front of everyone, playing stupid songs and yelling, ‘Congratulations!’ like I’ve won some prize. All I feel is pain and exhaustion. It’s not a celebration—it’s a mockery.” - Surrogate Feedback

Open-Air Hygiene Zones

Replace bathrooms with “communal hygiene areas,” which repurpose the fire suppression systems to allow for high-capacity showering. Now, entire paternity wards of surrogates can be cleaned en-mass, reducing the need for staff to move surrogates for cleaning and reducing personal toiletries requirements.

Rationale: Centralized hygiene reduces staff requirements and water waste.

Revenue Saved: $[REDACTED]

"The open-air hygiene zones are genius. Just hose everyone down at once, and you’re done. It saves so much time, and I don't spend entire days scrubbing them down. And honestly, it’s kind of fun to watch. Like a pregnant car wash." - Staff Feedback

“They never warn us when they're going to shower us! One minute, you're watching TV... the next, they blast us with water like we’re livestock. No privacy, no warmth, nothing!.” - Surrogate Feedback

II. Efficiency Metrics

Cost Per Surrogate: $[REDACTED] (down 23%).

Medical: $[REDACTED] (down 19%)

Nutrition Services: $[REDACTED] (down 30%)

Housing: $[REDACTED]

Security: $[REDACTED]

Psychological Support: $[REDACTED] (up 18%)

Maintenance & Facility Upkeep: $[REDACTED] (down 16%)

Logistics: $[REDACTED]

Entertainment: $[REDACTED]

Administrative: $[REDACTED] (down 14%)

Conclusion

Paternity Compound 124 has demonstrated exceptional efficiency in meeting and lowering costs. While surrogate morale remains an area for improvement, the cost savings and output gains achieved through innovative strategies set a benchmark for other compounds.

"Efficiency is the cornerstone of progress. At Compound 124, we’ve shown that we can achieve extraordinary results with a little creativity and focus. While some may view these changes as unconventional, the numbers speak for themselves—every dollar saved is another step toward securing our future."

Report Submitted By: [REDACTED], Administrator, Paternity Compound 124

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

Sending...

Sending...

Sending...

Read...

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

To: Chief Operating Officer, Internal Affairs

From: Director [REDACTED]

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Investigation into Administrator [REDACTED] and Misappropriation of Funds at Paternity Compound 124

Chief [REDACTED],

It has come to my attention that while Administrator [REDACTED] has implemented a series of operational changes at Paternity Compound 124 that have resulted in documented cost savings of $[REDACTED], evidence has surfaced indicating the potential misappropriation or embezzlement of these funds.

Emerging discrepancies in financial records suggest that a significant portion of the funds saved through these initiatives has not been reinvested into compound operations or returned to the DRC’s central budget.

Effective immediately, Administrator [REDACTED] is to be placed on administrative leave pending a full investigation.

Internal Affairs will oversee a comprehensive audit of his financial transactions, operational decisions, and any personal accounts associated with him.

Administrator [REDACTED]’s measures to reduce operational costs have yielded undeniable financial benefits, and these measures should not be dismissed out of hand. I am directing that the relevant improvements he initiated be thoroughly assessed and, if appropriate, rolled out on a trial basis at other compounds.

Internal Affairs will take care of this quickly and without bias. If Administrator [REDACTED] is found to have misappropriated DRC funds for personal gain, I expect full disciplinary action.

Regards,

Director [REDACTED]

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

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[lostisthedeplorable]

Yeah chapter 15 is up!!! Excerpt as always!

The entire fic can be found

HERE

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The bed is creaky when Regulus sits down, cross legged, immediately wrapping himself in the spare blanket. Sirius stares as Regulus runs it over his forehead and tightly holds it beneath his chin. China doll. Russian. How many me’s can you dig out with just your eyes?

Regulus sighs. Breathes. Laughs. Cries. Shuts his eyes and hiccups. Imagine the walls falling down and crumbling up on top of them. Hours of invasive rubble digging. Finding them just as they once were. Eternally close but never quite enough.

He could shout. He could scream. He could rip up every seeping memory and splay it out like brain matter. Goad Sirius into performative guilt and watch it curdle.

Eternally close but never quite near enough, he thinks again. But the wall isn’t crumbling.

He thinks about prehistoric children. Did they sit and look at the stars too? Did they cry when the sun came back? Did they wail as the moon went away? Did you dream like I do? That your mother might love you? He’ll never know the answer to this. Adhered to the back of his mind, a sticky insoluble solution. Those little prehistoric children and their perfunctory dreams. Is it only a dream that a brother could love me?

If he's not supposed to live then why all this life?

It’s been an hour or a minute before his broken voice finally chokes out, “I hate you and I forgive you.”

Regulus lays down, fetal position, as Sirius continues to stare. He blows a large breath from his lips, the ghost of exhalation itching across Regulus’ face.

���Fuckin’ massive baby step, Reg,” Sirius says.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[anyasathenaeum]

Reader Goes Feral When Trigun Boys Get Hurt - Anya's 100 Follower Event

Pairings: Vash x reader, Wolfwood x reader (separately)

A/N: Thank you to all the lovely individuals who requested this prompt for my 100 follower event! I'm inspired enough to write a joint post with blurbs for this, so enjoy! Also, there are still slots open, so feel free to request something, friends!

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, reader being badass

Vash the Stampede

"(Y/N)! Run, now! Get somewhere safe!"

Vash's words echoed in your head, but all you could do was stare down at the blood staining your clothing. Vash's blood. You'd felt your heart drop to the ground as you watched bullets tear through Vash, who had done nothing but try to calm the ire of the townsfolk chasing after him.

Your skin burned where Vash's blood stained it, and all you could hear was the thrumming of your blood in your ears as a fire began to spread through your veins. You couldn't hear anything, and suddenly, the fact that bullets were whizzing by didn't phase you. All you could think about was making the people who had shot Vash pay.

They were going to pay for shooting Vash if it was the last thing you ever did.

The world moved around you as if in slow-motion. You felt yourself moving faster than your brain could comprehend, pulling out your pistol and firing off shots to disarm the townsfolk before they could so much as wound you. You watched as the townsfolk realized what kind of rage was coursing through you, you watched as the fear began to register on their faces, but not fast enough to escape the all-consuming fire of your rage.

"HOW DARE YOU?!"

The voice that bellowed those words was not one you ever would've recognized as your own, but you couldn't care less. It was filled with anger and hatred and malice, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself shooting to hurt, if not to kill altogether.

You found yourself watching as blood bloomed on people's clothes as your bullets found their marks, muted cries of pain and fear ringing out as the wounded slowly fell to the ground and as their fellow townsfolk began to flee, sprinting and stumbling away as best they could. You watched as some trembled in fear, begging and praying for you to spare them, while others dove for cover.

'Why should I spare them?!' Hissed a primal, vicious voice from deep within you, 'I should show them the same mercy they showed Vash!'

But, as your gaze fell onto the crumpled form of the blonde-haired man, curled up in the fetal position around the bullet wounds in his stomach, you suddenly felt a pang of horror and realization go through you.

This isn't what Vash would want.

Shaking and panting from your rage and exertion, you lowered your gun, looking around at the horrified townsfolk as they struggled to get away from you or patch their own wounds. Wounds you had inflicted.

Before the weight of what you had done could really sink in, you quickly turned and, using the extra adrenaline in your system, you gathered Vash as best as you could, supporting him and trying to be careful as you minded his wounds, lifting him enough to get him at least off the ground.

As you lifted him, Vash groaned, his eyes fluttering open weakly and looking around. Once his gaze settled on you, his eyes widened and a look of worry and fear crossed his face.

"(Y/N)? Why are you crying? Are you okay?"

You didn't even realize you had begun to cry, nor did you have energy to answer him, trying hard to block out the cries of the wounded townsfolk. As Vash began to take in the scene and connect the pieces, all you could do was readjust your hold on him and sniffle out before beginning to walk.

"Come on. I gotta get you somewhere safe."

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

This wasn't at all what you had expected to happen.

You knew that whatever solution Wolfwood had been drinking from those glass vials of him had to have some kind of consequence, but for Wolfwood's body to fail him in healing in the middle of a fight? It wasn't how you expected it to happen at all.

"Damn!"

You heard Wolfwood exclaim as he leaned back against a wall, ducking from the bullets being shot at you and him by the police, slumping down to the ground. He was panting heavily and you could see the dark blood seeping through the bullet wounds to his torso. He had already chugged a vial, but nothing had happened. Your eyes widened in fear.

"Wolfwood-"

"Yeah, I know, sweetheart!" He cut you off almost immediately, his tone sharp, "I don't need you to say anything!"

You flinched slightly, feeling the fear building up in you as you watched the blood patches growing bigger and bigger, and watching the light in Wolfwood's eyes get dimmer and dimmer. Then-

"(Y/N)!"

Wolfwood never used your real name unless it was a serious situation or a warning. This cry of your name was filled with panic.

"Hands above your head, or we'll shoot you both!"

You felt a gun barrel press up against the back of your head, and you slowly put your hands up as the officer had demanded. You watched as another three or four officers with weapons ran up, one of them snickering at Wolfwood's state.

"Not so brave now, are you?" The officer laughed, before proceeding to pistol-whip Wolfwood across the face.

All you heard was the impact of the pistol against Wolfwood's cheekbone before your vision went red.

"Nicholas!"

Before you could register your emotions, the officer holding the gun to your head was screaming in pain as you got his arm locked in your grasp and quickly jerked it in a way that the gun dropped from his grip and he clutched his arm in agony.

The officers around glanced over at you only in time for you to strike them hard enough to break noses and jaws, to give black eyes and drop them to the ground before they had time to comprehend the threat you posed to them. Within a few moments, the guards were unconscious or groaning on the ground, their guns out of reach and no longer a risk to you or to Nicholas.

When you came back to your senses, you were panting frantically and your arms were aching from the level of force you used. You glanced down at your hands and faintly registered that your knuckles were bruised and bleeding, some gashes now on your hands from dealing blows. Shakily, you looked back up at Nicholas, who was just looking at you with wide eyes.

"W-What?" You asked, your voice trembling as you tried to calm yourself down.

"Nothing," Nicholas replied, a small grin appearing on his lips as he tried to stand, "You're just scary when you're ragin', doll. Didn't know you could do that. Thanks for defending me."

[misslavenderlady]

Here Comes The Bride 💐

The Lost Boys/Crysta (OC)

Summary: After all their hard work in shaping their captured mate, the boys are finally ready to take the next step with Crysta~

If I had a nickel for every time I made a birthday fic for @hypocriticaltypwriter I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice /j

This fic has references to her character Crysta and takes place in the world of her White Wedding AU, which I highly recommend you give some love!!! Please enjoy!

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome (aka falling in love with captor), forced marriage, trauma, crying

Becoming a blushing bride was something that Crysta had dreamed of ever since she was a little girl. Getting to see her cousins and friends at their weddings over the years had made wish to find her true love so that she could have her own magical experience. Getting her hair dolled up by her aunt in the salon, finding the shiniest rock possible for her ring, crying tears of joy when she found the perfect dress for her special day. She longed for it all so very much.

Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine getting swept away by creatures of the night who had their own dreams of the perfect wedding. David and his Lost Boys had their eye on the little redhead for ages now. Lusting over her curvaceous figure, admiring her bubbly personality and fawning over her beautiful face. Everything about her was perfect in their eyes. 

But they didn't do things by the book when it came to romance. They saw what they wanted, and they didn't hesitate to take it for themselves. That fateful night when they stole their little bride-to-be from her bed and fled under the cover of darkness was the biggest rush they had in ages. Their devious laughter overlapped with her frightened shrieks as they rushed her back home to the crypt. 

It hadn't been an easy transition, of course. Crysta sobbed if they so much as looked at her. She was often shaking like a leaf and huddled in a fetal position on the bed in the room they set up for her within the hideout. It took weeks for them to say enough sweet nothings to get her comfortable enough to talk to them. Even if she still whimpered from being in the presence of her captors, Crysta was shaping up to be the perfect little mate for them. 

Each boy had their own special trick to get the little lady to warm up to them. Dwayne was so gentle with her, always holding her and stroking her hair with the same care one would use for a kitten. Paul had a killer sense of humor, often saying the right thing to get her to giggle in between her crying spells. Marko used gift giving as his love language, bringing her beautiful dresses, jewelry, and all her favorite foods to enjoy. 

But none of them compared to what David was capable of. The leader had a wickedness in his charms. A sense of magic he could bend to his very will. And he used it to make Crysta love him, whether she truly wanted it or not. 

When the pretty redhead started to tear up, he'd be there to dry her eyes right away. When she meekly asked for some comfort, he would thoroughly pamper her so she'd feel better. In the rare moments she asked for intimacy, he was the most giving lover possible. David wouldn't be satisfied unless his bride was happy. 

Perhaps it was cliche for the sinister claws of Stockholm Syndrome to hook at her heart and mind, but given the situation that Crysta was in, it was bound to happen at some point. She was still terrified out of her mind. She still cried every single day, longing for her freedom and the return of her normal life. But despite the fear of never being free again, she also harbored the fear of what would happen if her boys disappeared.  

It pleased David immensely. To be both the problem and the solution to Crysta's pain was pure entertainment to the vampire king. 

But now he was growing quite tired of the little games they played with her. He was ready to move on to the next step in their grand plan of corruption. It was time to make their beloved’s dreams of her wedding day come true. 

“Engagement’s over, Crysta,” David told her with a wicked smile spread across his face. “It’s time to tie the knot~”

Paul, Dwayne and Marko wasted no time getting their little lady dolled up for the big day. They fitted her in an elaborate corset over her flowing, princess-style dress. They fluffed up her curly locks before placing a crown of roses atop her head. They used the best water-proof mascara they could find for her makeup. The boys even gifted her a vampire’s necklace, complete with a centuries old ruby for the charm. 

She was such a beautiful bride. She should have been thrilled to look the way she had wanted ever since she was little. But all she felt was another wave of tears as she wailed once again. It didn’t help that the grooms were teasing her and calling her playful names. It was far too amusing for them to control themselves when it was just that easy to toy with her.

Still, David kept his boys nice and focused when it was time for their unholy ceremony. Everything had to be absolutely perfect for their special day. Their crypt was filled to the brim with black wax candles, deep red roses and ashen lace draped across the bannisters. It was far from the “white wedding” aesthetic that Crysta had dreamed of during her days of flipping through magazines. She sniffled even more than usual when she saw the wicked display that she’d be married in.

She wanted to run away. FAR away. They would surely snatch her up again if she even got a foot out the door, but it was all her body longed to do. This was all happening so fast, and she had no choice in the matter. 

The boys worked like a machine, each doing their part perfectly to stop Crysta from becoming a runaway bride. With Marko and Paul linking their arms with hers and Dwayne carrying her train from behind as they walked her down the aisle, she was completely trapped. They held her as tightly as iron chains. No hope of escape as they brought her closer and closer to their leader at the end of the aisle. 

By the time they had brought her to her spot, she had come completely undone. The mascara wasn’t strong enough to stop the river of dark lines that washed down her cheeks. She trembled under the gaze of David’s icy eyes as he held up a ring for her. No mere band of silver or gold. It was a ring of spikes that would surely slice into her skin. Thorns for their little rose.

“D-David…”  she whimpered. “I can’t do this…”

“Yes, you can, little love,” the vampire cooed. The blue in his eyes melted into a sea of gold and red, transforming to show his true nature. “I have loved you ever since I first saw you. And I never had any intentions of letting you go.”

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 10 (MBJx Black OC)

A/N: sooooo this is just nonstop angst. Hence the gif selection and I am sorry lol we get into some tough shit. So warnings include: severe depression and negative self talk, harassment, etc. But as always enjoy! And remember… I’m a HEA girlie through and through ☺️

Hell on Earth was the only appropriate descriptor for the last 24 hours of Raven’s life. Trapped in her apartment due to the spectacle of paparazzi camped outside her building, her only activity was laying in bed unmoving hour after hour in the fetal position. She was grateful to Melody for taking her shift, she did not know if she would have been able to find the strength to get up to go anyway.

Raven tried her best to avoid social media but laying in her bed staring at the ceiling did not provide much distraction from the agony that coursed through her. This hurt eclipsed any pain from a physical wound that she had ever felt. It was paralyzing. And scrolling, even if she had to wade through stories and commentary on her own life as if she were a fictional character from the world’s latest Netflix obsession, offered some reprieve from thinking about him.

He consumed her every thought despite wanting nothing more than to rid her brain of him. But his claws were in too deep and even blocking his number had not offered relief when the only thing she wanted was to seek comfort from him. Her heart ached for him as if it would never be right again without his presence, his touch. But her brain would not allow her to call him or even unblock him. He was the curse, the disease… she certainly would find no cure in him.

The negative orator in her head called him a liar, reminded her that she did not deserve him and he knew it, which was why this all happened in the first place. So she stayed in her small ball in the corner of her bed fighting the urge to call him or break down into sobs again.

Her roommate checked on her every couple of hours and that was the sum of her human interaction since she left Michael’s house. She did not want to see or talk to anyone. So she didn’t. Her phone remained on DND, every call and text going unanswered. She knew she only had a few more days of this. The library had taken her off the schedule for a week, citing a need to figure out how to deal with the safety concerns this situation brought. But Raven knew the truth, the only available solution would be to let her go. Another job down the drain because of her terrible choices, because the only setting she seemed to know was self destruction.

That was all she knew how to do it… ruin her own life and the lives of everyone around her. She did not even speak to her family anymore and still knew, from her sister’s nonstop texts and calls that she didn’t respond to or answer, that even they were feeling the burn of her choices. Of course, Kiara was not wasting the opportunity to snag herself another 15 minutes of fame but she did not say anything worse than what Raven had already seen from strangers or did not already believe about herself.

Tears sprang to her eyes as thought about her own role in every bad turn and mistake her life had taken that led to this moment. She could blame Michael and her family but perhaps it was finally time to own that they were all right: it was her. She was the problem.

She chose to sell her body, even when she was in college as a dancer, to make a quick buck. She chose to do the same as an adult, she chose to enter into Michael’s ring of lies and she let him play as the fool. She could hate him but that meant she would also have to hate herself.

And acknowledging her hate for him was far less excruciating than examining how she brought this collapsing building right down on herself.

***

“What happened?”

“Damn, nigga. Can I get through the front door first or get a hello?”

Michael let out an impatient sigh and shifted out of the way so Alex could walk into his foyer. He had been a nervous wreck since she called an hour prior asking if she could swing by the house to talk. He had deleted social media from his phone so he did not have to see the vitriol being hurled at Raven. He did not care what people said about him but Alex literally had to stand over his shoulder and watch him delete every app to stop him from responding to every disgusting comment he read about her.

While his plan may have worked in popular media outlets and with sensible people online, he severely underestimated the contingent of very loud incels and pick-mes who would blame Raven regardless of how the story was presented to them.

“My bad. Hey. What happened?” he asked again, his tone signaling that he was not in the mood for Alex’s signature attitude. He needed answers and he needed them now. He would have time for pleasantries again and everything else when Raven forgave him. Or even just answered his phone calls and texts.

Michael gestured for Alex to follow him to the kitchen where he had been helping his mom and dad cook dinner. Or rather helping in between wearing a hole in his floor due to his incessant pacing and complaining about when Alex would arrive.

“I”m not gonna show you unless you calm the fuck down.” One side glance from his mother had Alex cringing at herself. “Sorry, Ms. Donna.”

The older woman merely nodded as she returned to her task of chopping vegetables.

“Well, I’ll start with the good news. I checked in on all your endorsements and deals and they said as long as this situation doesn’t evolve any further, they have no interest in dropping you. People still love you for some reason. And it’s been a week, so if old… partners were going to come out, they would’ve. All our Creed 3 press is still set but I had to do some rearranging now that the Oscars are set for the second weekend in March. So you’re going to Mexico City this weekend to get a head start. And we still have your interview slate for the Oscars set. You’re in for a busy six weeks… I know what’s going on with Raven is a lot but I need your head in the game, Mike. Seriously.”

“Alex! I don’t give a fuck about an interview schedule. What did you hear about Raven?”

“You know it’s literally my job to manage your career, not your continuously screwed up love life, right? Sometimes I worry you have it confused. But yes, I do have news on Raven too. Which is mostly… well all bad news. Most of the conversation has moved on. People are still attacking her on social but that’s not all that surprising. Vultures are still circling her apartment, not as many but a couple every day. Today was the first day she left the house in a week to go back to work. But… she got fired.”

Michael paused his pacing in shock. He knew how much that job, however she came to need it, meant to Raven. It had been a refuge during one of the most painful times in her life and his actions had stolen that from her.

“WHAT?”

Alex scoffed. “I told you our plan wouldn’t be without consequences, Mike. It just had the least amount of them. You can’t be surprised. She worked at a public library with kids and the entire world found out she was a prostitute. She was probably an at-will employee so they don’t even need a reason to fire her. But paparazzi surrounding her job every day and idiots calling to campaign to get her fired is more than enough for most places. But that’s not… that’s not the worst part.” Alex’s stiletto tipped nails tapped against her screen a few times before she tossed it down on the kitchen island. “A contact at TMZ sent me a video a couple hours ago. They aren’t gonna post it,” she assured him. “But there were plenty of cameras so someone else might. Just forwarded it to you.”

Michael moved quickly to open his email, his body equally wrestling between wanting to see whatever this was and being afraid to. But he knew he did not have a choice. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he pressed play on the video. The TMZ reporter had their camera trained on Raven as she tried to fight her way out of the back exit to her car in the parking lot. It was from earlier today, Michael realizing that she must have gone into her shift only to be let go. However, she was not simply fighting through a sea of flashing lights and insensitive questions. There was also a small group of men hurling insults at her as she fought through the crowd.

“I guess niggas really don’t be having jobs cause who has the time to post outside of someone else’s job to harass them?” Alex muttered to no one in particular as Michael’s attention and focus remained trained on the video.

The words of everyone else in the video were just static to him because his eyes and attention were squarely set on Raven. His soul felt as if it was splintering into millions of pieces as he watched her. Despite the meticulous makeup painted and her stoic poker face, Michael could still see the sorrow and exhaustion in her eyes. He had seen such a look in her eyes before and it hurt then, but now it was somehow worse. A fatal wound because this time, it was his fault. He would not need a video for that look to haunt him for the rest of his life.

He continued watching despite wanting nothing more than to get in his car and race to her apartment. The video was chaotic as the cameraman tried to keep up with the mob of cameras and people and keep the focus on the woman at the center of the storm. Michael did not understand what happened when Raven suddenly stopped moving, her poker face gone as one of pure terror took over.

Michael’s eyes frantically searched the frame of the video for what changed, even pausing it for a moment, until he noticed a hand wrapped tightly around her upper arm. He watched as she frantically pulled against the force of the person but their grip was too tight. And he could hear the whimper of pain in her words as she begged him to let her go.

The altercation did not last long when one of the cameramen was able to break the man’s grip on her and Raven scurried off to her car, her eyes brimming with tears.

Michael forced his phone to go to sleep as he squeezed it in his fist. Michael usually existed at an emotional equilibrium but his rage felt all consuming. Is this what seeing red felt like? When your anger was so blinding, you could not see or think of anything that did not fuel that fire? The entire internet had become Inspector gadget to find Raven’s job and address to harass her but would they do the same for that guy? Someone who tried to do her harm? Michael merely wanted five minutes alone with him to exercise all that rage at someone who deserved it.

He did not say a word as he marched past Alex and out of his kitchen to the foyer where he kept his car keys and wallet. He grabbed both and angrily stomped out to the garage, his thoughts set on nothing other than seeing Raven. Even if he was only able to lay his eyes on her for a moment, he needed to see her. In the flesh.

“Michael! Mike! Stop! Stop!!” Alex raced after him, quickly catching up with him despite her high heels. Her hand grabbed the door of his car before he could fully climb in. “Where are you going?”

“To Raven’s.”

Alex’s arm jerked the car door away from him as he tried to pull it closed. “You need to give her time. You’re probably not the nigga she wants to see at her door right now. And… there are still cameras around her house. You don’t need -”

“You think I give a fuck about someone seein’ me go there?? Get outta my fuckin’ way, Alex. Now.” His voice lost its usual kind tone as he glared at her, his barely contained rage seeping out into the garage around them like thick smoke.

Alex’s grip loosened but she did not acquiesce fully. “At least let me come with you.”

Their standoff continued for mere seconds before he caved and gave her a few moments to get into the passenger’s seat. If allowing her to go with him was the only way to see his girl then he would let her ride along. But she would not be able to stop him from doing a damn thing, he knew that much.

They did not speak as he raced through LA to get to Raven’s apartment. He did not wait for Alex to get out or say anything as he walked into her building and made a beeline for the elevator. Before he knew it, he was banging on her door like the police had shown up.

“Ok calm down, we don’t need the whole damn floor filming this for that damn clock app,” Alex grumbled, Michael essentially ignoring her as he continued banging until the door flung open.

Her roommate stood there, a confused look on her face for a moment, before she glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Raven’s closed door.

“I need to see her.”

“I don’t think she’s up for visitors,” the young woman responded, her tone leaving little room for arguments. She tried to close the door but Michael stuck his foot in the doorway and stopped her.

“She doesn’t have to talk to me but I need to see her. Let me in.” Michael knew he had no right to demand entry into someone else’s home but he was at a loss, his hands were tied.

“What he means to say,” Alex stepped forward, pulling Michael back slightly, “is that he just wants to see she is ok after today with his own eyes. And then we’ll leave, I promise. Two minutes, that’s all we want. Please?”

“I’m not gonna force her to see you. You can wait here while I ask.”

She left them at the doorway to show themselves inside as she went to knock on Raven’s door.

“Raven? Can you come out here?”

He heard shuffling from behind her closed door before it cracked open. He could not see her but he could hear her voice, small and broken. A sound he never wanted to hear again. He was supposed to be the solution to her pain, not the cause of it.

“I d-don’t want to see him.”

“I just need a minute, Rae!” Michael did not wait for the invitation as he walked up to her door and gestured for her roommate to move out of his way. “Just let me see you… please.”

Raven leaned her head against the door frame as she debated whether to comply. Something in her demanded that she slam the door in his face. But her first on her doorknob merely shook as if she could not force herself to do it, her limbs refusing to obey her brain’s orders. She did not want to see him.

Whatever bandage she was using to stop the bleeding of this wound was immediately ripped off and her hurt flowed once again like blood at his mere presence. She could not even look at him, or rather was afraid to. Afraid that if she looked into those eyes, she would believe whatever sad tale of love and care he brought to spin for her this time. She could not fall for that again. With him or anyone else. And yet, her body still wanted to run to him and jump into his arms, bury her nose into the nape of his neck and breathe in him. His signature cologne, his natural musk that had grown to represent a sanctuary for her.

She forced herself behind the ice walls she had spent a week building. She was too weak to survive without them. Those barriers and their harshness were the only thing that had dragged her out of bed to go to her shift, which lasted a total of an hour before she was fired. She was not surprised but preparation had not made it an easier experience. She had been proud of herself for holding it together, walking out with her head held high. That is, until the utter debacle outside the library.

Michael had always been the one who the barriers came down for. But now, his presence made them grow higher and higher as if to protect David from Goliath.

She stepped back and opened the door just enough for her face to be seen. She did not look at him though, keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind him.

“What? The paparazzi videos aren’t enough? Need to see your destruction in person? There, you’ve seen me. Now get out.”

Her voice was cold, colder than he ever knew her to be toward anyone much less him. It was being stabbed in the chest and having the knife twisted for effect. Made all the worse by the fact that she could not even look him in the eye.

“Rae… baby girl, please. I just want to make sure you are alright after today… between the library and that guy. Just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

A mere week ago, Raven would have melted like a childish lovesick school girl at “baby girl,” at his care and devotion to her. But today, her heart had to remain cold for her own preservation, safely tucked behind the ice walls she erected.

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that. And it’s not the first job I’ve lost, I’ll survive. Whether or not I’m hurt or employed shouldn’t matter to you. You made it clear you don’t care.”

“It does matter to me. You matter to me. Did he hurt you?”

“Bruises heal… This one will too. It’s the other wounds I’m not sure about,” she muttered, more to herself than him. “You want me to read you some of my DMs? Compared to what they all say they want to do to me, I got off easy with a bruise. So now you know. I don’t want to repeat myself again. Get. Out.”

“I’ll do anything, Rae. Just talk to me, hear me out. I didn’t mean for this o-or any of this to happen like this. Let me fix this. Or at least let me protect you.”

She shook her head, refusing to listen to a word he had to say. In one ear and out the other. It was all lies. “No. You can’t fix this. I don’t want your words, your lies, your apologies, or your protection. I don’t want anything from you ever again. You wanted me out of your life just like everyone else I know so you got your wish. Come back here again and I’ll call the police.”

And with that, she slammed her door in his face, leaving him standing awkwardly in the living room with Alex and her roommate. He simply stood there like a statue, mouth agape with his apologies on the tip of his tongue, staring at her closed door for a few moments.

“You heard her. You should go.”

With her roommate’s echo, Michael forced his legs to move. However, before he could get far, he stopped and grabbed a spare piece of paper and pen that was left discarded on their counter. He jotted down his number and pushed it into her hand.

“Tiffany, right?” At her nod, he continued. “I’ll give her space cause that’s what she wants. But anythin’ happens like today again, call me. Please.”

The young woman eyed him intently and stowed the paper away in her pocket before Michael walked out of the door with Alex in tow. As they stepped into the elevator of her building, Michael unleashed his pent-up frustration by punching a hole into the side of the elevator, an action that only caused a rippling pain to shoot up from his knuckles.

“Well that was decidedly stupid. You’re gonna have to get that looked at.” Alex shook her head. “She’s not ready yet, Mike. And for once, you’re not in control of how this goes. She needs time. Give it to her. But she’s ok today, that’s all that matters.”

Michael’s unbruised hand massaged his knuckles as they walked to his car. He sat in his seat silently for a few moments.

“You think she’s still in danger?”

“I think people on the internet often forget the people they’re attacking are real people. Most of this will stay online and be fine but we can’t predict the people who’ll do what that guy did today and take it to the real world. There’s just… no way of knowing.”

Michael sighed and nodded. “Get me a list of bodyguards. Vetted. She doesn’t want to see me, fine. But she’s gonna get protection whether she likes it or not.”

“You can’t force her to have a bodyguard.”

“You got me in Mexico City, Paris, London, New York, and Miami for the next month. You think I’m steppin’ on a damn plane with niggas tryin’ to attack her? Get me the fuckin’ list.”

“I know shit is fucked right now, Michael, but you can’t stop working just because your girlfriend is mad at you.”

“I don’t care about work right now, Alex!”

“Maybe you should! Maybe I shouldn’t be the only one holding your fucking career and reputation together while you spend all your energy making bad decision after fucking bad decision.”

Michael’s entire body whipped around to face the passenger seat, the anger he had pushed down beneath the surface already bubbling to the top. He was a powder keg and unfortunately, Alex was the spark.

“Oh so all of this is my fault?? Tasha fuckin-”

She threw her hands up in the air. “Stop blaming Tasha! She’s trash, she fuckin’ sucks and backed you into a corner but it’s not all on her, Mike! I’m not one of these fuckin’ yes men whose gonna shield you from accountability just to pad your fuckin’ giant actor ego. You fucked up, Michael. You. You could’ve ended it with Tasha as soon as you realized you were in love with Raven, but you didn’t. You strung her along because it was easier than admitting your feelings. You could’ve taken any of the millions of opportunities to admit what was going on to Raven like I told you and you didn’t. You wanted to play big man and stick it to Tasha instead of focusing on the person that actually mattered. And you didn’t want to admit that you were still talking to her. You didn’t leak this out of some purely noble intentions. This didn’t just happen to you. You caused this because as good of a guy as you are, you always do what is easiest for you instead of what is hard. So you and Tasha made this fucked up bed together. Own that shit and stop wallowing in it like a fucking bitch baby.”

His grip on the steering wheel was nearly painful as her harsh words sank in. And as difficult as they were to hear, as much as they clashed against the narrative he was clinging to, he knew they were not untrue. While it was far easier to lay the whole debacle at Tasha’s feet, he knew he was not blameless in what happened. But he had underestimated how torturous it would be to see the consequences of his own actions, how it would gnaw at him day in and day out. And the only way he was even surviving day to day was wrapping his brain tightly in the narrative that he did what was best. Without that protective blanket, he did not know if he could survive seeing the destruction he caused.

“Damn tell me how you really feel.” He banged his fist on the steering wheel a few times. “I just… I feel like I can’t do shit else till I fix this. Till she forgives me.”

Alex took a long deep breath before reaching over and squeezing his hand. “I know… but her forgiving you and you fixing the damage this all caused may not be the same thing. You don’t get to control when she forgives you and your life can’t stop until she does. If she does. Fix what you can, keep showing up where you can, and the rest is on her.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then she doesn’t. And that has to be ok too.” She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. “I’ll have the list of bodyguards for you by noon tomorrow. Just promise me you’ll get on that plane on Friday? And that your head will be focused on your career, not her. Give me six weeks Mike. Press tour, world premiere, Oscars and then you can chase after her like a lost puppy all you want.”

“Yea I promise. I know how hard you’ve worked for all this… ain’t gonna let you down, Alex.”

“I get paid either way. You earned this. Care more about not letting yourself down.”

And with that, Michael peeled off the curb of Raven’s apartment building and started their trek back to his home. The entire ride Alex’s words tumbled in his brain. He had been so focused on convincing Raven to forgive him when he did need to give her space, as excruciating as that was for him. But space did not mean he could not work to fix the very tangible things his decisions had ruined for her.

“Did you ever get that list of Black agents and publishers that rep fantasy novels?” he asked randomly as they pulled back into his spot in the garage.

“Yea, pulled it a while ago.”

Michael walked Alex to her car, which sat out in front of his house.

“Good. Any on the list you particularly like?”

“One of them’s a friend and if I’m being honest… She is the list.”

“Aight. Let’s game plan that on the plane ride after our interview prep”

Alex leaned against the hood of her car, smiling at him. She patted him on the arm and gave him a smile. “There’s the Michael B Jordan I attached my career to. Welcome back.”

He merely rolled his eyes and smiled. He was a man of action. He would wait a hundred years if that was how much time and space Raven needed. But her not wanting to see him did not mean he could not continue to be what he had always been for her: the first person who took care of her.

***

A knock at Raven’s door forced her out of bed. She had not made much effort to leave the comfort of her own bed since losing her job. She had been able to save up enough from her dates with Michael to save a decent safety net. She would have a couple months before she needed to think seriously about what was next and how to pay rent. She savored the cushion. Her thoughts were an utter mess so she certainly was not mentally strong enough to plan.

As she walked to her front door, her phone started vibrating.

Kiara

She had been avoiding her calls like she was the bubonic plague. She knew why she was calling. To gloat and rub salt in Raven’s wounds. She could almost hear the vitriol Kiara would throw at her without even answering the phone. So she didn’t. She did not care to. She decided to just wait her out, if she ignored her calls enough, she would eventually give up… right? After all, it had almost been two weeks.

Raven had not heard from her dad at all, which she did not know whether to be thankful for or add that to the list of wounds that would not close. Some small part of her would have hoped that, despite them not speaking since the holidays, that he would check in on her after all of this. But she had done all of them a favor when she cut them off. They wanted her out of their lives and she wanted them out of hers. She knew she should no longer care what either of them thought of her.

She sent her call straight to voicemail as she opened her door to find an extremely tall, brooding bald man with shades standing outside her door. He kind of reminded her of what a secret service agent in movies looked like.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Raven Turner?”

“Why do you want to know?” She kept the door knob in her hand in case she needed to push it closed. She thankfully had not had any crazies approaching her at home, small comfort. But perhaps, that was about to end.

“My name is David Brooks. I’ve been hired to be your bodyguard. May I come in?” Raven’s eyes grew wide as he tried to make a step over the threshold to her apartment. She immediately stepped into his path, using her body and the door as shields.

“You think I’m just gonna let you in cause you say you’re a bodyguard?? I didn’t hire a bodyguard. And I don’t need one. So you could be a serial killer with an elaborate ruse for all I know. Leave.”

“You should know that no serial killer would choose a ruse so specific. And apartments are a foolish place to murder someone, too many eye witnesses. And if I was here to harm you, I’d already be inside. Your door certainly would not stop me.”

“You know you are not really inspiring trust, right?”

“Apologies. It is just frustrating how obsessed the average American woman is about being murdered by a serial killer when statistically, it will never happen. But I digress. Just because you do not believe you do not need a bodyguard, does not mean you don’t.” He reached under his arm and handed her a neat folder of papers. “Resume, background check… much of which is redacted. Security reasons. And he said you would be a reluctant principal so I included the latest research and data on how cyber attacks and stalking can turn violent. Now have I inspired trust?”

Raven took the folder out of his hand and flipped through it quickly, her small stature still blocking his entrance to her home. Her eyes skimmed each page, which included everything about this man except his damn social security number. He seemed legit and even the parts that were not redacted in black highlighter seemed terrifying. But she did not budge from her protective stance in front of her home. She still did not understand.

“Who even hired you??” There was no one in her life that cared enough or could afford to hire her a bodyguard. Well no one except…

Fuck.

“Michael B. Jordan. Any other questions or may I come in so we can discuss your security? Do you do this often? Talk to people in your doorway? Because that will need to end immediately.” His eyes glanced up and down the hallway of her apartment.

Raven let out a deep exhale of frustration and stepped aside, allowing him in. Mainly because she did not want their standoff to continue in her hallway for one of her nosy neighbors to see.

“Don’t get comfortable… you won’t be staying.”

How dare he? She thought to herself. Why can’t he just leave me the fuck alone!

She angrily grabbed her phone off of the kitchen island where she had discarded it. She was too pissed off to feel many other emotions about hearing his voice as she unblocked Michael’s number and hit the call button. She had not spoken to him since he showed up at her apartment days prior.

Ice walls, ice walls, she told herself as she prepared to hear his voice. She forced herself not to read into the fact that it only rang once before his voice started to fill her ear.

“Rae! Lis-”

“Fire him,” she demanded, cutting him off. She had no desire to hear anything he had to say to her.

There was a still beat of silence before Michael’s voice filled her ears again, steaming with the dominance she once craved and yearned for.

“No.”

“I’m not kidding, Michael.”

“I ain’t laughing, Raven. You aren’t ready to talk to me, you aren’t ready to see me, fine. But I’m not gon’ let you fend off paparazzi and randoms alone. And I can’t be there. So he stays.”

Anger coiled in her belly causing her to immediately raise her voice. Every fiber in her being hated him.

“So he can report my every move back to you?? Fuck no. And fuck you. The only reason I would need protection is because of what you did. I’ll never be ready to talk to you and I want nothing from you.”

She could tell this was a losing battle but she fought regardless. She could not handle this shadow following her every second, a visual reminder of him and the fact that he cared about her. But everything in her told her that he didn’t care about her. His actions had made that abundantly clear. This was nothing more than a complex manipulation… like everything else he had done to her since the night they met.

“He’s not obligated to report anythin’ back to me, I promise. I’ve dealt with the paparazzi and crazy fans longer than you. It actually can be dangerous. And I’m traveling and doing all this press so it’s not gonna die off until I’m out of the spotlight in a few weeks. So until then, he stays.”

Raven forgot that Michael was officially on his giant world press tour for Creed 3. A part of her wanted to ask him about it, hear how it was going and how he felt. But she could not allow that either. She did not care about his career. She did not care about him anymore.

“I don’t need anymore help and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t want it from you.”

He let out a sigh that sounded almost… sad? Raven shook her head. She was not going to give in, waver, or break. He was one of the best actors of her generation and that was all this was: an act.

“I deserve that shit. I know it. But I’m not gonna apologize for carin’ about you even if you hate me.”

The back of her eyes stung at his words. She despised it, she did not want to feel this for him. He had destroyed her and she vowed never to let him close enough to do it again. Or anyone for that matter. But perhaps her resolve was not as steadfast as she desperately wanted to believe it was. Her heart may have been willing to hear him out again, but her stubborn brain refused to allow her to give in.

“I do… hate you,” she whispered, hating how clear her emotions were in her tone. Hearing his voice cracked something open inside her and all those walls were starting to crash around her.

“I know… but I’ll never stop, Rae. Never stop lovin’ you and carin’ about what happens to you. Hate me all you want but that’s it.”

She shook her head, even though she knew he could not see it.

Lies. It’s all lies. He doesn’t care. No one does. So stop kidding yourself.

The back of her hand quickly wiped away the few falling tears before she sniffled slightly and cleared her throat. She refused to give in. He did not love her, he did not care about her. That’s the only thing she knew was real. The rest was lies.

“You don’t care what happens to me,” she responded definatively. “No one does,” she repeated the menacing voice in her head that forced her insecurities and hard truths to the surface of her brain. “Hell… I don’t anymore.” Her voice trailed off slightly.

“Rae…” Whatever rebuttal he had started to form in his brain at her first statement faded away like a sandcastle swept in a tidal wave at her words. Did she really think that? Believe that no one in the world cared about her? Did she really no longer care about herself? Those words struck fear in his soul.

“Tell me how I can fix it, baby. Please. Tell me what I can do for you to forgive me.”

Her entire body sagged against the weight of her kitchen counter. She let the phone fall from her ear as a sob bubbled to the surface. She forgot about the GI Joe soldier who was standing in her living room awkwardly pretending as if he could not hear them.

“I-I don’t know if y-you can fix this, Michael. N-Not what you did b-but this exhaustion. I’m just… tired,” she wiped her eyes. “I’m tired o-of reaching out and getting swatted away… I’m tired of being disappointed b-by people. I’m t-tired of forgiving a-and piecing myself back together just to be pushed down and b-broken again. I-I h-have to f-find the fucking energy to pick up the p-pieces of my l-life y-yet again because I d-don’t… have any choice. B-But I d-don’t have enough… to do that a-and figure this out right now. I c-can’t think about forgiving you until I stop feeling…. this … exhausted.” Her words were barely audible as her emotions made her throat too tight to speak.

Another sob broke its way through before she forced her to clear her throat before she stood up straight. She could not do this, could not talk to him and let the door even crack. The wound still hurt too much.

“Goodbye, Michael.”

Raven hung up and blocked his contact once again. She glanced at her new shadow, who now turned his attention back to her.

“I can’t do this right now. I’m not leaving the house today so come back tomorrow and we can talk.” She did not wait for him to agree. “Get out.”

He seemed wholly unperturbed by her rudeness, she was clearly not his first “reluctant principal.” He merely nodded and walked to her front door, leaving the folder and his card with his cell phone number with her.

Raven marched into her bedroom and slammed her door shut, the chorus of sobs she was holding in finally breaking from the surface. Two weeks, only two weeks had passed and she just did not want to feel this anymore. This destruction. The wreckage of her life simply felt too great to rebuild. And there did not seem to be any light at the end of this particular tunnel.

***

The days marched by at a slow pace as Raven tried to do what she told Michael: pick up the pieces to her life. Her day to day now included her own personal GI Joe who followed her everywhere she went. And drove her everywhere she went. Which, admittedly, was not that many places. She did not have a job and she had few friends in LA so she spent most of her time in her apartment, occasionally venturing out for necessities. She imagined she was the easiest and most boring person David had ever protected.

Though they had gotten off to a rocky start, Raven had to admit that she felt safer when she did leave her home with him by her side. And he was not overbearing or bothersome. He had a few rules, which were easy enough for her to follow. And he promised that he would not report her every move back to Michael. She was not sure if she believed him fully but he seemed sincere enough.

She still thought about him, a ghost haunting her every passing thought. Thoughts that were only amplified as pictures and clips from his press tour went viral all over social media. She had tried her hardest to avoid them but sometimes she found her eyes lingering on a reel or tik tok featuring him. She never quite listened to what he was actually saying, she merely just studied him. The way he laughed with his entire body, the spark in his eyes as he talked about his craft and his passion.

He seemed happy… without her, a realization that always made her close whatever video it was and want to curl back up in her bed.

She did not want to miss him, she did not want to still be in love with him. But she still felt everything, all of that love and every ounce of the hurt.

An unknown number covered Michael’s face in the video she was silently watching. Unknown numbers were a mixed bag these days but something in her told her to answer it. It was an LA number, if that made her feel any better about it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak with Raven Turner?”

“This is she.”

“Hi Ms. Turner. My name is Angelina Smith, I’m the founder of The Spark Agency. We rep Black authors across fiction from contemporary to fantasy and sci/fi. I’ve been looking for new talent and a friend of mine passed along your name to me. You have a few minutes to chat?”

Raven’s eyes grew wide. She did not need to race to google to know who Angelina Smith and the Spark Agency were. They were the first, and one of the only, major Black-owned literary agencies and one of the only that almost exclusively repped Black and Brown authors. She had queried damn near every agent there when she first finished her manuscript but none of it worked out.

“Wait… you’re THE Angelina Smith?? If this is an elaborate prank…” Raven muttered, her brain already forcing her to temper her hopes and dreams. It would not surprise her if this was some insane tik tok prank or ruse to humiliate her. A month ago, she would have never considered that but now? She did not put much past people anymore.

She laughed. “No, I promise this is not a prank. I read your book… you’re incredibly talented. I work closely with Del Rey, Penguin House’s fantasy imprint, and I think your book and series would be perfect for them.”

“Seriously??”

“Yes. Could you come down to my office one day this week? Maybe tomorrow? You’re based here in LA too, right? We can also do something virtual if you’re not in town though. I would love to just chat about your vision for the series and see if we could be a good fit? And if it is, start to discuss all the business stuff. My least favorite part, to be honest,” she chuckled. “Can you give me your email?”

Raven rattled off her email quickly, still shocked and confused as to what was even happening right now.

“Ok great, my assistant will send you a calendar invitation and information. I have to jump but I'm looking forward to meeting you. Talk tomorrow.”

And with that, the call ended, leaving Raven with extreme whiplash as she tried to process what even just happened. She let out a breathy chuckle as she wondered if her life was about to turn around for the better. She did wonder how she even found her book, published under a pseudonym so it would not have been that easy to find. And she had basically been told her career in publishing was dead without hope of resuscitation so why would one of the most successful Black agents in publishing even want to waste their time on her?

A war raged as she tried to decide if this was really real. But a ding of her email let her know that it was legit. She studied every aspect of the email from email addresses to signatures, using LinkedIn and other investigative searches to verify her assistant’s existence as a person and everything checked out. If this was a ruse, it was the most elaborate one she had ever seen. It seemed… legit?

The smallest sprout of hope bloomed in her belly at the thought. Perhaps her life was not completely and totally destroyed. Well it was, but for the first time in a month, she did not see only despair ahead. She saw a path to build something new out of it.

***

“Raven! Angelina,” the tall, lean, and insanely gorgeous woman glided to her office door to greet Raven like she was floating on the air instead of walking in her incredibly high Louboutins. She held out her hand, Raven shaking it enthusiastically. “It is so great to meet you.”

“It is great to meet you too. And sorry,” she wiped her sweaty palm against her dress. “Kinda nervous.”

Angelica waved her hand dismissively. “No need to be nervous. I’ll be honest, I truly rarely say this but I’m already sold on you… just gotta sell you on me,” she winked.

“You’re the first agent to show interest in my work in years… and not to sound like a complete fan, you’re every author’s dream. Hardly need to sell me on you or your agency.”

“I know a diamond when I see one,” she shrugged. “Please sit,” she gestured toward the comfy white couch in her corner office, each woman sitting on each side.

“Not sure about a diamond,” Raven muttered. Her shoulders sagged a bit as she chewed on her lip. This was her dream but all night she had grappled with one thing, one thing that would kill their working relationship before it even began. Her reputation.

“I am so appreciative of this… And honestly, just knowing that someone of your caliber sees the value of my work would be enough. I mean you are amazing a-and your agency has repped some of my favorite authors. And this is such an honor.”

“How do I already sense a but coming?”

Raven smiled sadly. “But I don’t want you to waste your time. I doubt any publisher’s gonna want my name attached to them.”

Angelina stood up and walked over to a small table, pouring two glasses of brown liquor from a decanter she had sitting there. She returned to her perch on the couch, handing Raven one of the glasses.

“Do you think I would personally reach out to you without asking around about you? Without doing a google search? You don’t get to be me without doing your due diligence and I do mine. I know everything ‘your name’ comes with and I still called you. I won’t presume to know everything but I heard enough to know that what your last publisher did to you was not on you or right. Publishers can preach about caring about marginalized voices all they want but it’s still hard to be a woman, a black woman, in our industry. So when a phenomenal black writer gets labeled difficult? I… know what that means. And as for your situation now… well, I like an author with an interesting story,” she shrugged, though interesting was not the word Raven would have used to describe her own story. “But since you think I need convincing about you, let me ask you this… why did you want to be a writer? And why fantasy?”

Raven’s hands anxiously twisted in her lap as she thought about it. “A lot of reasons but mainly… all books are windows… a peek behind the curtain into another life, another time, another reality. But for me, fantasy books were always more? They were doors, a real escape into another world where life was limitless and the powerless underdog could be more. That you could fall but there’s always a reason to pick yourself back up and try again until you don’t fall anymore. And when I wrote my first short story, I realized they were also mirrors, a chance to examine yourself and your own life…” Raven’s hand picked up the hardback copy of her book that sat between the two women. “And heal wounds. Or at least start the process. And when I was old enough, I just realized I didn’t want to just be escaping into someone else’s world. I wanted to escape into one of my own creation too.”

Angelina smiled and nodded. “And that’s what all the due diligence in the world can’t tell me but the only thing I really need to know. I don’t care about anything other than whether this is your passion. And whether you are good at it. Check those boxes and I can work magic with anything, trust me. And as for your concern about publishers, I will admit that I may have been a bit overzealous but I already put feelers out and have three publishers, including Del Rey, who want to meet with you. Your old publishing house even reached out but I didn’t respond. My first response was to tell them to fuck off but wanted to check with you first.”

“Fuck off is pretty polite for what I want to say to them,” Raven muttered under her breath.

“Then fuck off it is.” The two women shared a knowing smile before Angelina continued.

The rest of the meeting was a dream, Raven forgot how amazing this all felt. Even the mundane legal stuff sparked an excitement she had not felt in such a long time. And now she had three meetings on the books to shop her book and an agent again, a book she thought she was not going to be able to do anything with ever again.

“Ok, I think that’s all I need for today. One thing, they’re gonna want book 2 fairly quickly. Any deal we get will include a reprint of this one but they’re all gonna want a first draft as soon as you can get one. Maybe let’s check in again on your progress on March 15? Gives you about a month.”

Raven grimaced on the inside. She had half of her second book done years ago and the doc sat unfinished and untouched ever since she lost her deal. Even with this surge of hope and new energy, she did not know if her creative juices were even still there. However, she did not voice any of those concerns to Angelina. How could she tell this badass woman that she was putting her name on the line for her and Raven did not even know if she could write anymore?

“Sounds good. I can do that,” she lied.

Or at least, we can try… and pray.

“Ok great. Jason will be bombarding your email over the next week with invites and such but I think we’re in good shape. We’ll send over my contract. If you have a lawyer, have them look it over. It’s standard in my opinion but I encourage all my authors to read it with a fine tooth comb and send back notes. It was great meeting you, Raven. I look forward to working with you.”

They shook hands once more before Raven stood to walk out of her office. However, at her door, Raven paused and turned around.

“I’m sorry… Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“How did you… find my book? I wasn’t querying or anything. It’s not even sold in stores anymore.”

“Oh, a good friend of mine passed a copy along. Said you had gotten the rights back recently and thought I might be interested. One thing I’ve learned is to never doubt Alexandra Williams. She knows how to spot rare talent and she was right, per usual. It’s infuriating really,” the woman laughed.

Raven used her hand on the doorknob to steady herself as her words hit her. She supposed she should not have been shocked but she was. A million questions ran through her brain. Why had he done that? What did he hope to get out of it? Was this another manipulation or a sign that he truly loved and cared about her? That he really wanted to fix all of this?

“Sorry… I may have wrongly assumed she or Michael told you I was gonna reach out.”

Raven realized that her internal monologue was clearly showing across her face. She quickly shook her head and replaced her perplexed look with a fake smile. “No, no. Don’t apologize. They probably wanted it to be a surprise. Thank you… again.”

“Thank me when we get you a deal,” she winked at her before giving her a wave.

Raven nodded and saw herself out, realizing that now… she actually had to do something. No more wallowing in bed and watching sad movies. Her life was back in motion and if she did not pick up her feet to keep up, she would ruin this second chance too.

She shot David a quick text asking him to pull around to pick her up. She had a book to write.

***

Michael was pitfully scrolling through his camera roll as Tessa came up behind him and slid into the open seat next to Alex on their jet. Tessa had been a bright spot on this press tour, keeping him engaged and laughing as much as she could. He was grateful. However, when he was alone or in spaces like this with no cameras, the melancholy always settled back in and he found himself seeking out Raven. Now that was simply a text that went unanswered, a wall of blue messages on his end. However, they did go through… which was an improvement.

Since he could not see her, he resorted to scrolling back through his phone and studying every photo or video they took together. His favorites were their trip to Paris. He looked at those pictures and videos more and longer than he should have, made all the more painful by the fact that he was on his way there before heading to London. He had hoped she would be beside him on this particular stop of his press tour, and had hoped she would get to experience Paris again with him.

But this time, the most romantic city in the world would merely feel like a cruel joke. When he examined her in those photos, each one resurfacing memories that he clung to like a buoy in the open ocean, they only made him fall deeper in love with her. It was as if he could see their love story play out in front of his eyes. And he always went back to Paris because it was such a clear turning point for them, the moment everything changed and they started to fall. The descent had been beautiful and he had savored every moment of it. He could see the love she held for him etched in her eyes, the longing that he had doubted was real back then. But now, it was all he could see… all he could focus on.

“Stare at your phone any harder and it might burst into flames,” Tessa joked as she sat down across from him.

Michael chuckled and tossed his phone down in the empty seat next to him, slumping back pitifully.

“My bad. Just…”

“Miss her?”

“Yea. Doubt she misses me though.” He mused, thinking back to their last two conversations, neither of which went well.

When he had made his choice, there had not been a world where he thought he would not be able to mend whatever it damaged between them. Conceited and cocky? He could own that now but his ego often was outsized. But now, he questioned whether there was a path forward for them at all? If he had done too much damage? Every night when he laid down for a precious few hours of sleep, her words tumbled and tossed in his brain matter. He had never heard her sound so… depleted as she was during their last phone call. He was trying, as much as he could from afar, but he did not know if it would ever be enough.

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that. I only met her once but that woman is just as in love with you as you are with her. Those feelings just don’t disappear because she’s upset. Give her -”

“Time. I know,” he muttered angrily. “Just don’t know if there’s enough time to fix how I fucked this up, Tess. She said she’s too tired to forgive me. And the crazy thing is, I can’t even be mad at that. If I had her life, I would be fuckin’ tired too. I just wish she would let me talk to her, you know? Explain or something.”

Tessa reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know but you’re doing what you can. Show her that you care about her and maybe that’ll soften her up enough for a conversation later.”

“And,” Alex interjected. “If it at all gets you out of this relentlessly annoying funk, Angelina texted and said she and Raven had a great meeting yesterday. So one thing’s working out.”

“See?” Tessa, forever an optimist, smiled widely. “Progress. Keep showing up for her.” Tessa leaned back and studied him for a moment, her eyes filled with introspection that made Michael sit up a bit straighter.

“What’s that look for?”

“No, just… I’ve known you for a decade and I just have never seen you like this before.”

“What? Acting like a bitch?” he grumbled, tossing Alex a side eye that she only rolled her own eyes yet.

“No. This serious… this mature… vulnerable. It’s a new side of you that I’ve never seen and the whole world sees it too. It’s really nice and refreshing.”

“Yea, well it’s all her.”

“Does she know that?”

But before he could ask her what she meant, Tessa’s agent called her over to discuss something, leaving Michael alone to ponder his own thoughts.

***

Almost two weeks went by and the document on Raven’s computer remained unchanged. She stared at the screen for hours a day, willing the prose of her novel to leap out of her brain and onto the page but nothing. She reread the words she wrote years ago and none of it even sounded good to her anymore but she did not know how to fix it. Her backspace button saw more love than any other key on her keyboard. Hour after hour marched on and she had nothing to give. Her characters did not even seem to live in her head anymore. When she tried to tap into their thoughts, their lives, and intentions… all she heard was silence from them and the loud roaring of her own problems. They were still there but it was as if they were miles and miles away with too many barriers for her to access them. And if she could not access them, she could not write an authentic story that a publisher would ever want or readers deserved.

Had she gotten a second chance only to realize there was no point? How could she turn a draft around in a quickly dwindling time frame when she had not written a single thing?

And she could not even blame her writer’s block on anyone. It was all her, her brain and insecurities reeking havoc on her ability to do something that had once been as second nature as breathing. And all her thoughts, of course, just charted a path back to him. Always.

She knew Michael arranging that meeting had been an olive branch, his attempt at fixing things between them. And while part of her was grateful, another part was frustrated that the only reason she was getting her shot back at being an author was because of his connections. Hell, she would still be trapped with her own publisher if it was not for him. Did she want her future success and career to be built on his support? Something about it felt… wrong. Like accepting it was forgiveness she was not ready to offer him yet.

She slammed her computer shut in frustration, an unanswered email from Angelina getting an update on her draft. It would just have to stay on read, Raven decided as she sulked in bed. This was her least favorite part of the day… when she gave up trying to force words to appear on the page and curled back into her spot in bed. That’s when all the negative thoughts caught up with her the most and she had no distractions to help her, tormenting and taunting her with how much she did not deserve him. Or anything good in her life.

Even with this new book deal, she was bound to ruin it at some point right? That was all she knew how to do. The sun was starting to set, dimming the light in her room. Sitting there, without her job, students or Michael to distract her, made it that much harder the fact that all roads led back to one central problem: her. And that was not something Michael could fix. Hell, she did not even know how to fix that. Was she even fixable? Or would she just continue to destroy everything in her life forever?

She was about to get up and force herself to watch tv as a distraction when her phone rang.

Kiara

Raven perhaps foolishly thought her sister would simply give up. She could not even count how many times she sent her calls to voicemail but that did not deter her. Kiara demanded that she be given her moment to revel and gloat. Despite wanting nothing to do with or hear a thing from Kiara, Raven knew she was merely kicking an inevitable can down the road. She was a dog with a bone and she would never stop until Raven gave her the attention she demanded.

Perhaps Raven really was a masochist because despite how low she was already feeling, she decided today was the day to stop punting her sister and just get the beating over with.

“Oh so you finally decide to answer my fucking calls? Weeks later?”

“We made it pretty clear where we stood at Thanksgiving. I just knew you wouldn’t stop calling so… say what you wanna say so we can all move on?” Raven could not keep the exasperation out of her voice. She did not need a big speech or lead up. Let’s just get right to the point.

“Not talking all that big shit now, huh? You know… I always knew you weren’t shit but prostitution? Findin’ new ways to embarrass dad and I every day, huh?”

“Yep, so what do you want me to say, Kiara?”

“Just wondering if you’re finally ready to admit what I’ve always known?”

Raven’s eyes clenched shut. “And what’s that?”

“That you were the biggest mistake mama ever made. All you’ve ever done is ruin my life from the minute you were born. Daddy is fuckin’ disgusted with you. You thought you could snag a big nigga like Michael but he just realized what I already knew. You don’t deserve shit, let alone him. Who knows, maybe I’ll give him a call. He’s havin’ his big movie premiere tonight, finally dumped his dead weight. Maybe we can see how he does with a real woman, not a fuckin’ slut.”

Raven’s head thudded against her headboard lightly as a few stray tears fell. She wiped them away and cleared her throat, forcing the words out of her throat. She was broken but she refused to break down in front of Kiara of all people.

“Fine. You’re right,” her voice filled with such sorrow and resignation that Raven almost did not recognize herself. “Satisfied?”

There was a pause as if Kiara was surprised at her response. But that’s what she had wanted, right? To hear Raven humble herself, admit that she was every horrible thing Kiara, her dad, and now the whole world thought she was.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” she repeated out loud. “That you’re right and I’m the villain and all your hate and vitriol toward me for my entire life is justified? Well, you’re right. You can’t hate me more than I hate myself and I deserve all of it. You are right. So congrats. You won. Oh and if you want Michael, you can have him. I’ll send you his number.” Raven did not even bother waiting for Kiara to speak before she hung up and threw her phone down.

Her head fell into her knees as sobs raked through her body, she did not even know her body could produce anymore tears. How had she not dried herself out? That last statement was an utter and complete falsehood. She did not want Michael anymore, or rather, she simply convinced herself she should not want him anymore. Her body still yearned for him like an addict searching for their next fix. But it would be a cold day in hell before she served him on a gilded platter to her sister of all people. And even though she hated him more than anyone in this world, she knew that was not his way.

But everything else? She meant every word. She hated herself and her life. And it was overwhelmingly excruciating to feel 30 years of hatred flood her brain all at once.

“Fuck! Enough of this,” she muttered. She could not sit there, lay around ruminating in her pain and suffering all night. Especially not when Kiara had just reminded her that Michael was having one of the biggest night’s of his career, a night she had once been so excited to experience by his side.

She needed to forget. Forget him, forget her pain… forget all of it.

She went into her closet and pulled out a bodysuit and jeans. She threw on makeup as quickly as she could, freshened up her hair and texted David that she wanted to go out. He was still sitting in his car outside watching her building, as he would until she went to sleep. But tonight, she did not plan on going to sleep anytime soon, she needed release.

And release is exactly what she would find as she made David drive around until she spotted a hole-in-the-wall bar downtown. It was old and grimy and the perfect escape. There were no lying millionaires to be found in a place like this, just regular men who would think nothing of fucking Raven in the bathroom or the back of their car or wherever her drunk mind encouraged them to go.

“Hey, welcome to the Griffin,” the bartender offered as Raven sat down at the bar. “What can I get you?”

“Hey… ummm can I just have tequila with pineapple juice? Double. And just keep ‘em coming.” She handed him her credit card to start what she knew would be a regrettably large tab in the morning. But she could not have hoped to care.

He merely nodded in agreement before quickly mixing her simple but effective poison of choice. She damn near drank it like a shot, throwing it back before signaling him to make her another. And with every disgusting bottom shelf sip of tequila she took, she felt it. Release.

***

“Congrats, baby. The movie was amazing,” Michael’s mother kissed him on the cheek.

“Thanks, ma.”

There was a certain sorrow in his voice that he found hard to hide now that he had returned home from his Creed 3 World Premiere. Two weeks of traveling non-stop and he was finally home. Only home simply reminded him of one person now. Raven. It was the biggest night of his career and he spent the entire night wishing she was by his side, musing on what she would think of specific scenes or the movie overall. Her opinion was the only one he found himself even caring about. The insane pace of his press tour had taken his mind off Raven to a degree. But being back in LA for a few weeks head of the world premiere and the Oscars pushed all those thoughts front and center again.

And it was clear to every person around him, which is why his cast and team did not press him when he declined attending the after party he was hosting and paid for.

“I know it’s hard without her, baby. But celebrate the moment, your moment. If she’s meant to be yours, she’ll come back around.”

His mother squeezed his hand before following his father up the stairs to their bedroom. Michael sighed and nodded. That’s what he kept telling himself this entire time but it was not working anymore. He just wanted to hear her voice, even if all she wanted to do was yell at him. He could take it, handle it. It was the silence that was harrowing, that felt too heart-wrenching to contend with.

This press tour had proven one thing to him - Raven had unlocked a side of him that he had never had before. This was his most open and genuine, most real moments he had offered the public. And people noticed, noticed that he was different, more serious, vulnerable, and open about himself, his work, and his craft. Raven had brought all that out in him. And he wanted her by his side to revel in it with him. He wanted people to know that it was her who caused that, who split him open and made him stop hiding.

His phone rang, Michael’s heart nearly stopping as David’s name slid across his screen. The man had never actively reached out to Michael since his first day guarding Raven. Though Michael paid for his services, he made it clear that he did not want reports unless they were threats to Raven’s safety, physical or otherwise. And so, he had taken David’s silence for what it was: a sign that Raven was safe. And that was all he could ask for. But the man reaching out to him foretold bad news, he knew that much.

“She alright??” Michael asked immediately, his feet already moving toward his keys to get in his car.

“Depends on your definition. We’re at a bar downtown and she’s… well, she’s been here for hours. It’s a dive bar so there aren’t many people here, no cameras. But she’s completely wasted. Like refusing to leave wasted. I told the bartender to cut her off after this drink bu-”

Michael loosened his bow tie and grabbed his keys. “Text me the address.”

“Already sent.”

Michael was not sure what to expect when he finally made it downtown and parked his car. He checked David’s text two or three times, shocked to believe a bar could exist in such a rundown building that did not look safe, much less occupying a functioning business. But David had sent the correct address, the faded, grungy and dilapidated sign of The Griffin hanging above the door.

Michael knew he looked out of place as he pushed his way inside, his body still donned in a perfectly tailored royal blue tuxedo. But thankfully, the bar was not crowded, just a few folks hanging around the bar and booths. But he only had eyes for one person like a moth to a flame, a young woman wildly dancing in the corner near the jukebox.

Despite the carefree smile on her face and swing in her hips, Michael could still see the dimmed spark in her eyes from across the dimly lit bar. He had not laid eyes on her in so long and just seeing her was like someone breathed new life into his body. The rough seas of his soul calmed, even just for a moment, before worry consumed him.

Was this normal for her since they broke up and stopped speaking? Getting completely drunk at dive bars? He could count on one had the number of times he had seen her tipsy, let alone drunk. But this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed with her but a scene he knew all too well with himself: someone trying to numb their pain with liquor and a good time. And it always worked, he knew, until the sun came up and the hangover set in and the pain rushed back tenfold. He chased that serene, weightless, painless feeling night after night for years. He had to learn the hard way that numbing the pain did not stop or heal it, it just made it hurt more later on when you finally confronted it. He refused to let someone as pure as Raven fall into the same trap he did.

He made his way across the bar, only stopping to speak to the bartender. “How many drinks she had?”

The bartender, a graying white man, glanced up from where he was wiping down the soiled bar. His eyes grew wide for a moment, clearly recognizing Michael, before he answered.

“Uhhh… I’m sure she lost track. The one in her hand is number 7. And her last. The guy with her told me to cut her off.”

Michael let out a low whistle and grimaced. There was not a world in which she didn’t feel that in the morning. He pulled out his credit card and slid it across the bar to the man. “Pay her tab with this for me, aight?”

“Yes sir. You’re my favorite villain in Marvel by the way…” he offered with an enthusiastic smile.

“‘Preciate you.” Michael walked over to where Raven was dancing and where David stood protectively by, the young woman still not even noticing him. More of the drink in her hand landed on the dirty floor of the bar than it did in her mouth when she tried to take another sip.

Michael rushed forward and skillfully slid it out of her grasp, Raven whipping around to find him behind her. Her smile immediately fell as she looked him up and down.

The drunk version of her wanted to be excited to see him but the sliver of her logical brain that remained reminded her that the only reason they were drinking was to forget him and the destruction he caused. How could she be so weak as to even care that he was there?

“W-what are you doing… here?” she slurred, her hand making a grab for her drink, which he held just out of her grasp.

“To take you home that’s what. You’ve had enough. Unless you wanna end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning?”

She merely shrugged as she continued to dance. “Can’t be any worse. I’m having… a good time. Unlike him,” She turned to David and smiled. “He’s sooooooooo uptight. You know… h-he doesn’t even smile. Like ever? And has a lot of thoughts… on serial killers, w-which is strange. Come on, David.” She called over to him from his stance in the corner, which gave him a full view of the bar. “Dance with me,” she tried to walk over to him in her high heels but stumbled, Michael quickly grabbing her around her waist and pulling her against his chest. “I-I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t. Come on.”

“You… two are… no fun,” she moaned pitifully. However, she did not fight against Michael’s strong grasp as he led her out of the bar and to his ferrari.

It took him longer than it should have to just get her in the car. However, once she was settled, he went into the back and grabbed the spare gym bag he kept there and dumped all the clothes out before putting it in her lap like a makeshift bucket. Though he knew he could just take her to his condo, he wanted to care for her at his home, which was a longer drive. And as much as he adored her, getting the interior of his brand new and very expensive custom car cleaned when all that alcohol inevitably showed up in a different, less desirable form was not on his to-do list for tomorrow.

Raven’s wild and uninhibited drunk persona continued for most of the ride as she demanded he turn on some “tunes” for her to listen to, singing loudly and off-key to every song she pulled up on his Spotify. It would have been cute if the entire situation had not been so concerning.

By the time they reached his house 30 minutes later, the height of her drunkenness had worn off and her persona had settled into a decidedly somber one.

“You hold your liquor better than I thought you would,” Michael remarked as he helped her up the stairs to his master suite.

“Only… long enough not to throw up in your fancy car. Can’t m-make the same promise… for your carpet if you keep moving this slow.”

That did make Michael pick up his pace a bit, immediately taking Raven to his bathroom and gently sitting her down. He made quick work of taking off her shoes and pulling her hair back with the hair tie on her wrist just in time for her to bury her face in the toilet.

Michael rarely got sick from alcohol but he had never been more thankful for his high tolerance of liquor as he essentially watched her body perform an exorcism. He only left her once to get her water and make a cup of tea to settle her stomach but even in his giant house, he could hear the faint heaving as he made his way to the kitchen.

When he returned with her water and tea, Raven was sitting with her head propped up on his toilet seat, gingerly wiping a few tears from her eyes.

“I-I’m sorry…” she pushed out. “Having my ex have to take care of me is a… fucking new… low.”

Michael felt like she had sucker punched him with the word ex. He supposed that was what they were, no matter how much he did not want that to be true. But it did not hurt any less.

“Don’t apologize.” He wet a washcloth with warm water before wiping her face. “Better?”

“Yea… c-can’t imagine there’s anything left in my body,” she mumbled. She stared at him for a moment before saying. “You shouldn’t’ve come. I told him not to tell you where I went.”

“Tonight was the first time he called me. I only just got back to LA this week for press and the premiere. He was just worried about you. Don’t think he expected me to actually show up.”

She eyed him up and down, for the first time realizing he was in a pristine deep royal blue tuxedo. She could not stop the passing thought on how good he looked.

“How was it?” At his confused expression, she amended. “The movie… how was it?”

He scoffed, even in this state, she cared about how his movie went. She always spoke about how she did not deserve him but from where he sat, it was the other way around.

“Don’t really care to talk about the movie right now, Rae. Want to talk about you.”

“Well I don’t wanna talk about me o-or think about me. Hence all the alcohol my body just ejected. So how was the movie?”

He slid down onto the floor next to her, setting the pajama set he had pulled out for her next to him.

“It was good. I’d already seen it but seein’ it on a big screen, watchin’ my family see it. It was surreal.”

“A-and the press tour?”

“Good. Busy. Not done either. Alex secured an interview with Oprah, which is hella dope… bout the movie and Oscars. So it’s been good. Hard without the one person I needed though.”

She scoffed, finally feeling strong enough to stop using his toilet as a literal crutch. She forced herself to scoot away, now leaning her back into his standing tub across from him.

“Didn’t need me. No one does,” she muttered, taking a sip of the tea he sat out for her.

Ginger tea, perfectly made just as she liked it. God, why was he like this?? So perfect and attentive even when she wanted to hate him?

“That’s not true. Tell me what’s goin’ on, Rae? I… I’ve never seen you like this. Never seen you drink this much or talk like this.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well…” she muttered as she played with the material of his rug beneath her.

“I think I know you pretty well and this ain’t you.”

“I… finally talked to my sister today. A-and she just voiced what I already knew but had never said out loud. All I do is ruin things… people. Hell, I’m about to ruin this book deal you got it… I can’t even write anymore. Destruction follows me like a damn fire everywhere I go, burning everything I touch. I just… didn’t want to be me for a while? Didn’t want to be weighed down by that.”

“You didn’t ruin me.”

“If you had never met me, your face wouldn’t have been plastered across TMZ for carrying an unconscious woman out of a hotel…. If you’d never met me, you’d be blissfully enjoying your moment right now instead of taking care of a pathetic girl you dumped.” She paused, her fingers twirling around the fraying threads of the hole in her distressed jeans. “If I hadn’t been born, my family would be whole a-and happy. If I had just said yes to that asshole, I’d still have my career and I wouldn’t have resorted to prostitution. I-If I hadn’t decided to make a quick buck, I wouldn’t have disappointed my students a-and everyone I know. A-and it was easy to blame you when e-everything happened,” she whispered as tears streamed down her face, as the drunk facade gave way to the brokenness and pain she tried to numb. “It was easy to act as if this w-was all your fault. But it’s me. I’m the problem.”

“Rae…”

She raised her hand to stop him. “Don’t pretend it’s not true… this is all my fault.” He watched as she held the soft cotton in her hands, her fingers rolling over it. A tear fell from her eyes, splashing onto the heather gray material. She lifted her eyes, her first time looking him in his eyes. “W-was any of it real? W-what we had?”

“All of it was real. Every bit of it. I love you with everything in me, Rae. I hate that you don’t believe that, that I made you doubt it. But it’s true. You can’t ruin me when you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“A-and Tasha? D-do you love her?”

Michael’s eyes grew wide. “Fuck no. I swear. I… messed up. Completely fucked up. I… thought I was helping you by dealing with it on my own and I let my anger at Tasha and fear of hurting you push me to do just that. I hurt you. And I’ll do anything to mend what I broke.Because you’re my world, Raven. You have to believe that. What can I do to make you believe that?”

Michael watched as her shoulders shrugged forward, collapsing under the weight of the day and everything. She pulled her knees into her chest, resting her head on her knees. “I d-don’t know if I can believe anything anymore.

“Then I’ll spend the rest of your life and mine helping you believe it. Whatever it takes.”

Raven stood up, ignoring the dizziness the sudden movement caused as she made a beeline for his bedroom door. She thought she could do this but she couldn’t. She couldn’t be here with him, listening to his promises. Not when the voices in her head loudly clashed against his words like metal against metal. Most of her brain that still loved him with everything in her screamed at her for pulling him away from one of the biggest nights of his career, chastising her for ruining yet another thing for him. And the louder part that demanded she despise him yelled that all of his promises were a lie, nothing he said was real. They weren’t real.

She did not deserve him and he was just propping her back up so he could knock her down again, he would never keep those lofty promises. That’s what everyone in her life did and she was too bruised to be anyone’s punching bag anymore. He was just a fantasy she tried to will to life but was never real.

She grabbed her clutch and phone that Michael had discarded on her bed. She did not care how her body swayed slightly and was still off kilter. She could stay awake long enough to call an uber and get herself home.

“What are you doing??”

“Going home. I c-can’t do this. You shouldn’t have come tonight. You s-should be out celebrating your big night, not here taking care of me.”

“The fuck? Raven, put the phone down. I ain’t lettin’ you Uber home like this.”

“You don’t care!”

“Stop sayin’ that shit!” he rushed forward and ripped her phone out of her hands, closing the Uber app. He knew it was wrong but he also knew her movements and reactions were too slow for her to stop him.

She tried to snag it from him, the actor easily holding it above their heads and utterly out of her reach.

“Stop wasting your time on me, Michael,” she hurled at him, her eyes clenching shut in her exasperation. “G-Go be with Tasha o-or some model or some woman actually worth your time. A woman you actually want. We both know that’s not me. So let me go, please. T-this… the promises, t-the disappointment, it hurts too much.”

“Be mad at me. Push me away all you want. Fine, I deserve it. But do it because I fucked up. Because I lied and kept the truth from you and tried to protect you and disappointed you just like everyone else. I can learn to live with that one day. But I can’t and won’t live with you doing it because you still believe you don’t deserve me! Because that’s not true.”

“Why w-would I believe you deserve me??! What future could we… ever have together when the world knows you a-and however many men they believe paid me for sex?? What kinda future is that for us?? People a-are calling you the greatest actor of a fuckin’ generation. You’re about to interview with fuckin’ Oprah literally this week! And what am I? A prostitute with no family and 3 failed careers under her belt?? A failed author who can’t even write a sentence now, much less another book. What kinda future would we have when you didn’t even think I w-was strong enough to tell me your secrets, your problems?? This whole situation, YOUR actions, proves that WE WEREN’T REAL!” she exploded, her drunkenness fueling the first time she voiced her true feelings out loud to anyone. “None of it was real. And the moment it got real, the moment shit got hard, you didn’t confide in me, you didn’t trust me, you threw me to the wolves because you knew what the rest of the world knows… I don’t deserve to be here i-in this part of your life! Th-This house… y-your family… your real life?? I don’t fit here anymore, Michael! I n-never did.” She took a deep shuddering breath before continuing.

“So I’m asking you… begging you to just… let me go. L-Let me go back to my…” she chuckled. “Insignificant life as Pluto o-or the side character. Please. B-Because I can pick myself b-back up a-and force myself to keep moving, force myself to keep going a-and b-be alone for the rest of my life a-and live in the shadows. But I can’t do that with fake promises, promises of m-more when it isn’t real… because w-words a-and promises a-aren’t real a-and they aren’t enough a-anymore. I can’t k-keep putting my faith in fantasies only for reality to knock me down again. Because I d-don’t think I can get back up again. I-I’m tired, Michael. This is it, this is all I have left. So please… just let me go.”

Michael slightly stumbled back in shock, the raw hurt in her voice almost too agonizing to feel. His arm came down but his grip on her phone was almost crushing. Though he wanted to respect her wishes, he also knew… there was not a world in which he could let her go truly. He loved her too much. His world rose and set with her. He used his knuckles to wipe his own tears away.

“Raven… please. J-just give me a chance to show you that I’m real, that what I feel for you is real. Because I would give up all this shit, every last bit of it for you. I’m at the height of my career and all I can think about is you. All that matters is you.”

She shook her head and held out her hand for her phone. “I wish… I wish I c-could believe you. But I don’t know if I can.”

With that, Michael’s grip loosened just enough for Raven to grab her phone and purse and start to walk out the door. However, as she pulled open the door, Michael’s hand grabbed the frame to stop her.

“I can keep working to fix what I did. I can show you that you’re my world, that you’re my Sun and that my world revolves around the very look on your face. I will happily show up at your doorstep everyday with actions and proof of how much I love you… how much I fucking breath for you. And I will. But I can’t make you believe it. I can’t make you believe you deserve it. That’s the one thing I can’t do here. I-I’ll never let you go, Rae. My heart will always be yours.” He bowed his head, every word felt like a sharp knife leaving his throat, agony to force out. But he knew it had to be said. “But I c-can’t force you to believe that you own my heart and deserve it or that you’re worth everything to me. I can do everything in my power to show you I’m worth one more fall but you have to jump. So if and when you believe what I know is true about you and us, I’m ready to jump again.”

And with that, he let her go, allowing her to open the door fully and leave. Every step she took further away from him caused the sorrow he felt to grow to unspeakable heights. At one time, he thought this pain could not have gotten worse. But this was far worse.

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N:

I promise yall… it’s gonna get better LOL This is really the worst it gets! Our girl is just feeling the weight of it all and is sad but she is a survivor 💪🏾

Y’all were hard on my girl last chapter - how are we feeling?? Still mad at her? Still mad at Michael? Let me know your thoughts in the comments! *disappears* lol also it was really hard to post this from my phone 😭 won’t do that again hahaha



[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hey! Can u write a whump fic where a winged hero gets their wing ripped out and the villain come to save them?

“Oh god.” That was all the villain could whisper. They had hoped, prayed, that they would make it in time but it was evidently too late.

The hero’s back was covered in dark and thick blood, dropping down onto the ground in two rivers.

At first, the villain had thought them to be dead. They were laying in a fetal position, hiding their head and shallow breathing. The sheer amount of blood loss suggested death or at least the process of dying but the villain also knew that their nemesis wasn’t human.

Where their wings used to be were two open and deep wounds, deep enough, the villain feared, to show bone. They needed a second to remind themselves to act.

“You’re with me, okay?” the villain asked but their voice broke and their hope did too. When they kneeled beside the hero and picked them up, they took their enemy’s face into their hands. Tears ran down their beautiful face and all the villain could think of was a fallen angel.

“Hey, you’re okay.” The hero’s eyes found theirs and they shook their head weakly. As if to answer, the villain smeared the tears across the hero’s cheeks with their thumbs, trying desperately to get rid of them. “Yes. You are okay, this is fine.”

They were fully aware that pain was a different feeling for the hero. It was more intense, more vile and shattering than for other people. Whenever it got this bad, the hero would just suffer in silence, crying without making a sound. However, the villain couldn’t even begin to comprehend what this meant to their enemy.

They knew the hero and they knew their wings were everything to them. Sometimes they would say they would be nothing without them and the villain had always hated that they based their self-worth on this.

“Let’s turn you around, okay?” The hero shook their head and the villain couldn’t help but interpret their protest as a form of giving up. Giving up and waiting to die, that’s what was happening to them.

Without heeding their reaction, the villain turned them around, so that their naked upper body was laying across their lap. They knew how painful their next words would be.

“I have to stitch this.” The hero buried their face in the villain’s thigh and once again, they shook their head. “These cuts are deep and even though your body heals faster, it doesn’t mean that there won’t be any complications. You will most certainly die if it stays like this.”

Stitching this meant a permanent solution, a permanent scar that would make it impossible to reattach their wings. The villain doubted that those wings were intact anyway.

“No,” the hero whispered. “Please.”

“It’s okay, you will live,” the villain tried to explain. They put their flat hand onto the hero’s exposed shoulder, caressing gently. “You’re more than this, I promise. You can outlive this. You can find a happy life.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Please, fight this. Don’t give them what they want,” the villain begged. God, they hadn’t begged in ages. “You’re so much more than what they see. You’re not a prize, you’re not an exotic animal. You don’t deserve to be hunted and you can’t make them think they won. They will pay for this.”

The hero searched for the villain’s hand and once they found it, they squeezed it.

“Do what you have to do.”

[lemonnsss]

Moral of the Story pt. 3

Warnings: not BETA'D we die like men.

MotS Masterlist

Taglist: @vicmc624, @mostlymarvelgirl, @yvonneeeee, @beetlejuicesupremacy, @moonlightreader649, @whattheduckisupkyle, @chrisevans-realwife, @nekoannie-chan, @mrsbarnes32557038, @imyourbratzdoll

Word count: 2.1k

“Oh, so soon?” he leaned in, obviously interested in my request, “And what might your boon be?”

“As you can probably guess, I need a job. I have an interview tomorrow morning for the role of your PA. If that doesn’t pan out -because of anyone's request outside of your own- I still want a good-paying job with decent benefits. Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll cut it short, you’re hired.”

“Please, I don’t need your pity.”

"Oh, don't worry, I wouldn't hire you out of pity. It's because of what you did just now. I gave you barely any details, and you came up with a sub-par solution." Satisfied with his answer, he reaches over and takes a sip of my coffee. 

"Sub-par says I go out, find your bodyguard, and drag him back here." He visibly aspirates, coughing into a napkin for a minute or so. I got up, got a straw, and returned. By the time I sat down, he had regained most of his composure.

"You had a good plan that led to a good solution," gesturing to himself, "I'm a rich asshole. Are we happy?” A slight rasp remained in his voice.

“Sufficiently. I accept the role of your PA, Mr. Stark. When should I start?"

"After your interview with Ms. Potts. You did say that if anyone aside from me was against you as my PA, you'd be fine with it."

I leaned back, covering my eyes with my hand, ”Yeah, I did."

"Don't try denying it. JARVIS has been recording- I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"I fully acknowledge and stand by my previous statement. And, did you just admit to illegally recording our conversation?” My other hand raised pointing at him, “If so, that would be quite unfortunate for you and Stark Industries.” I separated my fingers to see his shocked yet slightly confused expression.

"Well, shit.”

I lowered my hand to the arm of the chair, tilting my head slightly, “Did you think I wouldn’t own up to my word? Please, Tony -can I call you Tony? I’m going to call you Tony- I do have morals, they’re a bitch, but they’re there. When I make promises, I follow through with them.” I look down at my lap, my hands wrapped around my stomach, “I hate people who break their promises. They are the worst kind of people. All that does is hurt those around them, but they’re too self-centered to realize that until it’s too late- sometimes even then it doesn’t click.” I glance up, he’s leaning closer to me, a worried look plastered across his face.

I straighten, collect my things, and move to get up, “I suppose I’ll see you at my interview tomorrow, Mr. Stark.” I walk away and out of the café, hearing the bell ring as I walk out.

I fell face down into my bed, arms spread out. “I just met THE Anthony Edward Stark and acted like it was no big deal. What is wrong with me?” I grabbed a pillow, held it to my chest, curled up into the fetal position, and screamed. “How could I have acted like it was nothing? He’s an A-list celebrity and I just brushed it off!” I prop up onto my elbows, my hands extending forward.

I spent the afternoon and evening just watching TV and reading. While I didn’t typically read graphic books, Hemingway and Remarque’s book had been sitting in my collection untouched for far too long, and it wasn’t necessarily a horrible way to finish the day. About halfway through “All Quiet On The Western Front” I realized just how depressing this book was and how glad I hadn't gone over it with my high school classes. The case remained much the same for “A Farewell to Arms”.

My phone alarm went off, signaling it was time to start getting ready for bed. I got up to grab it, shutting off the tone. I stood up, went to the bathroom, completed my nightly routine, and set out my clothes for my interview, although it seemed I had been hired in all but formalities.

I woke up the next day with a slight ache in my bones but, nothing like the previous day. I got ready and headed out to the Stark Industries headquarters. When I arrived I wasn’t necessarily shocked. The lobby was sleek and modern, bustling with the morning rush. I walked up to the receptionist, an older woman, and told her that I was there for the interview for the role of Mr. Stark’s assistant. I confirmed she looked me up and down before saying my name aloud. She handed me a card, stating it was a single use and would be deactivated once I left the building before pointing me to the elevator, guarded by the head of security, Mr. Stark’s bodyguard, Happy Hogan.

I walked over he looked at me slightly puzzled as I walked up to the elevator, sliding the activated card. It took a moment or two before the door opened and I could not be happier. I walked in and the doors shut. 

“Crap, I didn’t get the floor.” I placed my face in my hand, aggravated at my forgetfulness.

An electronic voice rang out, “I believe I can be of some assistance, Mx.”.

I screamed, “What the fuck?” I backed into a corner, grabbing the rails.

“Apologies, I seem to have startled you. I’m JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s AI.”

“O-okay? Can you send me up to Mrs. Potts’ floor?”

“Of course.”

The elevator ride passes quickly thanks to Stark’s AI. As the doors open JARVIS informs me that the door on the right leads to Ms. Potts’ office. I walk up to the door and knock, ”Come in!” A voice calls out. I open the door and introduce myself.

Ms. Potts was a taller woman with blonde hair. She ran around frantically, “I’m so sorry, an urgent business meeting just came up. Would it be okay to reschedule your interview?”

“Yes, yes, of course. These things happen, I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?” I move close to her desk.

The look on her face shows she didn't expect my reaction. "Um, yes. In one of the piles over there. There should be twelve documents with the keywords Stark v. Hammer." She points over the corner where there are three medium-sized piles of papers

"Oh, is that all?"

"Yes, thank you. My assistant has been on sick leave for two weeks and my office has become an absolute mess." I hear the clink of metal on the ground. She squats down, looking for whatever it was that had fallen.

"Really, it's no problem. I've worked in worse offices, this is nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"The lawyer I worked for in college. He was a mess. He wouldn't let anyone move his things, so it just stayed that way until he needed a specific paper or file, and then he would send me looking. Apparently, he did that to all of his assistants after one of them, about five years before me, lost one of the major papers in a big case for the firm. He fired her immediately." I rifled through the paperwork, quickly finding a handful of the documents.

"That sounds horrible, although, from a business person's perspective I can somewhat understand." 

"Yeah, it was crazy. I worked for him for four years and almost feel bad for leaving. He finally adjusted and was comfortable with me going through the records." I had found all but one of the papers at this point and had looked through all three piles with no luck.

"Ms. Potts?"

She stands up, bumping her head on the edge of her desk, "Yes?"

"Sorry, um, are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine." She grasps the back of her head, wincing. She's clearly not.

"Are you sure? You hit your head pretty hard."

"Yes, really. What were you asking about?"

"Okay, are you sure all of the papers are over here? There's one missing. I've gone over the stacks at least three times." 

"Yes, of course. They're all there, I could've sworn." She walks over, or at least attempts to as about halfway she grasps her head, a small groan accompanying the action. I run over, offering my arm. She takes my arm, and I lower her to the ground, a quiet 'thank you' thrown in the midst.

There was a small cut on the back of her head, a small amount of blood flowing out. I place my fingers on the cut, using my powers to heal it. A sharp pain found its way to the back of my head for a moment before it fades.

"Thank you. I think I just needed to sit down for a moment. But, yes, all of the papers should be over here. It's odd that there's one missing."

"Could it be in a different stack?"

"It shouldn't be, then again, I haven't exactly been keeping this place clean enough to say. Crap! The meeting's supposed to start in a few minutes."

"How far into the meeting do you need the papers, and how long do you expect this meeting will be?"

"Maybe two-thirds of the way through and half an hour at the shortest. Why?"

"I'm gonna buy you some time, obviously. I'll look through the rest of the papers to find the missing page. Once I find it I'll head over to your meeting room and deliver the papers as if you'd asked for them just before the meeting began. How does that sound?"

She walks up to me and hugs me. As she pulls away she says, "You are a lifesaver! Thank you." She grabs her papers and walks out of her office, presumably to the meeting room as I stand there stunned, unmoving as a stone.

When her trance breaks, I start moving around the room, quickly checking each pile for the missing paper. I tried to stay in the general area she originally pointed me to with no luck. I slowly moved towards the desk, it was the only place I hadn't checked yet.

I went through the different stacks before finding the paper in the third, guess it really was the charm. I collected all of the papers in a manilla folder, finishing it off with a paperclip -just as a precaution. As I went to grab the door handle JARVIS told me which meeting room they were on.

I walked out to the small foyer between the two offices and entered the elevator. JARVIS took me to the correct floor.

I walked up to the door of the meeting room Ms. Potts was in and knocked on the door before entering. I looked inside to see a variety of old, white businessmen and Ms. Potts in front of a projector explaining something I wasn't about to pretend I understood. She looked relieved. 

I walked in just enough to where I could close the door, "Apologies, Ms. Potts, is this a bad time? I have the paperwork you requested."

"Oh no, not at all." She walked over to me, taking the folder from my hands. "Thank you." She whispered.

"It was no problem at all, Ma'am. Would you like me to continue working in your office, or go home for the day?"

"Please, wait in my office." She tipped her head slightly, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

I excused myself and headed back to Ms. Potts office. I waited for her in one of the armchairs at her desk. I checked my phone and realized I hadn't read the e-mail from Scott yet. I opened his message, the contents shocking me.

'Hi, I know it's been a while since we've talked, I mean really talked. I'm sorry, I chose a girl who saw me as the second choice over the person who's been my best friend practically since we met. I'm leaving the mansion too. Things have been crazy here. The professor is making Jean and Logan sub for all the classes you used to teach, and he'll be doing so for every teacher who leaves because of what happened. I'm planning on moving back to Anchorage. My parents left the house to Alex, but he gave everything to me in his will, making it mine. That house has to be 80 or so years old now, it's going to need a lot of repairs. I'll send you the address once it's all fixed up, maybe have some tea and catch up. 

See you someday,

Scott.'

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jessica Valenti at Abortion, Every Day:

I remember the feeling of hands inside me. Pulling, tugging, moving things aside. My emergency c-section wasn’t painful, but that feeling of being invaded was somehow worse than physical hurt. For years, the thought of the surgery would send me into a PTSD panic, my knees literally buckling and vomit coming up the back of my throat. In my memory, my arms are tied down while I’m being cut—but I know that’s not true. It’s just my brain’s way of making the powerlessness of the moment seem tangible. 

Because I was so early in my pregnancy, just 28 weeks along, doctors had to cut me both horizontally and vertically, making it life-threatening for me to have a vaginal birth in the future and increasing my risk for uterine rupture. I didn’t know it then, but I would never have another child.  So when I see anti-abortion groups blithely suggesting that women with life-threatening pregnancies should be forced into c-sections rather than easier, safer, and less traumatic abortions—it feels personal. Because I chose my medical nightmare; it was necessary to save both my life and my daughter’s. I can’t imagine the horror of going through such a thing unnecessarily, or at 16 weeks pregnant instead of 28. What if my tied-down arms weren’t a post-traumatic illusion, but a legal reality?

For nearly a year, I’ve been tracking this growing strategy: Some of the most powerful anti-abortion organizations in the country are using carefully-worded legislation and seemingly-credible clinical recommendations to codify medical atrocities—pushing doctors to force pregnant women into unnecessary labor and c-sections, even before fetal viability and sometimes even when a fetus has died. Why would anyone do such a thing? The answer is as simple as it is awful: Anti-abortion groups and lawmakers want to prove that abortion is never necessary to save a person’s life. The problem is that they know pregnancy can be deadly, especially in the United States. Rather than admit abortion can be life-saving, their solution is to force doctors to end deadly pregnancies in any other way—even if it means torturing women in the process. 

Anti-abortion lawmakers and activists are so desperate to divorce abortion from health care, they’d prefer to see us dead than allow critically ill women to get care they disagree with.  I mean that literally. This is how they kill us. With the sly shifting of medical standards and surreptitiously-placed legislative language. Because while these people are cruel, they’re certainly not stupid. Anti-abortion extremists know the only way to normalize medical torture is to move quietly and slowly.  After all, dystopias aren’t created in a day. They’re built, law by law and talking point by talking point, through medical regulations, bureaucracy, and fear. From a Supreme Court ruling in Idaho to timid guidance from hospital administrators in Louisiana—anti-abortion groups don’t need to own up to their grim vision when they have others embedding the nightmare bit by bit. 

That’s not to say they haven’t been busy themselves. Using extremist groups with credible-sounding names—like American Association of Pro-Life OBGYNs or the Charlotte Lozier Institute—the anti-abortion movement has carefully disguised radical calls to hurt women as simple scientific recommendations. They’ve inserted the nonsense term ‘maternal fetal separation’ into legislation, court cases and conservative talking points, removing ‘abortion’ in an attempt to further the lie that the procedure is never necessary. They've published papers and trotted out ‘experts’ who claim it’s “medically standard” to force women into c-sections or vaginal labor when their lives are at risk. Again, even when it’s too early for a fetus to survive.

Anti-abortion legislators have done their job too, passing laws that allow their state to define what conditions are life-threatening during pregnancy and the best course of action for doctors. They’ve written mandates that emergency terminations be performed in a way that “provides the best opportunity for the unborn child to survive.” If states must be forced to save women’s lives, it appears, they’ll make sure we suffer greatly for the trouble.  It’s not a coincidence that reports coming out of anti-abortion states show a sharp rise in c-sections. With their license and freedom on the line, doctors and hospitals are falling in line. One Texas OBGYN who was directed to give a septic patient a hysterotomy told researchers, “The morbidity is going to be insane.”

To people who value fetuses above women, that’s a price they’re willing to pay. Indeed, all of this cruelty starts to make morbid sense when you understand that the broader anti-abortion goal goes beyond forced c-sections or redefining medical standards. They are trying to make Americans numb to women suffering and dying during pregnancy. They’re treating it as unpreventable—natural, even—so that voters don’t bat an eye when the maternal mortality numbers skyrocket. 

Jessica Valenti reports on the rise of c-sections post-Roe and dishonest efforts to divorce abortion from healthcare by anti-abortion zealots in her Abortion, Every Day blog.

[evolutionsvoid]

The fading of Eitr and the rise of Ichor was not an instant thing. These ages didn't meet their fates overnight, as there was a period where power shifted and ancient beasts slowly dwindled to the likes of man and his brethren. As Ichor grew and consumed, the Primal Flame of Eitr could only shrink away more and more, and the great dragons of this age watched in despair. It was a fate they were warned about, but refused to act upon due to their obsession with tradition. Their need to cling to the old ways forced them to stand aside and let their world fall to this golden fluid, all while an insidious curse hardened their scales and stilled their limbs. It was during this time that dragonkind grew desperate, looking to save their kind from this approaching doom.

The blight that was granted upon them from their traitorous brethren ensured that all of the ancient dragons would one day petrify, all while seeing their rule fall to ruin. It filled their kind with fear, and drove them to at last take action. Cures for the slow blight were sought but every one failed, so they then turned to

other methods. Perhaps a new generation of dragon could be born, one free from this curse. But even the youngest emerged with the blight dwelling within them, one day destined to be their executioner. Attempts to purify their blood only tainted their lineage with a different malady, as lesser beasts were born from this. They were free of the curse, but also stripped of all that made them dragon. No minds, no souls, just primal monsters that were shadows of their ancestors. This was not accepted, and the dragons abandoned these malformed children. Yet, this path was not a dead end, as outside of their efforts, a new breed of dragon was coming to be.

Though Ichor would one day conquer Eitr, the two Godly Fluids were not incompatible. In rare instances, life could come forth and form a bond between the two. And as the closing of one age signaled the dawn of a new one, some of the old adapted rather than perish. Beasts of this ancient time found ways to bond to this new fluid and its humors, though such oaths did not come without sacrifice. The old titans would be forced to discard much for this to work, and many of these descendants would be smaller and stunted in comparison. Some of these switches to Ichor and its humors came naturally, while others chose this path. For the dragons, this did not happen through decision but surprise. In their maddened efforts to save their kind, they had failed to notice what was evolving in their dying world. Draconic Eitr meeting the godly gift of golden Ichor. And from it, a new kind of dragon was born.

What the ancient dragons soon discovered was a creature that was a child of both Godly Fluids. What emerged from this bore a form that was both familiar but different. Scales, but yet feathers. Power, yet elegance. They had the minds of dragon, yet oaths to more than just Eitr. These were beings of a new dawn, of a new direction for dragonkind. As the transition was occurring, they were still fetal and forming, slowly shaping into their destiny. But though they were not yet final, the dragons could see what they would become. They would be the new dragons, while their ancient flesh petrified. They would be the bearers of their lineage, the true heirs to their crumbling throne. To some, this would appear to be the perfect solution, a rightful descendant in which to pass the torch. But to the dragons, their ties to the ancient ways became the noose around their necks.

The new generation of dragons showed great promise, but their ties to Eitr was a half measure. Dragonkind was bound to it, worshiped it, ruled by it. The Primal Flame and its primordial fluid was the one and only, but yet these newborns did not have the pure devotion to it. They were bound to both Eitr and Ichor, and it was this double allegiance that the dragons could not stomach. By their laws, Eitr was the one true fluid, and dragon kind was forever loyal to it. To betray it in this way was unacceptable, even if they still had partial ties. And what would come down the road? Today, perhaps it would be half Eitr and half Ichor, but what of tomorrow? How long would this generation pledge itself to the fading Etir, how long til they abandoned it completely? Such thoughts disturbed them, and the elders grew fearful of what they were becoming. Tradition told them not to interfere with nature, but their laws also demanded pure allegiance to the primordial Eitr. Dragonkind was torn at these crossroads, unsure of the path to take. Some say that doubt and obsession with their traditions is what made their decision, while others believe that the curse of stagnation in their blood forced their hand. Whichever the reason, the ancient dragons could not accept this future. And in one horrible moment, they denied these children the Eitr and tore their future away from them.

Just as the dragons cursed the lindwyrms, they doomed this new breed by robbing them of their birthright. They would not accept them as heirs, they would not be the prodigal children. Their imprisonment to tradition and stagnancy drove them to this, and another generation of dragon was doomed by it. Betrayed by their ancestors, these growing beings faced failure and stillbirth. Glorious wings shriveled and tattered. Shining scales dull and misshapen. The power and destiny they were reaching for was forever extinguished, and they too now felt the hollowness of a curse. To the lindwyrms, they were afflicted with change and chaos. For the dragons, it was rigidity and stagnation. But for the beings who would become the Strix, there curse would be the denial of both. No Eitr, no legacy. Remain as is, with no inheritance, no potential and no future.

From that betrayal, the Strix had nothing, and to this day they remain malformed and abandoned. They have their minds, but have nothing to do with them. There is no goal to achieve, no potential to fulfill. Instead they are left with wings that can barely fly and golden flame that only spits and sputters. Their kind cannot reproduce, as they have been denied the right to carry the dragons' lineage. All they do now is dwell where their ancestors have hidden and petrified, flocks of them perched upon their stilled bodies. They sit hunched and watching like a vulture witnessing the final moments of its food, stewing in bitterness and misery. Why they hang around the generation that doomed them, no one is sure. Some think they wait in hope that the dragons will one day accept them and finally grant them their blessing. Others feel that they stand vigil at these statues in hate, gaining grim satisfaction that their betrayers will share the same grave.

But the Strix themselves refuse to say...

And why should they speak to man? To the rest of the world, the Strix are seen as beings of curses and bad luck. A rejected race that will spread its failed fate to those who get close, or lash out at those they envy, or so the people say. Their tattered appearance makes people fear and distrust them, believing their words to be curses or lies. If a Strix is seen outside of the hidden caves, people claim them to be omens of disaster and ill fortune. A horrid visage that must be slain before the horrid prophecy comes true. Even if superstition were to be cast aside, they are children of the dragons and thus despised by the Church and its followers. So why would they deign to deal with mankind? Why bother with the world above that they don't belong to? They have no purpose, no future, and thus no cares.

Even those who sit upon their fallen ancestors reveal little to those who discover these graves. Folks who have walked amongst these frozen dragons have witnessed the Strix merely glare at them in bitterness. There are some tales of these wretched beings descending upon intruders and tearing them to pieces, but plenty of other times when folks have ventured here unharmed. What brings about these actions, no one knows. Attempts to communicate with them often ends in failure, as they want nothing to do with any of it. They stand upon the graves of the past that denied them, now facing the people who took the future they should have had. They were cut free from all of it long ago, so why bother? The dragons didn't want them, neither does man. The world left them behind, so they show no concern when it is burning down...

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

"Strix"

A concept that came from my friend @darksack100 during talk about FOI's dragons. Loved the idea and the two of us worked to make these poor souls! As if the lineage of dragons hasn't suffered enough!