#I will CRY these children deserve unconditional love I SWEAr

[lassify]

Listen. Okay. Listen. LISTEN.

Chapter 67.1: "She didn't say much about you."

Chapter 108: "Your mom loves you too."

Do you hear that? Do you smell that? Do you taste it??

Can you sense it in the air??

This is development. This is hope. This is healing. This is the very slow and torturous unification of a family torn apart by abuse and neglect.

[zablife]

@darklydeliciousdesires YES, this is what they deserve!! I'm so happy to read they have a lovely life with strong support system. The news about Alice made me cry 😭 After years of abuse from Carole, James (Alan and Sam) needed this kind of unconditional love in their lives. It's amazing to see the family growing in this way AND with James and Ella's three children. I adored all the little details you provided about the girls. How adorable is Freya? She's a tiny James from the hair to the attitude (the swearing made me giggle so much 🤭)! Ty for this warm, fuzzy chapter 🥰

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Twenty.

Here we are, guys. Time jump time! We now get to see James and Ella as proper (well, as much as our dear James can be, at least!) adults and parents. I really hope you enjoy this next part of the story just as much as you did their early years together :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 4,336

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

20th February, 2014. 

He’d blinked and turned forty.  

It honestly felt like five minutes ago when he’d celebrated his twentieth birthday, drunk off his arse in The Gallows, having to be carried out at the end of the night by Steve and Snedders, promptly throwing up all over the latter’s boots. Now, he was twenty years older, probably only marginally wiser, and at a very different stage in his life.  

Most of it was thanks to the woman astride his hips, enjoying riding him into the bed at 5am, the only time either knew they’d get that day before the onslaught of hellions prevented them from partaking of a little husband and wife time. Yes, he and Ella had married ten years before, together for a staggering seventeen in total that coming summer. Seventeen years with his babe. And god, how she still was. 

“Shitting hell, what a top grade way to start my first day being an old bastard,” he panted, reaching to squeeze her tits, Ella licking her top lip seductively with a wink.  

“What kind of wife would I be, if I didn’t give my sexy arsed husband a damn good riding on his birthday?” How much sexier he kept on getting to her adoring eyes, too.  

His hair was still as long and beautiful, his body now ripped with bigger muscles thanks to some serious dedication to the gym. He also sported a larger covering of tattoos with both sleeves now finished, his hands and the sides of his neck adorned, a full back piece and most of his legs covered. Also, he had new additions to his chest that really, really amped his arousal. Especially when his wife tugged them with her teeth.  

Releasing her bite upon one of his nipple piercings, she circled the dark peak with her tongue, driving her hips against him wildly as his thick cock split her wide. While what they once enjoyed once or twice a day was now more realistically once or twice a week or less, depending on life outside of the bedroom, they still burned just as hot for one another as they had in their early twenties. Very, very much so.  

If only their daughters didn’t have quite such a knack of disturbing that burn... 

The thumping of feet preceded her arrival, James’s eyes widening. “You locked the bedroom door, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” she panted, moving to his other nipple ring and giving it the kind of tug that had his eyes virtually swivelling, laying a hard smack to her bum. “The tiny beast cannot pass the gates.”  

No, but she could shout from them. Loudly. “Mummy! Mummy! You awake?” 

“Yes, baby cakes. Give me five minutes!” 

“It’ll be more like two if you keep riding me this fucking hard, Ells bells,” her husband panted in whisper, pulling her down to suck upon her nipple. 

“No five minutes! Now!”  

If Freya Kingston was anything, she was very, very demanding. “Go back to bed and wait for me there. Five minutes, promise!” 

“You shitting better, mummy!”  

James almost laughed her off his cock at that, Ella rolling her eyes. Nope, he hadn’t managed to curb his swearing as much as necessary, their three-year-old now picking up on a few of his less than favourable cusses. “Her father’s daughter through and through.” 

“Innit?” he chuckled, kissing her with blistering heat as his hands roamed her back, turning her onto it to begin utterly railing her into the bed. God, the finesse he did it with, though. Sex truly had gotten better over the years, even though it happened much less often. Driving himself into her hard, he smiled down at her, biting her lower lip before their tongues swirled, kisses steeped in sugared embers, Ella’s quiet moans making his heart skip. 

His mouth clasped to hers as the rolling rhythm of his fuck had her cresting against him, the pleasure a blinding neon burst as she shattered like heirloom glass, lying there breathless and sweaty, stroking his mane of incredible hair before her role of mummy had to take precedence.  

With the new extension on the back of their home now complete, it meant the luxury of an en-suite bathroom, something much needed in a house with three children within it. They jumped in the shower together, washing quickly, James out first and drying off before dressing, Ella hurrying into her favourite comfy lounging clothes once she was done. 

“Behave,” she warned, James pulling her flowery lounge pants down to give her bum a quick wallop, still feeling very amped up after their steamy morning session. 

“You love it!” While he went downstairs to put the kettle on and let their two French Bulldogs out, Ella went in to get Freya, finding her youngest emptying one of her drawers.  

“Don’t know what to wear, mummy!” she cried, holding up bundles of tiny clothes with an exasperated look. “Am I princess today, or am I grunge girl today? Who can say!” 

Being Freya’s mummy was a constant stream of pure delight, her youngest by far the most comedic of the three. “How about grunge princess? Nirvana t-shirt and pink jeans?” 

“Yes!” Grabbing a pair of pants as well, Ella hoisted her up, taking her to the bathroom to get washed and her teeth brushed, her long, dark brown hair fought against with a comb and neatly braided into two French plaits either side of her head. Much fussing endured.  

“Wish I had hair like daddy’s!” 

“Everyone wishes they had hair like your daddy has, baby cakes,” she spoke through her mouthful of pink hair elastic, reaching the end of the second plait and securing it. “Come on, then. Let’s get the tiny hell beast fed.” 

“I am not a hell beast! I am chaos of the night, the destroyer of worlds! That’s what daddy calls me!”  

Oh, god. This child.  

Ella and the chaos of the night went downstairs, Freya scrambling down to greet Hugo and Otis, the small yet stacked dogs circling her a few times before she flung herself at James, grabbing his hands and climbing his legs. “Alright, little demoness of darkness. How are the army of the dead this morning?” 

“We ride at dawn!” 

He pointed at the window, where the sun was almost fully up. “It’s dawn now. Better go rouse your troops, innit?”  

“Victory will be mine!” she further shouted, James wincing. 

“Yeah, and your old man here will have perforated eardrums,” he spoke, kissing her cheek. “Right, what do you want to eat?”  

“Burger!” 

“Nah, tiny. You can’t have a burger for breakfast.” Oh, the face he was met with. It was his own in teeny tiny, pissed off female form. 

“Why not?”  

“Shhh, lower your decibels, baba,” he spoke, Freya wriggling around in his grasp, pointing out into the garden. 

“Berries!” 

“It’s winter, none growing,” he reminded her, “but I think there’s some in the fridge.” 

“Blueberries and strawberries.” his wife called, dolling out kibble into the dog’s bowls across the now much bigger kitchen. This seemed to pacify the destroyer of worlds, Freya making her request to have them with yogurt as well, James seating her at the island and furnishing her with a small bowl before going back to his tea. It was quiet for all of ten seconds... 

“Oh daddy! It’s your birthday today! Happy birthday, daddy!” 

“Thank you, your right honourable princess of doom.” Yes, he had many a humorous name for his youngest, and she loved every single one of them.  

“Mummy! Mummy! Can I give daddy hims present now?”  

“Not yet, sweet,” Ella replied, juggling a very hot pitta bread after it had popped up from the toaster, ready to slather it in Marmite. “We’ll do pressies when your sisters are up and daddy is back from the gym.” 

Her other daughters took a while longer to rise of a morning, Zara usually first, Lyra virtually needing a cattle prod to shake her from beneath the covers. She very much followed her dad there, having a deep-rooted love of slumber. True to form, just after she’d kissed James goodbye at 6:10am, Zara came trudging down the stairs.  

“Hi, mummy. Can I have eggs, please?” 

Ella dropped a kiss to her head, stroking her dishevelled mop of dirty blonde hair. Her and Lyra had her exact hair and eye colour, Freya darker and with grey eyes like her daddy. “Scrambled, poached or boiled?”  

“Hmm.” A thoughtful face was made. “Poached, please.” 

Shit. She would say that, Ella’s arch nemesis of all culinary endeavours. Usually she’d task James with it, but with that not possible, she’d have to pay attention. Or cheat. Yes, cheating was preferable.  

“Who’s taking us to school today, you or daddy?” Zara asked, taking a seat at the island while Ella poured some of the boiled water from the kettle into a mug, cracking in the first egg before taking it to the microwave. Forty seconds and boom, one poached egg. Not quite as good as when done the traditional way, but needs must.  

“Daddy is, after he’s dropped your sister at nursery.” 

“What time?” 

“Usual time, quarter past eight.” Zara had to know the details of her day to the very minute, or she became anxious about the littlest of changes. Her routine was very soothing, and she didn’t take well to having it suddenly tampered with.  

Her parents were trying to work in little differing factors to certain situations in order to show her that nothing bad would happen should that routine change, but sadly she’d still have a meltdown over something as innocuous as dinner being switched at the last minute. It was a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder, her ritualistic behaviour, apparently quite common in children and usually something they grew out of. 

Luckily, she showed no other signs of needing such order in her life, her fairly disorderly bedroom testament to that. They’d been told by their GP to keep an eye on it, throw in the occasional curve ball to differ her routine in a gentle way and reinforce that nothing would go wrong because of change, also receiving a lot of advice from someone who had become very close to them over the years. 

“Are we still going to stay at auntie Mary’s on Saturday?” Zara asked. 

“Auntie Mary!” Freya chirped with joy, shovelling in another mouthful of fruit-laden yogurt. She was might have been the wildest of the three, but she never missed her mouth where food was concerned.  

“Yes, baby cakes,” Ella confirmed, placing the second egg down on the toast she’d just buttered, handing them plus cutlery across the island. “Don’t ask me a time, though, because I don’t know just yet.”  

In the years that had passed since Lyra’s birth, Mary had become a treasured part of their lives, ‘auntie’ to their children, and since her retirement four years previously, a very willing babysitter whenever she was needed to be. She was, in short, just as wonderful as she had always been, thinking of James, Ella and their girls as her extended family.  

When Ella had gone into labour two weeks early with Freya, it had been Mary with her for the first few hours, the unexpected labour starting while they’d been enjoying a day out together. Truly, she’d been wonderful, keeping her calm and making for excellent company while James had raced to get a flight home from Sweden, the band in the middle of finishing up a tour.  

Yes, Mary was most certainly as much a part of their family as they were hers.  

With her earlier career years spent working closely with children suffering from mental health issues before moving into caring for young adults, she’d truly been the perfect person to act as a reliable soundboard back when Zara had begun displaying such behaviours a year before.  

Not that Ella wasn’t very capable from her own merits, being a psychologist with eight years under her belt, but Mary still remained her oracle. With all of her children, she’d found Mary to be invaluable where advice was concerned.  

The first born of those children was actually up and in the shower of her own volition by half past seven, which came as a surprise, coming down to give her dad a big hug. 

“Happy birthday, old fart,” she smirked, kissing his cheek and passing him over his gift. 

“Oi, less of that, monster,” he spoke, flicking her on the forehead lightly before carefully opening the very thin gift he’d been presented with. Pulling out the A4 sheet of drawing card, his jaw dropped. “Effing hell! That's awesome! Come here, kid. Give us a hug.” 

Yes, he could filter his predisposition to swear sometimes. Lyra wrapped her arms around him, smiling with pride that he loved the drawing she’d created for him. He’d been mentioning wanting something to fill an empty space upon the back of his leg for some time, his eldest drawing him something truly beautiful to have tattooed. Where art was concerned, Lyra was exceptionally talented. Drawing and music were where she truly excelled, following in her dad’s footsteps and choosing guitar. 

Once his other gifts and cards had been opened, he had just about enough time to blend a protein shake, take the dogs for a quick walk and be back in time to wrangle the girls into his truck and take them to begin their respective days. 

James would never be a people carrier kind of person, choosing instead a Mitsubishi Warrior, of course in black, which dwarfed Ella’s little Jeep on the drive. Hell, it had only been in recent years that they’d been able to afford being a two-car family at all, with how much it had cost them to renovate their home. Both pulled in decent salaries at that point in their lives, though, enjoying reaping the rewards of their hard work.  

Being a musician was something he did more for the love of it than the money, his endeavours within the band netting him on average between twenty-five and thirty thousand a year. Sometimes more, often much less. What earned him the better income was the security firm he now owned and operated, his guys running doors and offering event security around a large portion of the West Midlands area.  

JNK Security had once run out of a leaky portacabin for years in between his long-haul touring stints, his office space now managed from home after having what was virtually a second house grafted onto the back of their existing one. He enjoyed the fact he could be at home when he actually was off tour, helping Ella co-parent their girls since her working space was now run from their house as well.  

While he managed all things security from one room off the kitchen, Ella had a space tailored for her therapy sessions next to it. Her brand of therapy was very much like his now former therapist Michael, wanting to offer a relaxed environment for patients to have their sessions in. The space was very quintessentially Ella, white, light and airy, candles and plants dotted around, and just like Michael, a large sofa she sat upon to chat with her patients informally while assisting with their mental struggles.  

Her speciality? Of course, eating disorders.  

She still did work away from home as well, travelling to various practices on a Monday and Tuesday, running her own clinic from home for the other three days a week, with some Saturday morning sessions too when she could. By the time he arrived back, she was in session with her first patient of the day, James entering his office followed by the dogs, a strong cup of tea in his hand as he sat down to begin his first task of the day. Payroll.  

He’d first thought to pay somebody else to do it for him, but since he had a fairly good aptitude for numbers and using a computer, the payroll software making it even easier, he didn’t see the point when it only took an hour out of his morning around answering calls.  

Between the two, he found a little time for the permanent resident of his office, getting Hel out of her viv and letting her crawl onto his head and over his chest and back. At nineteen, she was an old lady, well into her expected lifespan years of between seventeen and twenty-five. She scared the shit out of his kids, all bar one. Yes, the destroyer of worlds indeed loved the giant, black spider.  

“Right then, beautiful girl,” he spoke, gently lifting her from his chest, “better do some more work and all that.” He returned her to her viv, throwing in a cricket to eat before locking her away (Ella still couldn’t cope if she escaped) and turning back to his desk. 

“Yep, yeah, okay so I’d advise a team of twelve. Four front doors, two rear, two loading bay and four on venue patrol for somewhere that size,” he spoke, on a call to someone who required his services for a one-off music event. “No, the cost is non-negotiable. Okay... yeah, the fourteenth is fine. I’ll send an invoice. Bye.” 

Looking down at where Otis’s potato shaped bulk lay happily on his lap, he gave his massive bat ears a rub. “Always trying to chip me down by a few hundred, innit. Fucking tight arses.” The dog merely yawned and grunted, happily going back to sleep while his dad made a few more calls to arrange who was where that evening. He still went on the doors himself from time to time, usually for old times' sake with Steve, who now worked for him as well whenever he needed a few hours here and there in between his other job of flipping houses with Andrea. 

Just as he had pledged only hours after meeting her, Steve had married her just under seventeen years before. They’d done something utterly insane, eloping to Greta Green after being in a relationship for five months, James and Ella the only people they’d told and invited to the ceremony.  

The couple now had two sons, lived only fifteen minutes away and truly couldn’t be happier. It was on Steve’s advice that he buy the house they now lived in, the abode an absolute steal for what it could have fetched in the town of Atherstone, had it not needed such extensive modernising.  

They’d purchased number three, Thornhill Drive six years ago, Ella virtually ready to pop while pregnant with Zara when they’d moved in, slowly doing it up room by room, the large extension built upon it finishing the work just six months ago. While he continued into the late morning, Ella found a free half an hour to make notes between patients, spending the rest of her time checking her social media accounts and sending a few funny memes to Andrea.  

She had to keep her Instagram on private, save the scores of Nocturnal Descent fans attempting to access her photographs. She tended not to put pictures of her children online unless their faces couldn’t be seen, always mindful of the darker side of the internet. There were, however, plenty of her and her love. One she’d shared recently had made her heart burst, taken on a disposable camera by Andrea while they were still all patients within the confines of Moor Acres. Her caption for it was typical Ella. 

“Me and my church burner, 1997, falling in love.” 

The picture had been taken beneath their tree out on the grounds, her sitting on his lap, both smiling happily at one another. God, she couldn’t get over it, how tiny she’d been back then. As a thirty-nine-year-old woman at a healthy weight of nine stone, she often couldn’t reconcile seeing pictures of herself at twenty-two, just over six and a half stone in that particular picture with James, as being her.  

The ravages of anorexia no longer haunted her, she was pleased to say. Also, James had long been off his antidepressants and no longer in therapy to no ill effects, although he constantly monitored his moods for anything that even slightly fluctuated. Continuing her social media scrolling, she had a peek on the band’s Instagram page, if for nothing else but to see how well received her photographs had been. 

In her spare time, she still loved to get out and about with her camera, her last excursion being granted access to the photographer’s pit at the end of Nocturnal Descent’s UK tour that had rounded up a long stint just three weeks before. James had long been one of her favourite photographic subjects, being as photogenic as he was. Even with corpse paint on and fake blood dripping from his mouth all over his neck and chest. Opening the comments, she had a read through, shaking her head and chuckling softly at some of the spicier reactions to the guys. 

“Good freakin’ god, those rabid fangirls!” 

Once upon a time, she used to tour the message boards to see what was being said about her husband, groupie girls discussing which of the guys were down to fuck, as it was worded. Not because she didn’t trust James, but it was nice to see that her trust was reflected in what he’d say and how he’d act in a room without her in it.  

“If you want to get with Berserker or War, it’s a no-go, unfortunately. They’ll turn you down. Those guys are happily married, trust me. I tried it on with War last time they toured here. He just held up his hand, tapped his wedding ring and said ‘nah, babe. I take that seriously.’ He’s always up for a chat, though. Nice guy, can be quite intimidating but he’s funny and interesting. The only guys in the band you’ll have any chance with are Necro Storm and Fury, maybe Tyrant, depending on whether he’s got a girl or not.” 

“Yeah, I can vouch for that, too. War and his wife don’t live too far from me. I met them at a pub recently and they took a few pictures with me. They’re really nice, but just don’t approach War when he’s with his kids or he’ll tell you to fuck off, so I’ve heard!” 

Those were two from many years before that had stuck out in particular to her. She always welcomed the fans coming up to say hello, unless they ever got a little too friendly with him. Most were very respectful, though, and she was always flattered when they wanted a picture with her as well.  

The only time a line was drawn was when they were with their children, Ella usually being much politer, but the slightly volatile streak in James’s nature decreeing he could often be rude and standoffish. “Nah, I'm with my kids. Fuck off” was what you’d usually have thrown at you if you tried to pester him for a photograph while he was with his daughters. He’d chosen a career which gave him semi-famous status, but they hadn’t.  

Later that night, they were gladly left alone as they sat and ate dinner in the restaurant area of The Queen’s Head, their favourite local pub. Even though his actual birthday outing wasn’t until the weekend, Ella had wanted for them to do something low-key on the actual day itself, joined by her mum and boyfriend, Jon, as well as James’s dad. And his mum. 

Indeed, there had been a change there in his family status. With Carole having passed so many years ago and the damage she’d done put to bed, there was a new woman, one much more deserving who he now fondly referred to as his mother. Alan had met Alice a year after his separation from Carole, the family finding her to be the gentlest, sweetest woman they’d ever met. Since suffering from chronic endometriosis for most of her life, Alice had been unable to have children of her own, and over time had very much grown to see James and Sam as hers.  

She’d surprised them one year at Christmas, with the gifts they’d opened. Adult adoption papers. “Might as well make it official now I’m married to your dad, hmm?” she’d spoken, before receiving a very fast-moving son and daughter into her arms, James and Sam telling her that they didn’t need it, but were thrilled all the same. To them, she was mum, with or without the official paperwork proving such.  

And god, how proud she was of them. Carole had never once been to see Nocturnal Descent play live; Alice made it her priority when they toured. One of Ella’s favourite pictures from the last tour had been of James leaning from the stage, a sweaty, corpse paint-streaked mess, sticking a bloodied tongue out at Alice as she’d guffawed laughing. Ella had captioned it perfectly. 

“War and mother War.”  

“That’s my son!” the bubbly, vivacious blonde had shouted proudly to anyone who’d listen, beaming as she watched from the photographer’s pit with Ella. It was all he’d ever wanted, a mum who was proud of him. Alice was exactly that. 

Even though neither James’s sister or Ella’s could make it, both Sam and Jane working away, they still had a fantastic night together as a family, getting home in time to get the kids ready for bed, one last day of school before the weekend was upon them.  

“So, Mrs. K,” James spoke, plonking himself down on the sofa and lying with his head in her lap. “Are we partying like it’s nineteen ninety-seven on Saturday, or what? I feel a top-grade time coming on.” 

She beamed, leaning to kiss him. “We’d bleedin’ better be, BFG!”  

While a lot of things had changed for them, some remained the same, and they still loved to go out and have a good time whenever they could. Saturday would be no different.  

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Remember, Don't You Miss Us?

Prompt: hey, if you're taking requests for Sanders sides, can I request some angsty human au! familial sides? patton/janus as parents that get/have gotten divorced and (some of) the others move between houses or smth?? idk do what you want as long as its angsty with a happy ending

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: divorced moceit at the start, they fix it, other than that you good

Pairings: parental moceit, errybody else is the kids

Word Count: 3738

The void never used to be as obvious.

Patton and Janus got divorced, their children split between the two houses. They manage to keep up appearances, but the emptiness never really goes away.

The kids decide to do something about it.

The void never used to be as obvious.

There were times when Patton would come downstairs, expecting to see at least someone else awake, perhaps Logan in the corner chair, curled around a mug of coffee and staring out the window, perhaps Roman at the table with his notebook out and his pen flying, or perhaps Virgil, just rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do next. Remus wasn’t an early riser, but perhaps—on very rare occasions—there he would be, sprawled across the floor, playing with his toys.

But now there’s no one to make the coffee for Logan, no one to encourage Roman to write down his ideas, no one to chuckle softly at bleary little Virgil. No one to halfheartedly scold Remus for leaving his toys all over the floor.

Patton still goes to the coffee pot and turns it on, even if there are buttons on the top he doesn’t dare to touch. Logan asked him once why he refuses to change the settings, even if he doesn’t like the kind of coffee it makes. His hands had shaken too much to answer.

He still goes through all the motions of making breakfast, even if the sudden tug in his chest at the worry they won’t have enough eggs goes limp as he realizes there are only three of them in the house now. Roman asked him once why he was staring at the carton of eggs lying there on the counter. He’d shaken his head and said he was counting.

He still hesitates at the door too long when it’s time to take his kiddos to school, expecting a green blur to tug a blob of purple down the stairs so fast he worries they’re going to hurt themselves. Both Roman and Logan look at him confused when he wants to wait a little longer before taking them out to the car.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the flash of yellow in the corner of his eye. He could never quite pull off the color, something about the way his undertones refused to cooperate or…something like that. His own wardrobe looks…smaller now, simpler. He never used to blend into the walls this much.

Mostly he misses the low voice coming from the other room, up the stairs, just over his shoulder. His own voice is too high, too bubbly to be properly sarcastic and the absence of that voice twisting words around and around and around. Or when it would soften, and oh how much he could drown in the softness.

Mostly he misses the gloved hands on his shoulder, the small of his back, around his waist, on his hips, cupping the nape of his neck. Patton hugs his kiddos all the time, but there was something about the drag of gloves against his clothes that made him tighten his hugs.

Mostly he misses waking up to someone else warm on cold nights.

The bed feels so much bigger.

No.

No, don’t go down that road, it only leads to crying and Roman and Logan trying frantically to fix it.

They couldn’t.

It wasn’t their fault, they’re kids. They didn’t deserve to have to fix these things, these were an adult’s responsibility, these were problems they wouldn’t know how to solve. It wasn’t their fault that Patton never learned when to stop pushing. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never figure out where the lines were drawn. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never stop crying, making it all about himself, never wanting to listen.

Patton scrubs a hand under his nose before it can start to drip.

No. No, it wasn’t their fault, it was—it is his.

It’s his fault they can’t see their brothers anymore, not like they used to.

It’s his fault their Papa went away.

It’s his fault that he couldn’t figure out how to love Janus.

But goodness, does he miss him.

———————————————

The room’s never felt this small before.

There were times when Janus would open the door and expect someone, anyone, to barrel into him before he could step over the threshold and words would tumble out, perhaps a new idea Remus had, perhaps something Virgil was worried about, perhaps Logan with a slew of new questions for him, or perhaps—if he was coming home on a night that Roman didn’t have an after-school club—it would be Roman, wrapping his arms tightly around Janus and refusing to let him go.

But now there’s no one to keep Remus supplied with new sketchbook paper, no one to sit quietly and talk through Virgil’s fears with him, no one to go on Wikipedia odysseys with Logan, and no one to beam at Roman.

Janus still walks to the bookshelf and runs his hand along the spine of the books, searching, searching for something to read that he hasn’t read in a while, and unbidden his mind will go directly to what puns he could make from the titles. Remus had looked up at him once as a chuckle forced its way out through his lips and asked him what was so funny. Janus had shaken his head and said something had just crossed his mind.

He still walks into a room and instinctively picks up a pen to toss into the corner, expecting a soft ‘thank you’ or an ‘ow!’ from the chair or the couch or the desk. Virgil had stared at him one time when he’d walked into the room and without thinking, grabbed a pen from the pen pot and chucked it across the room, eyes wide, wondering what was happening. Janus had dropped to the ground and done his very best to comfort the poor dear, saying that no, he wasn’t angry, he did that from a habit, it’s alright, it’s alright…

He still has the urge to buy another beanbag chair, even though the one they have right now fits the three of them perfectly, unable to get the worry of making the twins share for longer than absolutely necessary out of his head. Virgil and Remus had shrugged and said they’d be fine with having their own beanbag chairs, but they look too small all alone in the sea of fabric and small plastic balls. He’d shaken his head and said he prefers seeing them all together.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the bright, bubbly laughter that would fill the house to bursting, drawing a smile to his lips at how unabashedly happy it was. The siren song would lure him from every corner of the house, even if he were knee-deep in work, just to see what made its owner so deliriously happy.

Mostly he misses the easy words, the sweet nothings, the effortless comfort. He’s a little too rough, too guarded, too intimidating to sound as gentle and kind and reassuring, he can’t be the softer kind of support that his sweeties need sometimes. That loss, the fumbling of his tongue, always makes those sobs sound so much louder.

Mostly he misses the shameless questions. How is he doing today, what can we do to help, you know we love you, right? Such selfless care, emanating from everywhere, unconditional support, that promise, he doesn’t know how anyone could do that. For someone for whom love still fit clumsily on his tongue, he was in danger of dying of thirst after years of feeling like he could drown in it.

Mostly he misses turning around and not seeing an empty space next to him.

Don’t start.

Not again.

You don’t deserve to miss something when you threw it away without caring.

This road only leads to silences, silences Remus tries to fill by being too big, too loud, too much, silences Virgil detests and hides away, waits out, curling around his security stuffie until feels it’s safe to come out again.

It won’t be.

It’s not their fault, they’re kids. They shouldn’t be trained to read every single emotional cue to make sure their worlds won’t be upended again, they shouldn’t have to try and take of their parent, they shouldn’t be worrying about what’s going on with a problem they can’t fix. It isn’t their fault that Janus never learned how to let himself be vulnerable. It isn’t their fault that he never learned how to bite back some of his harsher remarks. It isn’t their fault that Janus could never stop trying to defend himself from someone who would never hurt him, never wanting to listen.

Janus takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

It’s his fault. Of course, it’s his fault.

It’s his fault Remus still looks around for his twin in the mornings.

It’s his fault that the brothers will grow up divided.

It’s his fault that Dad lives separately from them now.

But damn, he misses Patton so much.

———————————————

Logan: So we’re in agreement, this happens this Friday.

emo-nightmare: no need for all the grammar there L

Princey: Yes! This Friday™! It will be glorious and victorious!

living nightmare: we all will shout uproarious?

emo-nightmare: cause life is so euphorious

Logan: That’s not a word, Virgil.

emo-nightmare: if you wanna write to disney and tell em theyre using made up words i can think of better places for u to start

Princey: no virge don’t he’ll actually do it

Logan: Putting that aside, we agree that we’re doing this this Friday, yes?

Princey: Yep. Dad thinks we’re gonna go to the park to hang out after school and he’s meeting us there.

emo-nightmare: papa’s got a photoshoot with that new brand and rem and i suggested the park at 530

living nightmare: I got the fake blood and mannequin heads

Princey: REMSU WHAT THE FUKC

emo-nightmare: wow how is L letting yo make that many typos

Princey: fuck off V

living nightmare: how is Dad letting you get away with swearing that much

Princey: I am disowning you

living nightmare: on what grounds?

Princey: on the grounds that your a douchebag and you swear every two words

emo-nightmare: *you’re are u proud of me L

Logan: Had you not used the ‘u’, I would be

emo-nightmare: smh when will I be enough

Princey: you don’t need to be enough for us to love u now NO MORE SAD TALK IT IS OPERATION GET OUR DADS TO PULL THEIR HEADS OUTTA THEIR ASSES TIME

Logan: Everything is a go?

Princey: Sure is!

emo-nightmare: Roger

living nightmare: so I shouldn’t bring the mannequin heads?

Logan: No.

Princey: NO

emo-nightmare: guess not

living nightmare: :(

———————————————

In the end, it’s surprisingly easy for their kids to do things without them noticing.

Patton doesn’t Roman sneaking a camera into his backpack on the way to school, or the way he nods at Logan as they spilt up upon reaching the gates. He’s too preoccupied with scanning the parking lot, seeing if maybe, just maybe, there’s another familiar car here that he shouldn’t be caught looking at.

He doesn’t notice the way Logan texts him to remind him that they’ll be meeting at the park, across the street from the library, at 5:30 pm sharp, next to the fountain, and says that Patton will be there, not him. He’s too busy remember the last time he was at that fountain.

Janus doesn’t notice the way Remus pouts one more time at Virgil as they get ready to go, sighing and rolling his eyes about how boring the others are getting. He’s too focused on how he still expects to see a different person in the passenger seat as he drops them off a block away from the school.

He doesn’t notice the way Virgil doesn’t ask him to remember that they’re meeting after school in the park so he can help with taking the photos, but tells him, in no uncertain terms, that Janus better be in the park by the fountain at 5:30. He’s…busy remembering why he agreed to have the photoshoot by the fountain in the first place.

“Wait, why don’t you want to do the partner photoshoot?”

Janus sighs, leaning back against the fountain. “Because it has me fake being a couple.”

Patton’s mouth opens and closes and Janus sighs. Patton looks at the ground.

“I don’t believe that kind of bond can be just an arrangement,” he says after a moment, “as if it were a…contract or something. For something that they want but not—not like that.”

The fountain burbles quietly. Janus tips his head back to look at the stars.

“And what do you want?”

Patton turns, straightening as the frustration in his voice drifts away. “What do I want?”

Janus nods.

“What a good question,” he murmurs, looking at him, “what I want…is for you to come closer.”

Janus blinks in shock, his brow furrows just the slightest bit. Patton smiles and beckons.

“Yes,” he encourages when he takes a tentative step, “come closer.”

He stands to his full height as he stops in front of him, still searching his face for a clue as to what is going on. He doesn’t hold his gaze, instead looking at him with such awe that the sweet thing flushes. His hands come up slowly, hovering above his shoulders before carefully, carefully taking hold of his arms.

“This,” he breathes, “is what I want,” he says as his fingers toy with the roughness of his jacket, “this is what I want, what I have always wanted.”

Oh.

Oh.

Janus’s breath catches in his throat but Patton doesn’t stop.

“To have you here in my arms and to know—“ his gaze flashes up to catch Janus’s— “that you feel at home here.”

As his eyes go wide, Patton takes them a step away from the fountain. His gaze searches his face desperately.

“Tell me,” he asks, “do you still feel comfortable here? With me? Is it still home for you?”

It’s too much. The way his gaze threatens to tear his heart from his chest, his words pluck his walls apart, brick by brick, it’s too much. He can be the friend, he can’t—he can’t see Patton like this.

“Please…please…don't turn away from me—look at me.” A hand catches his chin, guiding him back. “Look in my eyes.”

I can’t, he wants to say, it’ll hurt when I have to look away.

“Are you scared?” His face falls. “By what? I won’t hurt you, I’d never hurt you, unless…”

He swallows, and something flickers behind his eyes.

“…you want to go?”

“It’s not that,” he manages, closing his eyes as he shakes his head, “I promise it’s not that.”

“If not, then what?”

“The others—I can’t—“

He doesn’t let him finish, swiftly cutting him off with a shake of his head. “No. No one can tell you that you can’t be here with me. I want you here, as long as you want to be here.”

I can stay? he asks with the furrow between his brows.

You can stay, he replies with the appearance of a smile.

“I know what I want, Janus.” Patton takes the smallest step closer. “Always have. And there was a time when…when you wanted that too.”

Janus chuckles. “You sound ridiculous.”

Patton laughs too. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m happy to be ridiculous if it lets me…”

He trails off and Janus frowns.

“…lets you what?”

“Be yours,” he murmurs as Janus’s heart pounds, “and to hear you be called mine.”

His face contorts as he traces the curve of his cheek again. He follows the trail of warmth, pushing into it with the hesitant desperation of a single trickle of water, halted by a dam in the river.

“You’re still here,” comes the quiet observation, “so clearly you're not afraid…are you?”

“…I don’t know anymore.”

“Then if you didn't trust me…” He swallows. “Then I’d ask you to—to go. Because I don’t want you to be here if you don’t want to be.”

The thought of leaving sends a spike through his ribs, punching a breath out of his lungs. He presses into his hand as much as he dares.

“…but if you do trust me,” he whispers, the fountain still humming behind them, “if you are truly not afraid of my touch as you've shown…close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats, “…please.”

He does as bid, all but thrumming in his hands. The hand on his cheek trembles for barely a moment, as if its owner is suddenly overcome by the realization that they’re here, before he feels a warmth next to his face and a puff of breath that isn’t his own.

“W-wait!”

The air freezes.

His eyes fly open as he struggles to process what just happened.

Patton. Patton. His Patton. He—he loves him. He invited him here tonight because he loves him. He wants to spend time with him because he loves him.

Gods above, he loves him.

He—gods, he just tried to kiss him because he loves him.

He just tried to kiss him.

And he—

—oh, gods, he told him to wait.

“Patton—“ he tries to find him but it’s too late.

The second he meets his eyes, he’s met with a tidal wave of anguish, slammed quickly behind iron doors that fail to banish the hurt from his expression. It breaks his heart.

“I understand,” he says lowly, going to move away, “I understand—“

“No—please, listen to me, I—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says smoothly, his hand already leaving his face, “I understand. That was an abuse of power, it was not my intention to—“

“I didn’t mean it like that, I don’t want you to think that I—“

“The last thing I want is to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“You don’t know I don’t want it!”

“I do!” His gaze flares sharply with anger, with hurt, seas of pain buried behind smiles and guarded expressions. He takes a deep breath and tries to force it away. “You told me to wait. And, forgive me, but I won’t wait to have my heart be broken all over again.”

“I’m not trying to break your heart—“ he scrabbles frantically for him— “please, just listen—“

“You don’t need to explain yourself, you never have, I understand that you don’t want me like that.” He lets him grab onto him but does not stop turning away. “But if you could give me a moment to collect myself, I—“

“I don’t know how to kiss!”

He freezes. “…what?”

His cheeks burn with the weight of his embarrassment and his unshed tears. “I don’t know how to kiss,” he repeats at a much more reasonable volume. He twists his hands in front of him. “I…you…I’m sorry, fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

He buries his head in his hands, willing the tears to stay behind his eyes. As he looks up, he knows he’s going to fail as he spots the red-rimmed eyes staring back at him.

“Don’t ever,” he starts, voice wobbling a little, “don’t you ever believe that I don’t love you.”

His breath leaves him in a rush.

“Of course I love you,” he continues, growing stronger when he lets out a whimper and reaches for him, “of course I love you.”

“Then why—“ he grasps his shoulders, tighter than before, “why did you ask me to wait?”

The fountain bubbles and burbles, the soft smell of their drinks mixing with the sweet smell of the water. It’s warm here, in each other’s arms. It feels like home.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he confesses softly, “not like…not like that. It scares me.”

Patton shifts, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold Janus closer.

“I don’t know how to speak it.” His eyes fall closed, breathing in the warm smell of safe. “I don’t know what to do with it. And I—“

Patton gives his sides a gentle squeeze.

“…I am terrified of what normally comes after.”

“You don’t have to be,” comes the immediate reassurance, “not here, not with me. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for. I will never ask anything of you that you wouldn’t give. Not until you want to.”

“…and what if I never want to?”

Janus feels his soft smile as he rests his chin on top of his head. “Then we won’t.”

“No?”

“No.” His forehead comes to rest against Janus’s once more. “But kissing doesn’t have to lead to that. It can just be a kiss.”

“It can?”

“Of course.” There’s a pause. “As that is the case…”

His eyes open. Is he…

“…are you asking?”

Patton pulls back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“May I teach you how to kiss, my love?”

Janus’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Yes.”

They would say that it took a lot of work. And it did; getting back to a place where they could trust each other again, to live together again, was a slow progression. Over a year, at least, but there they were, working together against the problem, not each other.

But really, really it…

Well, Janus turned around, expecting to see Virgil, and saw Patton instead, blinking in confusion.

Patton mumbled something about Roman and Logan saying he should be here, a small smile growing when Janus says that Virgil and Remus did the same.

“…our kids, huh?”

“Our kids.”

Patton cautiously broached the topic of whether he remembered the fountain. Janus had smiled and said that how could he forget?

“…anything else you remember?”

And, well, maybe there was something to be said about the movies that Roman loved so much and everyone else pretended they didn’t.

Because as Janus wraps his hand around Patton’s hoodie and pulls him in, they could swear they could hear cheering and whooping all around them.

In fairness to the kids, they had an excellent reason for why they shouldn’t be grounded for lying about their after-school plans.

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[arthurflecksgirl]

Your first Halloween spent with Arthur

Arthur never celebrated Halloween before, so you try to give him the best Halloween experience possible.

Apartment 8J seemed different today. The room was filled with the delicious smell of pumpkin spice and scented candles. Countless of them burning in every corner of the room, drowning Arthurs home in golden light. Warm blankets and cushions helped to create an cosy atmosphere while the ceiling was decorated wth all kinds of Halloween images. Self made pumkin lanterns standing on the floor....

You took a step back to get the full view of the apartment. This was perfect. At least ypu hoped so. You tried to see your result through the eyes of someone who had never experienced Halloween before, thinking this was pretty impressive.

The last pumkin was still waiting to be carved. But that was for Arthur only. You couldnt wait to see what kinda face he would choose for that little guy.

A quick look into the mirror left you wondering if he would like the costume you choose for tonight. You wanted it to be perfect. You wanted him to look at you with his big puppy eyes and melt. The black cat costume was pretty tight and not as comfortable as you hoped for, but if he thought it was sexy it would be worth it. You knew from the images he glued into his diary that he was very much into cat costumes. So why not give it a try on Halloween? Its the perfect night to be his black kitten.

You smiled at your own thoughts and made your way into the kitchen. The pumpkin soup was finally done, so as the self baked spooky muffins. Hopefully the smell of it would make Arthur hungry. At least a bit, since his meds made it difficult for him to eat . You placed the food on the table in front of the couch and lit another orange candle before you left him a little love note "May your first Halloween be just as magical as our love for each other". You drew a little pumpkin with heart shaped eyes and stuck the note between the muffins.

Done.

Now everything you had to do was wait until Arthur would be home.

You checked the clock. He`ll be back from the childrens hospital soon.  You sat down on the couch and sighed. Your love for him was immeassurable. Just thinking of him making the kids at the hospital smile with his little dances and magic tricks made your eyes water. He was the purest soul wih the biggest heart you have ever met. All he wanted in life was to see people happy. And all you wanted in life was to give those smiles back to him. He needed it. He needed smiles and love and happiness so desperately and he deserved all of it and more.

You knew for a fact that Arthur never experienced halloween before. Or christmas. Or his very own birthday even. His so called family would have never done anything for him. Not even when he was little. Especially not when he was little. Arthur grew up unloved, which created a huge hole in his heart only you were able to fill. And you filled it with your unconditional love every day. You filled it with warm and cosy light until he was radiating it on its own.

And tonight you would give him the most memorable Halloween ever. He would tell your kids about it some day, if you would ever have kids together.

A noise. Keys turning in the door lock. He was back. You checked your hair to make sure to look perfect for him and headed to the door. Arthur was falling into your arms, realizing that something was different. His puffy Carnival wig felt tickelish against your cheek.

"Y/N?.....let me take a look at you....wow...you`re.....wow. Oh my god...." if he wasnt wearing his clown make up you would have been able to see him blushing. Cat costumes really did a lot to him. "Thats just...." his eyes started glimmering "You`re a cat!"

You took off his big clown nose to kiss the tip of his own nose  before you put it back on, laughing "Yeah....I guess I am. Do you like it?"

Arthur wrapped his arms around your hips, staring at you with love "If I.....Like it? You are kidding me right? This is making me wild....Oh my god. I need to kiss you."

You couldnt help but laugh at his cuteness "So what are you waitng for?"

Arthur pulled you closer and pushed you softly against the wall. His hands all over you while he kissed you passionately. You could still taste the cigarette he was smoking before he got into the elevator. He grabbed his wig and threw it on the floor. As soon as his brown curls got exposed you put your hands into them. Oh how familar they felt between your fingers.

"My sexy, little kitten" he whispered into your mouth "I`m so glad to be home with you. I missed you so much. " His hands wandered down your legs. You wanted him. Now. But this had to wait. Time was running out. The kids will soon be ringing the door.

"I missed you,too, darling. "You held his face between your hands "But you gotta wait until tonight to see this kitten get undressed".

Arthur frowned "Baby?"

"We`ve got a lot to do today. Look!"

You turned him around to show him what he haven`t seen yet.  Arthur glanced at the living room "Oh my god. Y/N! This is....this looks wonderful. You made all of this by yourself?"

"Sure. Everything for you, Arthur. I know you never celebrated Haloween before. I just wanna make sure today is gonna be your first".

Arthur walked through the room, observing all the details of your decoration. "I love the candles and it smells so good. I love everything. This is amazing. Thank you so much!" He sat down and lit himself a cig, noticing the bowls on the table.

"You made pumkin soup and muffins! Oh baby, I dont even know if I deserve all of this....you`re the best." he inhaled the smoke and leaned back on the couch "I dont even know what to say".

You sat down beside him, toching his colorful tie, kissing his white cheek "I`m glad you like it. We gotta hurry a bit, the kids will start with their trick or treat tour soon!"

"Ohhhh! I`ve always wanted to give them sweets but I never had the money to buy them anything..."

"I got some goodies for them. You can hand it to them when they`re at the door."

"Awesome!" he smiled "Do you think they would like to hear some jokes? Or see some of my magic tricks?"

"Of course, Artie. I´m sure they will love it. You will be the only one showng them some tricks. They will tell all their friends about you. I am sure."

Arthurs eyes started to shine thinking of this "I will show them some of my best tricks, I swear.  But.... I`ve got no time to change my outfit. I`m just a regular clown right now." He put his cig into the ahtray, looking worried.

You grabbed his hand and lead him to the make up table in the bedroom "Dont worry, we will change Carnival to be a little bit scary".

Arthur sat down and closed his eyes "Thats a good idea! I know you`ve got some great make up skills. "

You started to cover his face with a bit of fake blood and gave the whole face paint a darker look to it. Arthur didnt moved through the whole process. Painting his face made you fall in love with every single wrinkle over and over again. His facial features always managed to drive you crazy, even when most of them kept hiding under all the make up. You could still see it through. You knew exacly where his birth marks and spots were hiding. Feeling the urge to kiss his make up off and taste his bare skin underneath.

"Finished!"

Arthur took a close look into the mirrow "Thats great. Now I look like a Halloween worthy clown. Do you think I should put the wig back on?"

"No I think it looks darker this way."

"Okay" Arthur watched you getting the paper plates with the candy, feeling nervous for the first kids to arrive.

"I hope the kids will like me as a spooky clown,too"

"Of course they will. Kids love you eighter way. And they want to see something spooky today, you know?"

"Yeah. I guess you`re right Y/N"

10 minutes after you got ready the first group of kids was ringing the door. Arthur opened it and waited until they got out of the elevator. You handed him a pile of goodies.

"Hey kids! Looking good" Aww look at this scary skeleton boy right there!" The little boy giggled "Trick or treat Mr Clown!" he yelled.

Arthur frowned "Ohhh I sure dont wanna get into trouble today.....but I dont have any candy I´m afraid"

The kids made long faces.

Arthur pulled his magic wand and made a little dance. The kids looked at him with curiousity. Suddenly all sorts of candys fell out of his sleeve "Ahhhhhhh look at that! I guess I was wrong!"

The skeleton boy laughed "Hey, how did you do it? We wanna know!"

"Yeah " a little girl in a zombie costume said "We wanna know".

Arthur picked up the candy and handed it to them, blinking "Shhhht....Its magic!"

"Wow!" the smallest one of the kids said "Thank you so much Mr Clown."

Arthur smiled at you as he closed the door again and fell into your arms "Did you see that darling? They loved it. They loved me. "

You stroke his sweaty hair "I told you so!"

Seeing Arthurs face light up meant the world to you.

Another ring of the doorbell.

"Ohhhhh more kids, Artie. Grab your stuff!"

Arthur grabbed the candy and opened the door again.

A scary pirate and a bloody meremaid stood in front of him "Trick or treat!"

"Ummmm......" Arthur  acted like he was thinking hard "Not sure if I got something for you. At least you can tell me why the clown got to the doctor?"

The little pirate was looking overwhelmed "What?"

"Why did the clown go to the doctor?" he repeated.

The meremaid whispered something in the boys ear "Ha! I know it! Because he felt funny!"

Arthur clapped his hands "Thats was the right answer! So this is all for the both of you" he handed them two plates of sweets "Ohhhhh , thats a lot. Thank you Mister!" the girl giggled as they left.

Arthur closed the door and felt more than happy "It feels so good to see them smile" he sighed. The next group of kids got their candy for singing "If you happy and you know it" with him and you couldnt help but crying a happy tear while watching it. Seeing him with kids made you think that he would be the best dad ever. Maybe you should ask him what he thinks about being parents.

After it started to get too late for kids being out on the streets Arhur fell back onthe couch. Happy about the outcome of the evning.

"You did great, Arthur. You made a lot of kids happy today"

"You think so?"

"Yeah"

"Thank you!"

You grabbed the last pumpkin "So Artie, its your turn now. I will tell you how to do it and you will carve this little guy. Better think about what kinda face you want him to have".

"Oh I never did this before."

"We`ll do it together" you said, helping him to cut it open and take the guts out. Arthur couldnt help but laugh "This feels funny to the touch" .

"I know. Okay so now that its hollow you can start drawing a face on it and then you take this and start to cut it out."

Arthur drew a big smiling clown face on it and took the tiney knife to carve it out. The result looked pretty good. He took a tealight and placed it on the right spot.

"My first pumpkin lamp ever".

"Its a great one. I love that you choosed a clown face."

You placed it right in front of the couch so you could see it for the rest of the night.

"Now its your turn to eat something. Wanna watch a scary movie together and get comfortabe?"

Arthur looked at the Muffins while you put a tape in and started the movie.

As soon as you got back on the couch you covered him with his fave blanket and crawled underneath. He immediately took you in his loving arms.

Arthur grabbed a muffin and took a bite. You ate one,too.  "I love those little  sugar spiders you put on top of it. " He now noticed the little note you write to him. "May your first Hallooween be just as magical as our love for each other....oh god, you`re the cutest catlady out there!" He took another bite.  "Its delicious. I wish I had an normal appetite. I think my stomach cant handle more than two of them at once."

"I know, darling, dont worry. Go slow okay. Maybe I can feed you some soup?"

Arthur nodded after he finished half of  the second muffin and let you feed him the warm pumpkin soup. "It tastes so good, its impossible to say no to this." He licked his red painted lips. His hair looked like dark gold in the candle light. Arthur was so focused on the movie and how well you treated him , he wasnt even aware that he managed to eat the whole plate.

"I`m proud of you, Arthur. You just finished your soup."

"Oh, really? Well thats on you. Thank you. Tonight I dont have to go to bed with an empty stomach. "

You put the plate away and rested your had on his tummy before you pulled up his vest to kiss his lower belly , which was now sicking out a tiney bit.

Arthur started to stroke your hair in the most gentle way "So.....what are we gonna do now, Miss kitty cat?"

You slowly started to unbotton his shirt, grinning.

"Oh I see you`ve got something on your mind" he chuckled, wrapping his hands around your waist to turn you over. He was now on top of you, smirking. "Are you afraid of the scary clown? And what he could do to you?" he chuckled.

Your opened the botton of his carnival pants "Um......maybe a little bit?"

Arthur leaned in to kiss you as the weight of his body was covering you like the most comfortable blanket in the world "You better be. Tonight  I`m gonna make you purr!"

[disfordevineaux]

If ur still doing that request thing? I’m not really into romantic love, I’m more of a paternal love kinda gal. (I can’t tell if it’s daddy issues or not) Our dear inspector Devineaux as a father? It can be headcannon or what his kid does while he’s out trying to find LA FEMME ROUGE! If you don’t want to that’s perfectly fine.

Devineaux as a father headcanons:

(A really good headcanon post from someone else I will link HERE) wow and this gif has no relation to him being a dad so I have no idea why it is there.

I must admit I don’t often think about Chase as a father, not even a father figure. He wouldn’t deem himself to be a good one and never strode in that direction. Although, I can’t help but think about Zack unintentionally wanting Chase to be his second cool dad who smokes a whole cigarette in a single gulp, can grow a beard in 0.9 seconds, would punch god if pissed off enough, cries in the shower and suppresses his feelings. But ill see what I can do. It’s nice to think of someone going soft for a babbie.

Now if I’m honest I don’t think he’ll ever be comfortable having kids. I think it would take a lot for him to warm up to the idea.

But it would instantly cure his perpetual loneliness. 

No matter the gender (or absence of gender) of the child, it will take after their father in the height department as well as inherit his facial structure. I feel like the only truly dominate things about Devineaux are his genes.

On that, he worries that the child may inherit his more, volatile tendencies. He knows he’s a bit of a wreck and isn’t sure if he was born that way or environmental factors moulded him so. Luckily for him, a shitty upbringing was mostly responsible for that.

Look we all know once the child is here, born into the world it’s like a switch flicks on in his brain. He gets is now, the appeal, how soft they are, the way they smell like warmth and how teeny tiny they are.

Will become very easily flustered when the child won’t stop crying, is sick or any kind of distress. He thinks it’s his fault, that he did something or the child can sense his horribleness and has no idea how to quell the pain their child feels.

His child will be so strong-headed and outspoken in a positive way Chase will have no idea how this child is his as when he was a kid everything he did was shrouded in a negative hate cloud of self-deprecation.

He would throw himself into a fire if it would make his child smile for even a second.

Makes sure he sets a good positive example for them to follow despite hoping they don’t end up like him. Children are sponges and he wants to make sure they soak up only good things.

For someone so ridged to everyone else, his child could get away with murder and he would be oblivious, especially when they are young.

When they are older he is actually able to doll out punishments for misbehaviour but ends up caving in and lets them go. Isn’t a pushover but isn’t not a pushover.

He is just too soft for his child and the bearer and/or other parent of said child.

A certified child carrier™. Carries his child anywhere and everywhere because he can, he likes it and honestly doesn’t want his precious baby walking on the dirty ground when they deserve to be high up and observing the world to their heart’s content.

Gives them everything he never had: Unconditional love and support.

Invested in every aspect of their life to their child’s dismay at times. Just wants to know everything. Kind of nosey.

Always ready to go hard at any physical interest the kid may have in support of it. Be it a sport, hobby or passing interest.

Has the energy to match his child at any time. Never got to fully burn it all out when he was a kid so now’s a better time than any.

Begs with every part of his soul for his child to make friends and be well-liked and hope they didn’t inherit his social ineptitude.

Will always wish they stayed between the ages of 3-7 because he misses how squishy and clingy they were.

DO I HAVE TO EVEN SAY IT? Protective. Helicopter parent on a ‘’don’t you dare touch my fucking child or ill make sure you have to live 600 meters from any school, park or shopping centre for the rest of your life’’.

Not that he would drop work completely (if still working for Interpol) but I feel like he would want to. He has a burning passion for detective work and work in general so I think he’d take years off work if he could without losing his position.

If he does work anytime soon after the child is born he is the first one out the door to get home and see them again. Will not take on any extra work out of fear that it may interrupt his time with the child in any way. (even if that may be hard at first)

Would take his baby to work and has official signage up saying that if anyone tries to touch his child they have to fill out the appropriate paperwork first.

(I’d like to show my true colours here and say this is mad Chasulia vibes. Julia would have drafted the paperwork after Chase insisted they have a physical scheme to stop people from initiating contact with their baby.)

Okay, guys just don’t go near his kid okay unless you want to be taken out in your sleep by Mr Devineaux.

French is the main language between them. It’s his native tongue after all.

Will teach his child swear words and rude sayings in multiple languages because it’s funny to see a tiny little child using profanity. This will backfire on many occasions.

Just proud of his child and is very open about that fact.

The kid is full of energy and reckless. A runner. Kid runs. Chase runs after them every time and always prevails.

Father cuddles any time of the day and night we all know it to be true.

Work Chase and Parent Chase are two different people even when worlds collide.

His child will spend most of their time at school hyping and bragging about their father being a secret agent because there is NO WAY ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH he doesn’t tell his kid stories about that stuff. Chase can’t keep secrets from his kid.

Their child would instantly punch anyone who says they are lying about his dad being a super agent. Chase is concerned that this is definitely one of his traits but gosh darn it, he can’t ignore being proud of his kid for standing up for themselves (even if in a bad way). No one steps on a Devineaux and walk away without a dented face.

When his child is older I like to think they deem their father as a hero. They can’t help it and they aren’t fully wrong. They just admire him not really because of his work achievements or anything like that but for always just being there and constantly loving. Wholesome stuff.

In the end, he was a really good supportive parent who tried their best to achieve the impossible: Raising a child when one is really still a child themselves.

(I couldn’t think of anything good for what the child does when Chase is away. I’m sorry)

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues.  But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d  been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time.  And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”.   He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him  A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.  

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her.  That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man.  A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago.  And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before.  Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home.  She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The  dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.  

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place,  amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her.  All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning  it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning.  I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department.  I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy?  No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…”   she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach.  “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now.  Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just  going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven;  his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of  butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.”  She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time.  Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?”  Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?”  Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all.  Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that.  I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t.  It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you.   And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does,  I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore.  And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw  you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.”   Koen reaches into the side pocket  of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…”  she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body.  Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten.  He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any.   This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit.  Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with.  I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby.  I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps.  It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d  love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears.  “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and   wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity.  It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma  like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s  exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is.   Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler?  You know him; you know how strong he is.  You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now.  I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly.  “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense;  chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is  just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps.  “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital.  Where people are really bad.  EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know.  He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again.  That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore.  You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth.   Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear.  You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…”  her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it.   “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something.  I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think  I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool   metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

[milomeepit]

An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

[littlelovelymemes]

(    *    & .    ---    ‘   YOU   ’   (   NOVEL   )   SENTENCE  STARTERS .

*   starters  from  the  2014  novel  ‘   you   ’   by  caroline  kepnes .   warnings  for  sex ,   violence ,   stalking ,   &   swearing .

‘  you  blush  and  i  could  love  you .  ’

‘  most  people  would  say  i’m  the  fuckup .  ’

‘  it’s  no  secret  that  most  people  are  fucking  idiots .  ’

‘  he’s  a  pretentious  fuck  and  a  liar .  ’

‘  you  need  an  escort ,  especially  if  you  want  to  dress  like  a  fucking  whore .  ’

‘  i  like  that  you  take  care  of  yourself  instead  of  filling  your  home  and your  pussy  with  a  string  of  inadequate  men .  ’

‘  you’re  a  sweetheart .  you  see  the  best  in  people .  you  complement  me .  ’

‘  who  can  sleep  with  you  in  the  world ?  ’

‘  i  will  take  that  balloon  and  tie  it  around  their  neck  because  who  the  fuck  can  cunt  out  over  a  balloon ?!  ’

‘  the  assholes  are  always  puzzled  when  the  order  of  the  universe  is  restored ,  when  they  are  held  accountable  for  their  cowardly ,  pretentious ,  loveless  ways .  ’

‘  some  guys  are  assholes  and  you  have  to  accept  that .  ’

‘  the  problem  with  books  is  that  they  end .  ’

‘  the  only  thing  crueler  than  a  cage  so  small  that  a  bird  can’t  fly  is  a  cage  so  large  that  a  bird  thinks  it  can  fly .  ’

‘  you  are  not  easily  rescued .  ’

‘  yeah , i  don’t  have  a  yale  degree ,  but  my  bullshit  detector  is  excellent .  top  drawer ,  even .  ’

‘  the  world  fell  out  of  love  with  love  at  some  point .  ’

‘  your  lips  were  made  for  mine .  you  are  the  reason  i  have  a  mouth ,  a  heart .  ’

‘  if  we  were  teenagers ,  i  could  kiss  you .  ’

‘  you  ooze  joy  and  she  is  an  open  wound ,  shrill  and  wan ,  unfucked  and  unloved .  ’

‘  she  knew  she  was  killing  me  and  she  knew  that  i  was  not  the  type  to  go  down  without  a  fight .  ’

‘  i  know  the  power  of  silence .  i  remember  my  dad  saying  nothing  and  i  remember  his  silences  more  vividly  than  i  remember  the  things  he  said .  ’

‘  happiness  is  believing  that  you’re  gonna  be  happy .  it’s  hope .  ’

‘  but  did  you  read  them ,  fuckface ?  ’

‘  if  people  could  handle  their  self - loathing ,  customer  service  would  be  smoother .  ’

‘  the  trouble  with  society  is  that  if  the  average  person  knew  about  us  --  you ,  alone ,  orgasming  three  times  a  night ,  and  me ,  across  the  street ,  watching  you  orgasm ,  alone  --  most  people  would  say  i’m  the  fuckup .  ’

‘  you  are  a  woman  and  i  am  a  man  and  we  belong  in  the  dark  together .  ’

‘  talking  to  you  is  like  traveling  through  time .  ’

‘  the  most  important  thing  i  know  is  that  i  want  the  possibility  of  you  more  than  the  reality  of  her .  ’

‘  my  middle  school  health  teacher  told  us  you  can  only  hold  eye  contact  for  ten  seconds  before  scaring  or  seducing  someone .  ’

‘  eye  contact  is  what  keeps  us  civilized .  ’

‘  love’s  a  marathon ,  not  a  sprint .  ’

‘  well ,  sometimes  you  just  want  to  go  where  it’s  dark ,  you  know ?  ’

‘  some  people ,  it’s  like  they  care  more  about  their  status  updates  than  their  actual  lives .  ’

‘  some  people  on  this  earth  receive  love ,  get  married ,  and  honeymoon  in  cabo .  others  do  not .  some  people  read  alone  on  the  sofa  and  some  people  read  together ,  in  bed .  that’s  life .  ’

‘  don’t  make  a  baby  if  you’re  not  capable  of  unconditional  love .  ’

‘  when  i’m  nervous ,  i  get  nasty .  it’s  a  problem .  ’

‘  that’s  because  every  day  is  the  only  day .  ’

‘  she’s  dead  inside ,  like  a  corpse .  she  instagrams  methodically ,  clinically ,  as  if  she’s  gathering  evidence  for  defense ,  like  her  entire  life  is  dedicated  to  proving  that  she  has a  life .  ’

‘  we’re  too  old  to  be  young .  ’

‘  full  of  disclaimers ,  you’re  like  a  warning  label  on  a  pack  of  cigarettes .  ’

‘  if  you  knew  what  i  went  through  to  get  into  your  home ,  that  i  messed  up  my  back  trying  to  know  you ,  inside  and  out ,  you’d  judge  me  for  it .  ’

‘  when  a  girl  likes  talking  about  you  more  than  talking  to  you ,  well ,  in  my  experience ,  that’s  the  end .  ’

‘  you  grow  through  love .  you  don’t  postpone  love  until  you  stop  growing .  ’

‘  you  know  they’re  all  pussies ,  each  and  every  one  of  ‘em .  ’

‘  most  kids  are  assholes ,  just  like  most  adults .  ’

‘  it’s  like  they  can  smell  the  public  school  on  me .  ’

‘  who  can  sleep  with  you  in  the  world ?  ’

‘  he’s  been  to  rehab ,  which  is  a  travesty  ;  you  can  tell  by  his  smug  face  that  he’s  not  capable  of  genuine  addiction .  ’

‘  there’s  emptiness  in  him  that  can  never  be  filled ,  emptiness  that  dressed  up  well  at  prep  school ,  where  a  lack  of  willpower  is  called  creativity .  ’

‘  what  a  shame  to  be  so  angered  by  what  you  don’t  have  that  you  treat  what  you  do  have  like  it’s  nothing .  ’

‘  i  think  that  all  children  do  better  with  happy  parents  than  married  parents .  ’

‘  brunch ,  a  meal  invented  by  rich  white  chicks  to  rationalize  day  drinking  and  bingeing  on  french  toast .  ’

‘  you  are  a  monster ,  deathly ,  solipsistic  to  the  bone  and  you’re  blasphemous  because  all  you  want  is  you .  ’

‘  is  your  twitter  bio  your  subtle  way  of  announcing  that  you’re  an  attention  whore  who  has  no  standards  and  will  give  an  audience  to  any  poor  schmuck  who  says  hello ?  ’

‘  you  miss  me .  and  i  miss  you .  ’

‘  i  cry  and  watch  pitch  perfect  and  sing  along  with  the  barden  bellas .  i  don’t  want  to  be  a person  who  knows  the  name  of  a  fictional  a  cappella  group  in  a  chick  flick  but  that’s  what  love  has  done  to  me .  ’

‘  it’s  amazing  how  good  50  and  sunny  feels  after  you’ve  been  bleeding  in  12  with a  windchill  of  go  fuck  yourself .  ’

‘  you  want  to  know  what  i  know  and  hear  what  i  like  to  hear .  ’

‘  you  relax  your  arms  and  lower  your  legs  and  when  animals  open  up  like  that ,  they  want  to  fuck .  ’

‘  i’ll  fucking  kill  hugh  grant .  ’

‘  life  isn’t  always  ideal ,  not  for  most  people .  ’

‘  what  makes  us  become  us ?  what  fucks  us  up  and  why ?  ’

‘  i  want  life  to  move  slowly  because  i  want  to  anticipate  you  with  all  my  heart ,  greet  you  with  all  my  heart ,  fuck  you  with  all  my  heart ,  and  miss  you  with  all  my  heart .  ’

‘  i  have  to  laugh  because  i  sound  like  a  greeting  card  but  i  deserve  this ,  you ,  joy .  ’

‘  i  hope  you’ll  ask  me  to  eat  you  out  in  the  bathroom  at  starbucks .  ’

‘  he  cheats  on  you .  a  lot .  compulsively .  ’

‘  it  means  you  covet  me .  maybe  even  more  than  i  realize  since  right  now  your  hand  is  heading  to  your  cunt  yet  again .  ’

‘  you’re  so  clean  that  you’re  dirty .  ’

‘  they’re  in  their  own  world ,  where  good  things  happen ,  a  quarter  mile  and  a  million  light  years  away .  ’

‘  night  moves  don’t  work  in  the  morning .  ’

‘  you  don’t  want  to  be  spanked .  you  want  love .  ’

‘  dear  girl ,  you’re  not  an  island .  be  populated .  be  welcoming  to  love .  ’

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight, chapter six (Branjie)--athena2

Summary: Previously: Vanessa apologized to Brooke, and Brooke confessed that she has a daughter Now: Brooke explains her story

A/N: Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback on this fic! I really do appreciate all your comments, they make me so happy and encourage me to keep going. I know we could all use a little distraction right now, so please enjoy this chapter, and comment if you’d like! Thank you to Writ for being the best beta and helping me SO much with this chapter (seriously, it was a 10k monster before they helped).

Read on AO3

Brooke is still sniffling as Vanessa moves her to the couch, trembling with vulnerability. Vanessa is the only one she could be vulnerable around, who wouldn’t tell her to stop crying and grow up like her parents used to. Vanessa would wipe her tears, just like she’s doing now, and Brooke can’t bear the familiarity, the warmth of Vanessa’s fingers, a warmth she never thought she’d experience again.

She reaches for Vanessa’s hand, fingers intertwining, and Brooke knows she has to explain, but she wants to hold Vanessa’s hand just a bit longer, absorbing memories from her skin.

“I…” it bubbles up into another sob, one Brooke would cover her face to hide if she could let go of Vanessa’s hand. But she can’t let go, not when Vanessa’s touch is the only thing holding her down, keeping her together.

“Shh, breathe first,” Vanessa says with a softness Brooke doesn’t deserve.

Brooke listens, air entering her lungs in one great breath, holding and releasing like her dance days. Once she was in front of the audience, she’d be fine, her body taking over and performing without thought. It’s the same power she got doing cons: normal, nervous Brooke was gone and confident, cool Brooke was in her place, perfectly poised and polished, never questioning what she had to do. Nothing could hurt her when she was like that.

She thinks it’s going to hurt now.

“I don’t know where to start,” Brooke admits.

“I don’t either, with you droppin’ that soap opera stuff on me.” Vanessa smiles and Brooke manages a nervous laugh. Somehow, despite her stomach turning somersaults, Vanessa makes her feel safe, quiets down the noise in her head.

“I always wanted to have a baby,” Brooke starts after another breath. “I couldn’t afford IVF or adoption, so I started small cons to save up. And Frank came along. He did business stuff. I never understood it, but I think that’s what I was to him. A business proposition. He’d pay for the baby, and I’d be his trophy.” She laughs bitterly, shaking her head.

“I didn’t love Frank, or like him, really, but I thought I could make things work, so I went through with it. Maybe that makes me a terrible person, but I’ve been on my own since I was 18, and I just…I wanted to buy a new coat for once. I wanted to actually have food in the refrigerator. To not freeze because I couldn’t pay the heat bill.”

Brooke isn’t proud of what she did. For so long, she was on her own, scraping by, going to bed with her stomach growling, piling on sweaters to keep warm. Running on pure determination and fighting to make a better life for herself. But she didn’t have to fight anymore with Frank, and she had pushed her stubborn independence aside, pushed aside who she is just to live comfortably, to eat a whole meal instead of just an apple that she pretended filled her up. Sharing a bed with someone she didn’t care for, who didn’t care for her, so he could show off his perfect wife and she could have a baby she was desperate to care for.

Brooke squeezes Vanessa’s hand harder. All the shame she felt, all the things she didn’t want to feel and didn’t want Vanessa to know, the self-hatred she’s carried for years, are pressing down on her, and she might crack beneath the strain.

“It’s okay.” Vanessa soothes, and Brooke finds strength to continue.

“So anyway, we did IVF, and Zoey, she…she was born early. About six weeks early, and her heart…it was really weak. For a while they didn’t know if she would make it.”

Vanessa sucks in a breath and rubs slow, soothing circles on her back. Brooke’s chest tightens with that old fear she had while stuck in her hospital bed, sore and exhausted, unable to hold her own baby or even see her. Not knowing if she’d ever be able to. Not knowing if the crib she picked out would forever be empty, the stuffed giraffe she bought forever unplayed with, fur pristine and fluffy when it should be tugged on and matted down by tiny hands, if the children’s books she longed to read–rhyming, tongue-twisting books with colorful pictures–would be read by other children, not hers.

“But the treatments worked, and in a few weeks, she was okay. I lost more blood than I should’ve during the birth, and by the time we got home it was $120,000 for everything, even after my ex’s insurance.”

“Shit,” Vanessa mutters.

“Yeah.” Brooke sighs. “But I was so happy she was okay, I didn’t mind, y’know? I would’ve paid anything for her.”

The rest comes out in a tumble. How Brooke was so worried she couldn’t sleep, would be up all night to make sure Zoey kept breathing. How any cough or wheeze from Zoey made Brooke’s heart pound, fingers already dialing the pediatrician. How the fragile arrangement between her and Frank began to fray, him yelling at her and blaming her for everything, then snapped all at once.

“He conned me, in the end. He did some shady insurance thing where he took the payout and kept the bills in my name, so I got stuck with the $80,000 that was left. Then he sued me for custody, for more insurance fraud shit he’d get with a kid. He had the judge right in his hand. Said I worried too much about her and it wasn’t healthy, and he made more money so if Zoey got sick again, he could pay for treatment. I wouldn’t be able to. I didn’t…I didn’t have enough money for a good lawyer, and he won. He took her. He took my baby.” Brooke lets out a shaky sob, shocked she has any left.

“All the things I thought I’d miss if Zoey didn’t make it–first steps and first words and birthdays… I missed them all anyway, cause he took her, he just fucking…” she sucks in a breath, attempts to wipe her tears away despite the fact that they’re still falling. “He didn’t even want her. He just didn’t want me to be happy. So I started conning again to pay my bills, and then I met you…”

Before she knows it, she’s in Vanessa’s arms, face buried in Vanessa’s chest as she breathes in the familiar scent of Vanessa’s mango body wash. It’s funny–of all the things Brooke thought she would miss about Vanessa, she didn’t think it would be her body wash. But now, even though her back twinges and neck aches from the awkward position, it’s like an anchor, yet another thing for Brooke to anchor herself to as she feels her heart slow, her fingers steady as they rest on Vanessa’s hips. All the while, Vanessa rubs Brooke’s back and whispers soothing words that she can’t make out, little comforts that warm Brooke’s heart just at the caring, gentle tone they carry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was… Scared.” Brooke says hoarsely into Vanessa’s skin. She forces herself to sit up, and the concern in Vanessa’s eyes washes over her, and Brooke knows she hasn’t stopped loving Vanessa. She’ll never stop loving Vanessa.

Vanessa is quiet and Brooke’s palms are sweating. For all the times she imagined telling Vanessa, pictured her reaction, she doesn’t know what she’ll get. Brooke has no idea how she herself would react, and Vanessa’s face, usually so open and expressive, betrays nothing.

“I get that you were scared,” Vanessa says finally, and Brooke flutters with hope despite herself. “I just… how could you keep that from me for nine months? Why would you want to carry that yourself? We were a team, Brooke! You should’ve told me, I could’ve helped you!”

There’s anger there, but not fierce, red rage. Just a light anger, frustration that’s tinged with hurt. Hurt that Brooke lied, but also hurt because Vanessa couldn’t help her. Hurt not on her own behalf, for being lied to, but hurt on Brooke’s behalf, that Vanessa wasn’t there to comfort her.

And there were so many times that, selfish as it is, Brooke wished Vanessa could’ve comforted her. Times when Zoey cried after their day ended, and Brooke took the long way home to get her own tears out so Vanessa wouldn’t see. Times she wanted to vent her frustrations and cry over how much of Zoey’s life she was missing. Brooke just wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would be okay, even if she couldn’t believe it, and she denied herself that comfort because she couldn’t risk telling Vanessa.

“I know.” Brooke sighs. “When we did the gallery cons last summer, I wanted to save up for a retrial. But…I guess I didn’t want it to be real? I didn’t want to tell you everything and get my hopes up in case the con didn’t work, or I lost the trial. It was safer to just not bring it up. And I…how could I tell you something like that and expect you to stay?”

How could Vanessa still love her after that? No one had ever loved her that much. Her parents disappproved of everything from her sexuality to her dance career. Frank blamed Zoey’s bills on her, said everything was her fault. Vanessa is the only person who stayed in her life. The only person who made her feel good, made her feel loved, and Brooke was too afraid to lose that love.

“I would have, though,” Vanessa says sincerely. “I love–I loved you, Brooke. It might’ve taken me a while to come around, and I probably woulda been pissed you lied, but it wouldn’t have changed anything. I swear.”

Vanessa’s love was always unconditional, and Brooke knows she’s telling the truth. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s more, isn’t there? About why you didn’t tell me. I know you, Brooke.”

Because I didn’t want you to think of me the way I think of myself, Brooke doesn’t say. Because surely Vanessa wouldn’t love her anymore if she knew how Brooke had failed. She would see all the things Brooke could have done, all the things she should have done, would see what a terrible person Brooke was for letting her daughter slip right through her fingers.

If she could afford a therapist, they’d probably have a name for it, but the truth is, Brooke didn’t want Vanessa to see all the horrible things she saw in herself. If Brooke didn’t tell her, Vanessa couldn’t judge her or be disappointed in her, the same way Brooke was disappointed in herself.

“I didn’t want you to think I was a bad mom. That I didn’t fight hard enough to keep her. I know I didn’t do enough, and that’s why I lost her…”

“Brooke, no.” Vanessa’s voice is firm. “I would never think that. Never. He took advantage of you. That’s not your fault.”

“I don’t even deserve to get her back,” Brooke sniffles, sure she’s right. “I couldn’t do enough to keep her in the first place.”

Vanessa’s eyes burn with sadness that fades into determination. “Hey. Listen to me.” Vanessa gently lifts Brooke’s chin and locks trusting eyes with her. “You deserve to have your daughter and you’re gonna get her back. This con is gonna work. I swear to you, Brooke, it’ll work, and you’ll have Zoey again. I promise.”

Brooke’s not sure what it is; maybe the fierceness of Vanessa’s words, the way Brooke trusts her without a single doubt, or Vanessa’s eyes flickering to her mouth, but suddenly she and Vanessa are moving perfectly in sync, growing closer until their lips meet.

Maybe it’s because she’s been without this for so long, but it feels like their first kiss, everything new and exciting yet familiar, every inch of her skin buzzing from the touch of Vanessa’s lips.

She doesn’t know how she’s survived without Vanessa’s kisses for six months, and from the way Vanessa’s chest heaves as she leans into Brooke’s body, the feeling is mutual.

Brooke whines when Vanessa pulls away, resisting the urge to tug her back.

“Bed?” Vanessa asks.

“Bed.” Brooke agrees.

—

“Damn, we’re good,” Brooke says, weighed down with her share of $5,000.

“Told you, we’re unstoppable,” Vanessa says.

Brooke pulls her closer, because their weeks of careful planning and scouting and scheduling had worked, and their plan to pose as a fake artist and fake buyer driving up the price of artwork they didn’t own caught the attention of a rich old man, who went to the bank and shelled out the money right there.

Brooke has never held so much money, and it totals to hardly anything when compared to her bills, but she won’t let that steal her joy. It worked, and she and Vanessa can do so much more.

Brooke stands tall with confidence, the kind of confidence she only ever got from dancing or conning, the kind of confidence and pride in herself that hadn’t been able to grow with her parents criticizing her every move.

She knows she has to pay some bills, especially the overdue ones, but part of her wants to take that whole check and call up Ms. Cain, the top custody lawyer in the city, and get her daughter back. But she can’t. Vanessa doesn’t know yet, and Brooke can’t bear to tell her, to have Vanessa support her through the trial–support she doesn’t deserve–to set up a nursery and imagine their life with Zoey, just in case she loses again.

They can do a couple more scams, save more money, and then, Brooke will tell her. She vows that Vanessa will know the truth by August.

“Do you want to go to dinner?” Brooke asks. “I know we should pay our bills, but we never get to, and I just–I want to take you out. Make you feel special. Because I really love you, Ness, even if it’s hard for me to say sometimes.”

“Brooke,” Vanessa says softly, stroking her arm. “You always make me feel special. I know it’s hard for you to talk about your feelings, but I know, okay? I know you love me.”

She stretches up and gives Brooke a kiss, one that lets Brooke feel the love Vanessa has for her, love so true and enormous Brooke can’t understand it at times, can’t believe someone could love her so much.

“I wouldn’t say no to some pancakes, though,” Vanessa laughs and Brooke laughs with her, linking their hands as they stroll down the sidewalk.

—

“You can stay, if you want,” Brooke says as Vanessa pulls her clothes on.

Vanessa bites her lip, and Brooke knows she wants to. “I gotta check some last-minute stuff. And I think you should get some rest tonight. I can tell you’re not sleeping.”

I’d sleep better with you next to me, Brooke thinks. But it’s not fair to say that, to guilt Vanessa into things.

“I should sleep well after that,” Brooke teases.

Vanessa smiles. God, Brooke loves her smile. She loves how Vanessa’s eyes crinkle at the edges as her lips turn up. She loves the way Vanessa shows her teeth every time, her excitement simply too great to be expressed with closed lips. She loves how Vanessa’s smiles are so contagious that Brooke’s own lips curve upward. “You better. Don’t wreck the plan passing out on me tomorrow.”

“Of course not.”

Vanessa’s eyes stray to the picture on her nightstand, and Brooke’s heart skips a beat.

“This is Zoey,” Vanessa says. It’s not a question, and Brooke’s eyes well up with more tears that she blinks away. Sometimes she feels like she shouldn’t even be called a mom because she only sees her daughter for approximately eight hours a month, because she’s not there to sing her to sleep or give her a bath or make her breakfast. But Vanessa knew without hesitation, and it’s proof that Zoey is clearly hers, a part of her Vanessa can see, even if Brooke can’t be with her.

“Yeah.”

“She’s adorable,” Vanessa says softly. There’s a smile on her face but her eyes are far away, and Brooke wonders if she’s imagining what things would be like if she knew about her from the start. “She looks just like you.”

Brooke’s heart warms again, making her feel like a proper mom, but it reminds her that she owes Vanessa more. “Vanessa, um, I didn’t finish earlier, but after I got you out during the con, the police caught me. And in the station, they showed me Zoey’s picture…”

“Oh god,” Vanessa breathes, eyes widening in realization. “They made you choose, didn’t they? Me or her.”

Brooke nods helplessly. She remembers sweating in the interrogation room, tears dripping down her cheeks. How her stomach dropped and she couldn’t breathe as the officer slid that picture in front of her, stating matter-of-factly that she’d lose her visits and any hopes of custody if she was associated with a crime. That she could be released if she just named who she was working with.

“Vanessa, I’m so sorry,” Brooke whispers. She doesn’t know if Vanessa will forgive her, but at least she knows Brooke never wanted to give her up. At least she knows Brooke never stopped loving her.

Vanessa just shakes her head as tears pool in her eyes. She wordlessly helps Brooke into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. Vanessa looks at her tenderly, opening and closing her mouth like she can’t find the words, a rare occurrence for Vanessa.

“I–this is all kinds of messed-up, and I need some time.” Vanessa says finally.

Brooke feels the wind knocked out of her. Of course Vanessa needs time. Brooke can’t blame her for that. But the doubt is returning, taking over her mind, stealing her breath. How much time? Enough for Vanessa to realize she wants nothing to do with Brooke? Brooke knows she had to make the choice she made, but she still doesn’t know if she can forgive herself for it. How can she expect Vanessa to forgive her, when Vanessa had to suffer in prison because of it?

She doesn’t love you, the voices in Brooke’s head say. She’ll never love you again.

Brooke forces them to be quiet, like she’s done all her life. Brooke will give Vanessa as much time as she needs, even as the ticking seconds make her anxiety spiral deeper and deeper.

“Okay,” Brooke manages.

Vanessa reaches down and kisses Brooke’s forehead. “Sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Despite the happy sleepiness making Brooke’s body heavy, it takes hours for her to fall asleep, tossing and turning and kicking the covers away before pulling them back. But when her subconscious blesses her with dreams of Vanessa, she doesn’t even mind the lack of sleep.

—

“This is for you,” Brooke says, the heart necklace twinkling in the light.

“Brooke, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Vanessa says, but Brooke can tell she loves it.

“I wanted to.” They’ve done a few more art cons and they’ve been cautious about spending on non-essentials, but when Brooke finally has the chance to buy something nice for herself or Vanessa after so many years of struggling to buy food, how can she not take it?

“Put it on me?”

Brooke slips behind Vanessa, her fingers dancing over Vanessa’s neck. She clasps the necklace after fumbling the first two tries, her heart fluttering with the thought that she gave this to Vanessa, that Vanessa will think of her when she wears it.

Brooke can’t resist trailing soft kisses along Vanessa’s neck, finally spinning her around and pressing one to her lips.

“It’ll be like a good luck charm,” Vanessa says, because they’re running another art scam, the biggest yet today.

“You’re my good luck charm.” Brooke says, pulling Vanessa close for one last hug.

—

When Brooke wakes, sheets tangled around her legs, chest still warm from a hug that happened long ago, she hopes she can be Vanessa’s good luck charm tonight.

[pussymagicuniverse]

THE DAY SHE SWALLOWED THE SUN

This is the story of a child born at noon. Sun, high in the sky, had beamed at her as she stared him down, curious. It had been centuries since anyone had looked him in the eyes.

This is the story of a child with a prophecy. “One day she will devour the sun,” the snake oil had hissed from the bottom of the frying pan. “One day she will plunge you all into darkness and she won’t shed a tear.”

Her parents had wept, but there was still time before their daughter grew strong enough to pull off such a feat, they thought.

They changed their mind when, at age five, she said: “when I’m big I’ll fly to the sky, take Sun by the hand, and we’ll go somewhere just the two of us to be happy forever!”

It could have been sweet, but the adults had been forewarned and the collective gasp that resounded signalled the beginning of the end of Skel’s life.

The way it happened was this:

First they came for her in the middle of the night with the moon as their witness, a shield between the little demon and the sun.

Then they threw her in the pit-house they had kept empty since her birth, and had put back in shape in the hours between her innocent declaration and the abduction.

After that they locked the door from the outside, and that was it. She was petrified, in tears, alone in her prison cell.

As she grew stronger and older she could have broken free if she’d tried. She supposed the wattles making up the walls could be punched through: she would have kept at it until the hole was big enough for her shoulders and squeezed through there, taken off. That last part would have been tricky; they were always watching her in daylight, never too confident that the pit-house would hold her. Why, she was a legendary monster after all.

Only Sjór had ever been sympathetic to her plight. The dark-haired girl had cheered Skel on about her plan to elope with the sun way back when, reasoned with the adults that as long as they had the moon, who cared about the sun? Light was light was light.

“Ignorant little runt.” Auntie had pinched Sjór’s ear very hard as she had admonished her. “The moon only reflects the sun’s light, it’s worthless on its own. Without the sun, we’ll be forever in the dark and all of life will die, your silly moon first of all. Do you want it to die?”

Auntie had been satisfied to hear Sjór cry — she might have shocked some common sense into the child. But Sjór had been crying because she didn’t like being yelled at, and her ear hurt, and she was scared for Moon. The moon kept the sky away from the sea, drew waves up along the shore, brought fish, made the blood in Sjór’s temples thrum and pound. The moon was beautiful and it was everything, but everyone in the village only ever had eyes for the sun — nevermind that they couldn’t actually look at it.

Sjór would have been bitter, had Skel not shown her how empty the villagers’ devotion really was.

The alleged sun-eater was allowed to leave her house every night as the moon shone high in the sky, as long as she went back in before first light. She would spend the night awake, silent unless her only friend was there to keep her company. With Sjór by her side she would relax then wax poetic, asking about what her dear Sun had looked like that day and how much the crops had grown thanks to him. Oftentimes the younger girl would offer Skel a few flowers, swearing to herself it was the last time when she’d see tears run down Skel’s cheeks, but inevitably Sjór would give in and bring more because the tears were nothing compared Skel’s radiant smile.

“I feel so close to him. Is it silly?” The prisoner asked one day, rolling the stem of a beautiful sunflower between her fingertips.

“I don’t think so. I’m sure in some way he’s always with you. Look!” Sjór brought her forearm close to Skel’s, both girls marvelling at the contrast there. “”I heard it’s called ‘sun-kiss’. He never kisses me, who’s near him every day, but he still finds a way to kiss you, who’s hidden from him. “ She leaned in close to her friend, whispering her certitude with the reverence it deserved and the secrecy it required. “You’re not the only one who cares, Skel.”

When she separated from her friend that night, Sjór decided it was time to bring the prophecy about.

It took several days and nights conspiring with her beloved before Sjór could tell the sun-eater the good news.

“I have a plan,” she whispered hurriedly against the door of Skel’s pit-house. “The moon and I can help you meet the sun. Be ready tomorrow after noon.”

Now Skel couldn’t help her heart from leaping to her throat at those words, but a great beast had made its nest in her chest over the many years of her imprisonment. The elders called it ‘humility’ but she wasn’t so sure. ‘Humidity’ seemed more like it: a damp, dark, slumbering emptiness that took away the colours she so loved once upon a time. Hope, beautiful and entrancing, now looked dull as a dead eye.  She trusted Sjór to try, but further than that Skel expected no miracles.

She was astounded when she heard the shouts. The disbelief and fear cut through the stale smell of mud that permeated everything she owned. She was anxious to get out like if she didn’t she would never breathe again. Sjór’s words came back to her and hope, that fragile bird, pounded against her flesh with what she knew now to be despair, the foe turned friend as pain didn’t register while she scraped at the wattles with her nails, her strength and speed increased to let her out in time.

When at long last her feet touched the still-warm ground it was night like she had never known it before. In the sky hung an egg — a gigantic, perfectly round, jet black egg.

No, that wasn’t right. Peering closer, eyes squinted nearly shut she could see rays fighting to slip under the dark circle’s guard. Several things happened at once: she understood, she gasped, she fell, she sobbed; Sjór’s hand squeezed her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, he’s unharmed. The moon is hiding him away so that you can leave your hut. You can go to him now, but you need to be quick.”

“How?” How was that possible, how had Sjór and Moon planned this, how would she run to him when he was still so high in the sky?”

“Moon will let go of him in a moment. When she does, make sure you run as fast as you can then jump on the first ray of light that touches the ground. It will bring you to him.”

The next few minutes were tense. Skel didn’t dare move, not knowing where the first ray would hit, yet fearing she’d be too far out of reach at the same time. Sjór wrung her hands to the point where they were painful and red, but her worry for her dear Moon held all her attention, thus she hardly felt any pain at all. She was afraid that any time now the fighters would decide to bring down the shield obscuring the Sun from view and hurt the being she loved most in the world.

Eventually Moon slid a hair’s breadth to the side. Something thin and weak peaked out behind it and extended a hand towards the ground. It couldn’t reach yet, but Skel saw the spot it pointed to and started to run. Sjór didn’t see her go, too focused on the Moon still. Her eyes had watered and her pupils were blown wide from the spectacle, but she couldn’t care less. She would witness this to the end, should it be the last thing she ever saw at all.

Skel’s feet barely touched the ground. She dodged between men and women, jumped above children’s head like a doe charging towards freedom. As she did so the ray of light grew in width and strength, more visible by the second as the moon receded. Skel drew more strength in her legs, pushed faster, jumped higher — and there was the warmth, there was the glow. The last of her energy pushed her high in the air and when she landed, she was home. Immense and merciless the Sun drew his hand back against his chest, sparing the falling Moon a fond smile. She would have returned it, too, had she not been staring at an unseeing, sobbing Sjór.

You’ll be all right now, thought Skel.

“They’ll be all right now,” said the sun.

When Skel at long last turned her face towards him she saw that he was beautiful: draped in dripping light, long lashes a golden blond, and if the glow of Skel’s skin was his kiss then she hoped the rich brown of his was her love, bruising him for its intensity. She had so much to ask him, so much to confess. The pain of hope, the torture of hopelessness. Her doubts in herself and in him; the feeling that he had never cared for her at all.

She decided any of those would make a good start.

“Have you ever looked at me?”

“Everyday.”

“They said I’d kill you.”

“With you I am finally alive.”

 The kiss they shared didn’t feel like a first time.

When the Lover and the Sun plunged into the sea, the resulting waves got so big they reached the clouds. They were sizzling with heat and took everything with them; droplets burned holes into skin, bit maps onto naked backs. The moon landed between Sjór and the wave, draped her beloved meddler into her marble-soft arms and held her tight. That was when  Sjór realised she had never known bliss nor safety before, and that the one providing both those things was fated to disappear.

“I don’t want you to go,” she sobbed against the Gibbous petting her hair.

“My sweet one, I will go nowhere without you.”

“But they said you would die!”

Moon took Sjór’s face in her hands and allowed her smile to tremble, so long as her voice was firm. “That’s because they forgot how the sun was born.”

As the moon laid her lips upon Sjór’s they became warmer, mellower, like melting wax under midday heat. Sjór felt pain irradiate through her chest, the searing heat of her heart biting like frost. They held on fast to each other, clinging — fingernails digging — despair binding sister souls until Sjór couldn’t tell herself apart from the one she loved. And Moon, well. Moon smiled and smiled and smiled, and from it came the purest light — one born of unconditional love given and taken in equal measures.

Up they went, lifted through the air until people looked like ants and rivers like ribbons and mountains like heaps of powdered sugar. Further still they glided through the clouds and up in the sky where it was dark save for what they touched. In the lonely expanse of the galaxy was silence and frost, but together they would weave a new pattern as far as their arms could reach.

Somewhere down the line Sjór had come undone and had been put together. Her senses were gone, replaced by something… different.

“I don’t have eyes, but I can see little coloured dots revolving around us.”

“These are our children, the planets and satellites.”

“I don’t have ears and yet I can hear you.”

“That would be because we are as one, our thoughts merge together.”

“I have no body, but I can feel you close.”

“That is love, binding us together for eternity.”

“How can I love you if I don’t have a heart?”

“How can you not have a heart,” smiled half of the one who was now Sun, “when you love me so?”

Fleur is a queer storyteller living predominantly in their own head, which happens to be located in France close to the Belgian border.

Their love for the magical and eerie started with bedtime stories but now transpires into their stories, through which they seek to shine a light on both the beautiful and grotesque aspects of everyday life. With a particular fondness for the Norse and Greek gods, they mix a little bit of everything into their practice – various means of fortune reading, gemstones, and devotional candles are commonplace in their shared apartment.

You can find Fleur on Twitter @moonsflora and on the rare occasion, on Instagram @moonsflora_.

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

Major Crimes-Conspiracy Theory Pt. 2

To me, this episode was all about foreshadowing. I am not ashamed to admit that I am super nervous about tonight’s episodes. I almost don’t want to watch them live so I can be prepared for whatever trauma might be in store. 

“Okay, what happened?” Loved to see Sharon taking control of a crime scene again. 

“Yeah, I just, uh, needed to sit down."

Oh yeah, here we go. Gotta have Sharon collapsing at the crime scene. Grr…

“Nolan, call Andy to come pick her up.”“No, no. I don’t need anyone to pick me up.”

This is personal, he is Andy--not Flynn. This has to be so hard for an independent woman like Sharon--to be treated as weak and helpless. It’s so hard to watch this happen to her. 

“I am the incident commander and I will not have you collapsing in my crime scene. Now you are overdoing it. I will call paramedics….” Yes Dad. Love Provenza’s little lecture here, finger pointing included. He’s so worried about her and this runs full circle. The last time we heard Provenza remind her that he was the incident commander was in episode one when he thought he was going to be running Major Crimes and Sharon shows up at the crime scene. Remember him asking her if she understood English. In that scene he was pissed at her, but now 6 years later he is very worried about her. 

Sharon tries to ignore what happened by questioning what they are seeing at the scene. Everyone is like WTF, you just nearly collapsed and now you’re acting as if nothing happened? None respond to her except Cami, she starts to feed into Sharon’s questioning and the others all start giving her bug eyed “don’t encourage her “looks. Julio’s was especially funny.

“No shit Sherlock, she’s stiff as a board.” I’ve noticed there is a lot more swearing taking place this season and more risqué comments.  I wonder if that had to do with trying to be edgier. I always thought that maybe they weren’t allowed to use certain words but evidently, that wasn’t the case. We’ve heard shit and tits and ass and pubic hair and all kinds of things we never really heard much of over the past 6 years. It feels more real somehow. More how real cops would talk. 

“Uh, Sir, Lt. Flynn will be here in 10” Did Wes address Provenza because he gave the order or was he afraid to tell Sharon “Your husband will be here to pick you up in 10 minutes,” knowing she wouldn’t be pleased that he made that call. As it is, Provenza just gets a sidelong glance from her. 

“When your life is at stake you put up a fight.” Foreshadowing for Sharon? If so, I hope she does fight and doesn’t just give up. In the next episode, she is supposed to have a very moving scene with her priest. My big fear has been that she will be offered a heart transplant option (which would be crazy to move from this could clear up, to you already need a heart transplant)but that there is great risk involved and she talks to Father Stan about it and decides not to do the transplant and just let "Gods will" take over where her illness is concerned. I hope that isn’t the case, because Sharon Raydor is a fighter. I want to see that side of her again.

“We don’t have the newest stun guns?” Interesting that the criminals have better weapons than the cops do.

“Commander how are you feeling?”

“Much better. The extra rest helped. Thank you.”

“Yeah, you see Sharon Raydor slept in and the world didn’t implode.” As soon as Sharon enters the room Provenza immediately jumps up and holds his chair out for her. He's so happy to see her looking well. I was also surprised to hear Sharon admit that the extra rest helped her. I wonder if Provenza knows her diagnosis. Even if the rest the team doesn't know, Sharon and Andy are friends with Provenza and Patrice. Since Patrice is a nurse I could see Sharon discussing her illness with her, and let's face it, Andy needs someone to support him. He's trying so hard to be strong for Sharon. I hope he has someone who is doing the same for him.

“Safety issues, my safety.” This director guy is such a prick. He won’t allow real stun guns on his sets because he treats women so badly he’s afraid they may use one on him. Some men are just oblivious but this guy knows he's a predator.

“Hi Andrea, long time no see.” Love the glare Andrea gives Gus. She’s not letting him off the hook. Gus questions Rusty about Andrea’s attitude and gets mad, asking if Rusty told her why they broke up and if everyone hates him. I get why Gus wouldn’t want them all to know, but Rusty had every right to tell them why he and Gus broke up.  Gus did cheat, he obviously knew what he was doing was wrong, so, sorry if now he is embarrassed by it. He should have thought of that before jumping into bed with Aiden.

“What Aiden did to us is immoral.” Well Rusty, you are only half-right there. Aiden didn’t do it to them, Aiden AND Gus did this to Rusty. They both deserve blame, in fact; I think Gus deserves more blame. He was the one who was in a relationship, he was the one who hurt a person he supposedly loved. 

“I felt like I’m being bought for sex…It’s gross.” Ouch! That was below the belt Gus. Rusty is still struggling with the shame of his past and it was a big sticking point in his relationship with Gus so for Gus to say this, knowing how badly Rusty feels about himself, was really crummy.

“Well, just so you know when I was being bought for sex I never made 10 grand ever. So if that is what this is for it must have been some spectacular sex, Gus.” Great response Rusty.

“Suddenly a lot of people like you would start coming forward.” It’s almost as if they predicated the #me too phenomena going on right now. Aiden caved in to Rusty because he knew there were others out there who would come forward to corroborate Gus’s story if it went public.

“You’re stronger than you think.” I almost feel like everything that is being said in this episode is foreshadowing for the awful things that are coming Sharon’s way. Especially after seeing the preview at the end of the episode.

“You’re not my type. You’re too far over 30.” Cami can be annoying and she doesn’t have much range when it comes to facial expressions, but she is starting to grow on me.

“Your college diploma.”

“I never could have done it without you, Mom.” He’s so right. Just look at where he is right now. Thanks to Sharon, he has a life he never could have dreamed of 6-7 years ago when she took him in. Chances are he’d still be homeless, still be prostituting himself or he’d be dead if she hadn’t taken him in. Now he’s attended a private school, had tutoring and counseling, has graduated from college and been accepted to law school and is interning with a DDA. 

However, more than that he has a love and stability in his life he never had before. He has siblings, a step-father, probably grandparents we never hear about anymore and above all a mother's unconditional love.

Sharon getting so emotional, crying at the kitchen counter seemed so strange and almost scary. Until she told Andy she had cardiomyopathy we never saw Sharon with anything more than tears swimming in her eyes. It just never happened--at least on screen. I am glad we are finally getting to see the private emotional Sharon, the Sharon behind the mask she has to wear at work.

“This is everything I wanted for you; this is everything I dreamed of. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sharon was the only one who saw something in Rusty, who knew he could be more than he was and that she would be able to reach him. She saw a future for him that even he didn’t see (remember Rusty’s ‘kids like me don’t get into college and we both know that’) She dealt with a lot of crap from him over the years but now she is seeing the fruits of her labor and it is overwhelming to her.  I think also this has a lot to do with her illness. She knows that if something happens to her Rusty is on the right path and I also think a part of her is afraid that after all her dreams for him she may not get to live to see them play out.

I thought it was great how comfortable she was passing off her used tissue to Andy and accepting his handkerchief. Andy was completely unfazed. Seems like this has happened before.These are all the little things we could have been seeing over the past two years to get a feel for Shandy as a couple. I feel like we’ve learned far more about them in five episodes this season than we ever did over the past 6 years. So much was overlooked and ignored and that makes me sad.  We could have had this all along.

“Hey, there’s a lot going on.” Andy gets it. He knows that she is over emotional because of her diagnosis. 

“Now if we can only keep him safe.”“We’ll keep him safe.” I love how easy and confidently Andy said that. And for once I hope this is foreshadowing. I hope both Andy and Sharon will be part of keeping Rusty safe during the Stroh storyline and that Sharon isn’t sidelined because of her illness.

“Oh, my son the lawyer.” Rusty is going to have the chance to be what she wanted to be.I wonder if part of why Rusty has been so focused and has not let his feelings or his relationship with Gus interfere with his plans for his future because he knows what happened to Sharon. Sharon had the same dream only she let her relationship with Jack get in the way---and eventually derail---that dream. He isn't going to let that happen to him. Sharon and Rusty are different people. Sharon leads by her heart, Rusty by his head. Sharon will always put the people she loves above professional ambition--even now (giving up the NFL job) Rusty is more like Brenda in that regard. Luckily Sharon ended up where she was supposed to be and I think she would say that she doesn't have any regrets.

“This is the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. I have three children through college and a perfect husband. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Sharon has mentioned the college thing before. She makes it a point to tell Taylor that Jack never contributed to their kid’s college funds and I think that was probably a pretty big burden that she had shoulder alone. So, it’s no wonder she got emotional about this. She was able to get all three of her children through college on her own and now she has the perfect husband with whom to share her life--not the one who was never there for her or her kids. She’s come so far. 

Also, while walking down the aisle at her wedding she told Ricky that her heart had NEVER been so full, so we have been getting a lot of confirmation that Sharon is at the happiest point in her life. She has never felt so much love and or felt so blessed. Her saying she’s the happiest she’s ever been and that Andy is the perfect husband is, I think, my second favorite scene of this season--after the I love you so so much scene. I just have to wonder why we were never allowed to see what a big impact Andy has had on Sharon’s life, how happy she is, how much she loves him. It’s like this is all new and the writers woke up and said “hey I think  they love each other, maybe it’s time to show that” There are some people who say they never got Shandy because there was such a lack of intimacy portrayed in the relationship--that it seemed more a friendship rather than romantic love. Well, those people must be feeling the love now. 

I also thought it was sweet that Sharon thanked Andy, thanked Rusty and looked up to the heavens and thanked God and how when she hugged Rusty the last time, Andy rested his hand on them. Such a sweet little family moment.

“Aiden destroyed my relationship which was very important to me.” No Rusty, again, Aiden AND Gus ruined the relationship. 

“You just let me go, without a heads up.” Okay. Gus, you are an adult human being. You have something called free will. If someone comes on to you, you can say no. You don’t need a heads up that someone might make a move on you to say no. Also, Rusty wasn’t wrong in saying that he didn’t want to make Gus feel bad. They were in a pretty bad place when Gus left and if Rusty had told Gus that Aiden only wanted him for the job because he had the hots for him, Gus would have accused him of trying to ruin his big chance and probably would have put him on a guilt trip for not believing in him. Gus needs to take responsibility for something HE did. He could have said no that first time. Aiden only threatened his job after Gus slept with him and wouldn’t continue to sleep with him.

The water bottle scene--This was a little odd. Andy surreptitiously hands Sharon a water bottle, which she promptly hides behind her back. This is odd because a few seconds later she pops a pill and drinks from the bottle in front of everyone. So, I’m not sure why she hid the bottle behind her back. Now, the question is, what do people know? They all had funny looks on their faces when she did this. Because they don’t know why she is taking pills and collapsing at crime scenes? Or because they know why and are worried about her? The previews showed her talking to Mason about what’s going on, but I can’t believe he is completely in the dark. Sharon always follows the rules and I think that would mean that she alerted her immediate supervisor about her condition, the same way Andy had to with Provenza and then her.

“Shut your mouth, you don’t know what you’re talking about bitch.”

“Sit down.”

“No it’s okay Wes, let the big man hit the girl. Go for it asshole.” This guy has serious violent anger issues against women. It reminds me back to the good old days when Sharon got to be the bad ass and got a perp to punch her in the face.

“It’s wonderful, don’t you think, working with your family.” Aww…Sharon loves working with Andy.

“We must adapt, adapt adapt.” Geez, do you think they could have hit us harder over the heads with all this foreshadowing. All that talk about how you can plan and plan for the future but you never really know what it holds for you and how all that planning is both a strength and debilitating weakness if you aren’t able to adapt. Oh Lordy, Sharon’s future just gets scarier and scarier.

The doctor’s office in Beverly Hills- The first scene after commercial breaks and after we’ve been hit over the head with all that future foreshadowing is Sharon and Andy on an elevator. Sharon is clutching onto Andy’s arm and her head is resting on his shoulder. It is such a tender, affectionate and intimate moment between the two. Why oh why is this the first we are seeing of this kind of loving gesture? 

The elevator doors open and it is interesting that it is Andy who steps out and starts to lead the way. Sharon is clutching his arm and almost hiding behind him, to the point that Andy thinks she might be feeling light headed.

BTW-Loved Sharon's long skirt two piece dress and Andy's leather jacket. I love that Sharon's personal wardrobe is so different from work, softer--though I LOVE her work wardrobe too.And Andy is so sexy in his leather jacket. I agree with everyone about Sharon’s shoes though--looks like in an earlier scene Sharon was wearing Mary's clunky Dansko clogs as I've seen Mary wearing them between takes. The shoes were not attractive and didn't seem very "Sharon".

“If anything were to happen, please look after my children.”

“Of course.” Sharon is such a mother. Like most mothers, her biggest concern is for her children and what might happen to them if she dies. She knows she can’t count on Jack to be there for them--hence one of her reasons for taking the job in FID. She had to try to be as safe as possible because she was the only parent her children had. I think that weighed heavily on her for a long time. But now she has a man she can trust and count on to take care of them if she isn’t able to.

“We’ll be two injured hearts beating as one.”

“My God that sounds like a bad country western song.” I love the way Andy can always make Sharon smile or laugh, even when she’s feeling bad. He’s always had this ability with her and I think it is one of things about him that she fell in love with early on.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I think because you finally gave in, really.” Here Andy acknowledges what we all know. He’s been the leader in this relationship. His feelings have been clear from the start. It was Sharon who had all the baggage. But he never gave up on her. He patiently led her along until she finally realized she was in the same place as he and gave herself over to the love she had for him.

“I’ve been so happy in my life, but walking through that door to see another doctor could change everything.”

“Not everything, never everything.” Oh Andy Flynn you sweet, sweet man. I loved the way they cupped each other’s cheeks when he said that. Andy really is everything Sharon needs right now. He is there for her every step of the way. He’s her rock and she’s just clutching on to him for dear life trying to keep from drowning in her fears. Even when they had to let go of each other to go through the door, Sharon immediately reaches back for him again and he pulls her in close. While I am not a fan of this storyline (unless it ends well of course), it is nice to see this vulnerable side to Sharon. The woman who once had to handle everything on her own now has someone to share that burden. Andy is strong and reassuring. He eases her fears by promising he will be there for her children should something happen to her --even though he tells her nothing bad will happen. He brings humor to their situation and makes her laugh, and then just before she goes in to see the doctor he  reminds her that whatever the doctor says, whatever changes may happen, the one thing that will NEVER change is his love for her and the fact that he will always be by her side. SWOON.

[pennyforyourblog-blog]

Thanksgiving

Call me old-fashioned, but you’d be wrong. I love hand-written journals as much as the next person, but honestly isn’t there something more efficient about typing? Perhaps I’d document my life more effectively if it didn’t take so long to get it all on paper. I don’t allocate enough time to myself in that way. I write occasionally and never make a habit of it; I get absorbed in the day-to-day. I’ve come to an impasse. I desperately need therapy. That’s not readily available, however, and I simply cannot do nothing. Perhaps regularly and thoughtfully articulating what I’m feeling, and committing more time to listening to myself will be an adequate, albeit temporary, substitute.

The events that transpired on Thanksgiving weigh heavily on my heart and mind. Do you know the story of the frog in the boiling pot? The anecdotal tale is an unfortunate one. Imagine a frog resting in a pot of cool water. Someone’s just turned the stove on, and the water gradually warms. The frog, rather than wasting energy hopping from the pot, instead decides to allocate its energy to adapt to the warmer water. By the time the water grows too warm to adapt to, the frog has already expelled the energy required to exit. Unable to escape, the poor creature perishes.

My family, collectively and as individuals, have slowly been raising the temperature. I kept asking myself “Why do you subject yourself to this treatment? Why don’t you simply leave? Surely you did nothing to warrant this,”. I continually tried to make it work. I thought if I could just learn to enjoy the scalding water, all would be well. I so badly wanted unconditional love, I allowed the mistreatment to continue. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Being excluded is an awful thing, and it does often drive the victim to try all the harder to be included. This often just perpetuates and exacerbates the issue. What an awful cycle.

I do sometimes like to imagine myself holding the child that endured this into adulthood. I imagine myself smoothing her hair, and kissing her temple. I wish I could tell the small girl who couldn’t understand it all that it wasn’t her fault. That she is worthy of love, though not a soul at the time did. She was absolutely deserving of love. Rather, the people she loved so fiercely despite the way they treated her were unworthy.

I remember that little girl wondering why her cousins and half-sisters met so often with the whole family, and why she and her brother weren’t invited. I remember the moment she realized her family would be missing her high school graduation for a weekend at a cabin they owned; although it was her graduation weekend, she also wasn’t invited to stay at said cabin. I remember when she went to brunch one Sunday and happened upon her family having their meal in the banquet room. I remember that little girl looking around the room as Christmas presents were distributed, and realizing she had only a card and a paste, clearance necklace. Some relatives had so many gifts, she could not even see their person. When she became embarrassed and hurt, she was lectured about maturity and being ungrateful. Unfortunately, the list is far from complete.

This little girl began to reclaim her happiness. It wasn’t a straightforward journey and involved a lot of pain. However, she worried less about what they thought and began to do as she wished instead. Christmas 2016, she traveled to Datil, New Mexico. Her aunt, Lisa, was furious and called her to leave aggressive voicemails. The trip itself wasn’t great, and that winter was a difficult time for her. She’d lost her job, her health, and her boyfriend cheated on her. It was a lot to deal with, and in comparison, her aunt being angry was of little consequence. Call it a rebirth, but that little girl shed other people’s expectations, molted and grew, and became the woman I am today.

Carrie Fisher died on December 27th. It was unexpected and devastating. She was and still is a hero of mine. I took to Facebook to share my grief. Lisa’s husband, Joe, commented. It wasn’t to comfort me or empathize. No, he felt it was an appropriate time to demand I contact Lisa and explain my behavior. Can you imagine demanding a woman you barely know, to do something under a post about bereavement? This entitled behavior “adults” exhibited in the family initiated the chasm between they and I. I use quotations here to emphasize the them-and-us mentality they have towards the eldest cousins. While adults in our own right, we were treated as children.

It was an easy decision to remove all family members from my Facebook. I also elected to ignore my uncle’s demand until I was ready to speak with Lisa about the holidays. We intermittently spoke throughout the year. I updated her on my health progress, job search, and mental capacities. Anxiety and depression can be quite debilitating. They don’t believe in mental disorders. How silly to think this important organ is exempt from illness, while any other can be afflicted with many. I do believe she tried to be understanding, but at the end of the day, her internalized views overpowered her love for me.

I’m still trying to understand what happened just days ago. It’s like trying to remember a car accident. There are snippets, select words, and phrases I can recall. Some of the exchange is lost to me. Like with a lot of trauma, the core incident won’t ever be forgotten.

I don’t believe Seth ever understood my apprehension when it came to family events. He’d seen firsthand how awful my mother could be. But my dad’s side seemed normal. Coming from such a loving and welcoming family, I don’t think he had the capacity to truly understand. Unable to deprive him of the opportunity to see his family, we decided to try and go to all three events. We started at his aunt’s home and enjoyed it. I’d been anxious throughout the morning, and dreading 2/3 of the day. That soon past, and I had hope for the rest of the day.

We arrived an hour or so after Lisa had said food would be served. I knew this and resolved myself to eating at my mom’s later. Although I was hungry and was sure Seth was too, I made no indication of this. While most families on Thanksgiving would never let a mouth go unfed, no matter how late their arrival, I knew better.

Lisa made this clear as she tupperwared the leftovers around me, “I hope you’re eating at your mom’s later.”

I confirmed this and continued to answer my grandparents’ usually inquiries about my life. I received the down-low on the cooking crisis: a dish that set off the fire alarm. Light and small conversations, just how the Hanson’s like.

“Did you eat at Seth’s Family’s?” Grandpa Denny inquired kindly.

“We snacked, but haven’t eaten yet. That’s okay, we’ll be eating shortly at my mom’s.”

My answer, of course, didn’t matter. My grandparents are kind people. They understand that Thanksgiving is a day about family and full-bellies. It was unacceptable to them that I wouldn’t have a full meal until 6 pm. I don’t recall who said what to who, but soon it became clear that Lisa was angrily pulling things out of the fridge to make us a plate.

“It’s no big deal,” I tried once again to nip this in the bud.

Of course, she misconstrued this and growled: “No, it is a big deal.”

She continued speaking, and although I don’t remember her exact words, it dawned on me that she thought I’d demanded a plate. That I’d told her, essentially, that coming late and adding to her workload by asking for food was not a big deal. I do feel that given the circumstances, even if that’s what I had done, it shouldn’t have escalated as far as it did. It was doubly concerning that her perception of what was happening wasn’t even correct. I was being accused of something I hadn’t even done.

“I find it very rude that you show up late and demand food like this. I felt the need to say that,” She finished her verbal attack by throwing paper plates our way.

I was stunned, and tears brimmed. This is something I detest about myself. When I’m hurt, or yelled at, I cannot help but cry. Especially when I know it’s unjust. I can’t breathe and it’s terribly embarrassing. It makes me feel weak. People often say it invalidates any argument I present. Somehow, being emotional detracts from the validity of what I say.

“I feel the need to leave then,” I collected my sweater and made quick work of making my way to the door.

“Of course, you do,” she retorted.

I wish she had just let me leave. I wish she had simply started talking after I excused myself and realized her mistake. Instead, she trailed behind me. She demanded I stop. I told her adults make decisions for themselves, and I was making the decision to leave. My dad followed too, and both overcame me just outside the front door. She demanded I act like an adult and needed to calm down. My dad was kinder and instructed me to breathe. Like I said, I often forget when I’m upset.

The conversation continued. Or rather, her demands continued. She demanded I not swear. She demanded I stay. She demanded I become calm. All the while, she refused to let go of me. I protested this several times, and she refused to oblige. It did become clear to her that it wasn’t me who had asked. It didn’t matter. I was set on leaving, and I think she knew I’d never return. Her mistake had cost her a lot.

When hurt, people do funny things. She was probably hurt I was late. She was probably hurt that she didn’t get much help, and never does. She probably hurts often, and a lot. I recognize this and would be her most likely champion in this fight. Her beliefs and rigid traditions would never allow her to recognize this. Instead, she took her frustrations out on the easiest target.

To regain control, she finally exclaimed: “Get off my property!”

I obliged. It was, after all, what I’d been trying to do all the while. My dad called me, and I refused to slow down or look about. I was locked out of our car until Seth came with the keys. My dad approached me, and Seth was there moments after. Seth clasped my hand and my dad surprised me.

“She was wrong,” he said so matter-of-factly.

I informed him of my feelings. I intended to cut ties. I intended to omit my presence from future family gatherings. I’d be made to feel unwelcome for too long, and this was too much to forgive. They’d be excluded from my wedding, and wouldn’t be involved with any potential children. They refused to acknowledge how lonely they made me feel constantly, and while they decided things like my graduation weren’t important enough to attend, they were now investing in me to be the first to wed and provide them with the things they were so looking forward to.

He remained calm. He validated my feelings of exclusion. He was surprisingly helpful. He let me talk, and did what he could to offer advice. The things he suggested weren’t worthless, but they weren’t relevant. While “don’t make definite decisions while upset” is a solid tidbit, deciding to cut ties wasn’t a split-decision. I’ve been mulling this over since I was young. I’ve been sitting in the boiling water for too long. If I don’t leap now, I’ll die. There isn’t anything to further deliberate.

Perhaps to some, a yelling match between niece and aunt about leftovers seems silly. It would be a strange thing to emancipate one’s family over. It’s just another temperature shift in an otherwise inhospitable environment. It was no worse than any of the other things that transpired. It just happened to be the last thing.

I wonder if I’m being overdramatic. I do not understand why I’m expected to tolerate such great abuse, only to be called too emotional when I react. I think given the circumstances, I’m acting very appropriately. Yet, my mother teased me for it. She’s mocked me since and tried to invalidate what I was feeling.

“It’s always something with you,” she flippantly remarked.

My aunt’s reaction was the same.

She said to both me and Seth several times during the exchange “Everybody has their problems.”

She appears to be under the impression that I believe my burdens outweigh all others. Often, my mother has the same perception of me. Managing my illnesses involves a high level of self-care, and unapologetically doing what I need to feel my best. I think their generation misconstrues that as being selfish and narcissistic.

I think what’s truly narcissistic is displacing your own failings and expectations onto another person, and becoming frustrated when they don’t do what you expect.

As it stands, I keep feeling the need to reach out to her. I suppose I’m hoping for a reconciliation and fairy-tale ending. I understand that won’t happen. I’m still uncertain about to what extent I’ll interact with the family. The idea of never seeing my grandparents again is too much. I do understand seeing them will require meetings outside of the holidays they usually visit for. I also know it’ll require discussing what happened, and rebuffing them imploring me to reconsider.

Perhaps I’ve just leaped from one pot to another. Perhaps I’ll never be free.

[opiiatehoney]

We too often find ourselves in situations that, once in them, there is no easy way out. No matter the words people use to make us believe differently, we all deal with issues so large, they dwarf our perceived ability to negotiate them. Young women, especially, face this reality every day. They need to know they are not alone. They need to know the bravery it takes to face the tough choices is not only required of them, but of the millions of women who have come to the same crossroads before and of the women who will arrive there later. They need to know that, though the decision may seem easy in the short term, the pain of having to choose never dissipates. Our only choices are then to either remove the yoke of living from our own shoulders (becoming an automaton devoid of anima and living life in anticipation of death) or press forward through the pain and find a way to give meaning to the sacrifice we made for our futures. This is not a letter to women and men who disagree with abortion. This is not an attempt to reach out and ignite a debate with any of you. This is not me trying to win anti-abortion believers over by telling you my story. This is not about your thoughts. This is not about your beliefs. This is not about your feelings. This is not about you. This is about my child. This is a story I am no longer ashamed to tell. This is a story of fear, pain, love and loss told on a level of intimacy you may never have experienced before. So, with that being said, here is my letter to the child I aborted: To my baby, Since I was a young girl, I have dreamed of having the perfect family. I imagined my family gathered together, sitting around a fire and enjoying each other's company. I imaged locking eyes with my husband and sharing a moment of silence with him. “Yes, we created this. We did it. Together.” I imagined my life as a mother every day: pressing you against my bare skin, listening to your heartbeat sync perfectly with mine, humming you to sleep, brushing your hair, cleaning up your scrapes when you fall — the normal things mothers do. I looked forward to the day I would get to hold you in my arms for the first time and listen to the musical tune of your first cry in this world. I looked forward to whispering my first words to you: “You can do anything. You have my full support no matter what road you choose to venture down. Never settle. Never give up. Never say you can't. I will be your mother, your best friend and your guide through this world.” I didn't get to do or say these things. The night I found out you were in my stomach, I felt the happiest I ever have. I immediately started planning your future in my head: the outfit your father and I would bring you home in, the color of the prom dress I thought you might want to wear, or the color of the corsage you would give to your beautiful girlfriend. I distinctly remember dropping to my knees and thanking the Lord for blessing me with you, baby. No one could bring me down. I called your dad and told him to come pick me up. Somehow, he already knew what I had to tell him. I promise you, I could hear his heart stop through the telephone while tears of joy flooded his face. We were just about to begin the future I had always wanted. And, then, things changed. Your grandfather had a pretty strong opinion about your mother having a child at 18 years old. With no career, no financial stability to provide for you and no mental capacity to raise you how you should be raised, he helped me to understand the future I faced as a young, naïve mother. He supported us and eventually came around, but he made sure I understood the repercussions that would follow either decision. As painful as the choice I made was, I thank your grandfather every day for preparing me for what I had not yet prepared myself to handle: you. My thoughts began to have their way with me. “Emily, can you honestly raise a child the way he deserves to be raised?” “Emily, can you provide this child with everything he needs both mentally and financially?” “Emily, can you raise a child when you are still just a child yourself?” These thoughts haunted me for days. I fought a battle I was not prepared for. I cried endlessly for nights and lied to your father when he asked me if I was okay. I blamed it on the hormones. I blamed it on everything except where the blame was really meant to be placed: on me. You see, baby, it wasn't just about what I wanted anymore. It wasn't just about the dreams and goals I had for myself. My life took on a much bigger meaning when you were growing inside of me. It was now about what was best for you. My life would revolve around you, and as happy as that made me, I was nowhere near capable of providing you with what my parents provided for me: a life filled of integrity, honor, respect, humility, patience and kindness. I was always so focused on the idea of having you, instead of actually preparing for you. Guilt flooded my heart. I felt as though I had already let you down, already failed you, and at that moment, as though I had already lost you. That morning, as I walked into the brick building hidden away from society, I felt my heart break. I walked into that building having already let you down. I walked into that building with one soul — yours — and left with none. I remember the nurse asking me if I wanted to hear your heartbeat and see you one last time and at first I told her no. After thinking about it for a moment, I quickly changed my mind. I opted not to see you, though, as the symbolic meaning behind simply listening to you meant more to me than anything else. Baby, the beautiful sound of your perfect heart is a tune that stopped mine mid-beat. You were absolutely perfect, and, for a split moment, I swear I could hear you whisper in my ear how much you loved me. You dropped me to my knees. From the moment I knew you were inside of me until the moment you no longer were, you had me living on my knees, in awe of your energy and ability to connect with me. I didn't tell your father what I had done. I lied to him and told him we lost you while your grandmother and I were out of town. It broke his heart when he found out the truth. To this day, I don't know how he loved me through his hatred for me, but he did. Please know that I, alone, made this decision and he played no part in it. I never gave him the opportunity to think about anything but how much he needed you. He wanted you more than he wanted to breathe; you were loved before we even knew you, baby. You would be 7 years old now; you would be beautiful and you would be passionate, but, most importantly, you would be mine. I am writing this letter to you because I want you to know I feel you around me every day. I feel your whispers, your warmth, your guidance and your love. I feel your heartbeat still synced with mine, and I truly believe that is the only reason I still have one. I'm so sorry. I'm so very, very sorry. I am so sorry I was not ready. I am so sorry I didn't have the strength to raise you yet. I am so sorry you began this journey just to be treated as though you were not wanted. Baby, you were wanted. I still want you. I still love you more than any lost soul can love a found soul. I have since been traveling the road of self-discovery. I have searched for the experience and strength I need to raise you properly. I couldn't stay with your father. Every time I looked at him I saw you. Every time he looked at me, he saw betrayal. At one point, I was searching for my soul lost in the building that day, but I realized she will never be again. To be honest, I do not want her back. I have found a new perspective (a new soul, if you will). I have found a love that is rare to many of us. It is the love of the wind on my face. It is the love of seagulls taunting each other on the waves. It is the love of those same waves crashing into each other and still finding their way to the shore. It is love that is rare to the eye, soft to the touch and all-encompassing. When you do come back to me (and I know you will), I will be able to give you my heartbeat this time, instead of you giving me yours. I have loved you since the moment you were inside of me, baby. I have loved you every second for the last eight years, and I will continue to love you for the rest of my days. My promise to you is that when you do come back to me, I will love you unconditionally as I know you love me. I will provide you with every ounce of life that is allowed to me. I will teach you, guide you and surround you with unconditional love and forgiveness as you have so selflessly done for me. I will be your mother. I will be your guide. I will be your best friend. And, you, you will be my baby. I have and will always love you. I look forward to the day you are ready to come back to me. I am waiting to feel our hearts in synchronicity once again. With the rarest and truest of love, Your mother To all the women who have been through my experience, let me tell you this: Hardly a day goes by I don't think of what my child might have been or where my child may have found a place in the world. The pain is still palpable in my heart. That will never change for anyone who finds him or herself dealing with such an issue. Still, I look at my life, my failures, my love, my intellect and all the other pieces and parts of who I am. I must judge whether those pieces and parts add up to a positive or a negative contribution to life. These self-evaluations are impossible to avoid. It has taken me years to raise my head out of the puddle of shame I drown myself in every day. I suffered in silence, and I suffered alone. Everywhere I went, I heard laughter coming from children at play, the snaps of a mother behind a camera making sure she doesn’t miss a beat and the squeals of a little girl when her crush would chase her on the playground. Every time I left the house, I lived my life in slow motion, as if it were my punishment. The truth of the matter is, I was punishing myself. It was at this time, I realized the most important concept I was failing to adhere to: the ability to forgive myself; the ability to say, “You know what, I'm going to be okay;” the want — the will — to continue living. I wasn't doing what I needed to do, which was come to terms with what had happened and prepare myself for future possibility of motherhood. This ultimately led me to realize that if I didn't pull myself out of the slump consuming me, giving up my child would have been for nothing. Do not follow the path of self-recovery I chose to travel, as it led to the beginning period of self-destruction. There are other women who need your words just as I know someone out there needs mine. They need to know this: 1) Never bury yourself in shame, 2) never let your decisions consume you, and 3) most importantly, forgive yourself. If my message reaches the ears of one young woman and helps her through her dark time, it will be worth, as Shakespeare phrased it, “the vicious slings and arrows,” that will surely follow the postings of this letter. This is my story. We all have one.

Emily