#Sorry the maternal instincts really be hitting me hard today

[cosmicseafoam]

thinking about… newborn scrunch BUT on ghoul kits.

What if phantom wasn’t summoned but was born in the abbey and raised to eventually join the band.

Newborn kit phantom would be so fucking cute. Scrunchy little baby ghoul.

[betweenthings2]

hello!!!! i hope you are well ohmygod i’ve been meaning to send an ask for a while but my life has been so rudely busy (i’ve had like one task a day to complete💀 and have failed to complete the single daily task for more days than i’d like to admit💀). today i spent all day in bed and did nothing but nap and scroll on my phone and listen to music much to my family’s displeasure. it was meant to be healing but i fear it did the exact opposite. oh well. hopefully i’ll be more productive tomorrow but it’s not looking good right now… it’s way past my bedtime and im drinking green tea which i thought was decaf but i don’t think it is. i very famously cannot handle caffeine so good luck to me with waking up at a decent hour tomorrow. anywayssssss.

loads of crisps. yeah🩷. i live there you don’t understand a picture of a cat is my HOME. so snuggly and cute and real this has gotten me soooo hyped for the next instalment. i don’t know how to describe it but it just felt so true (???) when i was reading it. i feel like we have such a good idea of who your version of matty and george are and every time something happens to one of them im always like “why of course!!!” you paint such a picture i will never stop praising you for it. fun fact about me but i HATEEEE house animals (criminal i know but unfortunately i can’t hide it even if i try). i just can’t deal with the mess of fur and the smell and the scratched floorboards and the yucky food they eat and the greasy residue that gets left on your hands after you pet one. but since turning 21 a few months ago i have this ungodly maternal instinct towards all cats and the rare dog that enchants me. i just want a little cat so badly and then i want a second cat so no one gets lonely. and i want to name them ridiculous names like timmothee chalamet or pistachio or eras tour melbourne night 2 (these are all very real names from my notes app list. im really set on pistachio). all of this to say i really loved a picture of a cat😭😭 sorry for giving you my whole life story. but it’s your own fault the fic was so good it forced me to overshare.

(ok im proofreading and realised i didn’t even say my point about the chapter. what the hell. what i wanted to say was that i loved how it was so domestic and mostly very fluffy but there was just the perfect pinch of melancholy. i really feel like that’s your signature in these shorter forms of writing that are for the most part quite light hearted. your characterisation of fic!matty is just so compelling because you can always tell that he’s trying and working on himself but these little cracks of sadness and doubt peak through. it just makes my brain melt i love it.

also "Mm, when I was thirteen," George agrees, pulling Matty back into his arms, back against his chest. "You're still just as tall as you were when you were seventeen and," George places one hand on Matty's belly and splays his fingers, pressing gently as if to emphasize the way his fingers reach from hipbone to hipbone, "you're little." YOU ARE A GENIUS I LOVED THIS THE MOST!!!!!

one word was also really really good you have been spoiling us soooo much. i’m really enjoying these shorter works in between the masterpiece that is the big light universe. just like loads of crisps it has the perfect amount of ☹️. the maid of honour asking for demanding coke and george’s half hearted confrontation after just squeezed my heart because poor fic!matty☹️ addiction is so hard especially when it’s what people expect of you☹️

i have not been able to read five yet (or before now that i think about it) because i don’t want to make myself too sad but im going to give you and the anon that requested it a little kiss in advanced because i know it’s going it HIT once i read it. it’s such a perfect concept i yelled when i read the summary.

ok last thing maybe but the prompts have been amazing as always!!! i have the biggest soft spot for my fictional babies being called sweetheart it really pulls on the heartstrings so naturally im obsessed with the recent nightmare one🥹. the smut prompts have been insane too i can’t believe you still say you aren’t super confident in writing them. you are crazy.

i know this one wasn’t necessarily new but ive been reading the “what now🤬” prompts a bunch which is probably not a good idea because ouch. just like fic!matty (and let’s be honest irl matty) i too don’t know how to shut the fuck up💀💀💀 its debilitating for everyone but i just loveeeee to talk so they hit a bit close to home hahahahaaha. but they are so good that don’t even care that they slightly hurt my feelings.

i did have one last thing today but im going to save it for talk shop tuesday because i always miss it and it drives me crazy. so this is my promise that you will hear from me again on tuesday🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

🍵

Hello, Matcha Anon!!! 💚💚💚

I am doing well, I spent my weekend looking at apartment buildings in the city I'm moving to in August and I'm so excited about it, but honestly, who gave life a right to be busy?? It's just rude, you're right. Sometimes you need to bed rot, though. I fully support that. Also, Productivity is not everything in life. Sometimes you just need to vibe. If it makes you feel better, though, it's 8:00 pm for me and I'm drinking an energy drink, so you're in good(?) company for late-in-the-day caffeine =)

I'm so glad you liked the first chapter of Loads of Crips--thank you so much!! The next chapter is in the works. I'm not sure when it will be up, but it's one of my open documents right now. I'm thrilled the characterizations feel real or true to you. As I continue to say, I really don't know what I'm doing, so it's really nice to hear that what I'm doing works.

Honestly, I don't blame you for feeling like that about inside pets. I love my inside dog and she has good manners, but I do get kind of tired of dog hair on things at a certain point. I'm just too soft to have firm boundaries because she looks at me with big, sad puppy dog eyes and I go, yeah, you can have whatever you want. I love the idea of a cat, but I'm allergic and I'm not cleaning a litter box. I'm simply not, but I do think Pistachio is a great cat name. I have a barn cat named Mickey. She just kind of showed up one day and now she lives in my barn.

I'm trying really hard to be able to write fluff when I work on shorter things, especially in relation to my bigger and more angsty projects and it doesn't always work out for me, but I am trying. So is fictional!Matty. He's doing his best. It's really interesting that you see something in my writing as a kind of signature. I'm not at all surprised and I'm very touched that you've paid enough attention to what I write to pick something out, so thank you!!

Genius?? Really? I love it, thank you for that, too!! The self-titled/ I like it when you sleep... Matty/George size difference in insane and I can't help but touch on it when I write something in that era, and fictional!Matty (and real Matty, let's be honest) is absolutely the type to remind fictional!George he was taller once upon a time. He doesn't care that it was ten years ago, he was taller once.

I'm thrilled you liked One Word! I wasn't too sure about it, especially when it comes to my timing. I do feel like I need to clarify, I had the idea before any engagements were announced. It wasn't supposed to be quite as angsty as it was--it was supposed to end with smut and be a little bit higher energy, if that makes sense, but fictional!Matty was too busy feeling sorry for himself. Poor fictional!George knew exactly what was going on, he just didn't want to believe it, and poor fictional!Matty was, again, doing his best. He doesn't want to lie to fictional!George, but he's also thinking like an addict and if his own family (not to say that family is everything or that you're bound to the people you're genetically related to forever) writes him off as an addict and nothing more, how can he find the support to ever do better? Not to mention that he's doing exactly what everyone thinks. Poor fictional!Matty. He really doesn't win much in this fic.

And Five.! I actually haven't thought to much about this fic lately, but I will say that it's really kind of very sad, and made more so by its relation to Learning How to Lose a Thing I Never Laid a Hand On. I look forward to hearing what you think of it, if you chose to share, though! I have, however, been thinking about fleshing the series out with some one-shots between the two things that are up right now. There will probably be a poll about that eventually.

I'm also thrilled that you've liked the prompts I've posted recently! I had fictional!George call fictional!Matty 'sweetheart' once and now it's going to be a staple in all my fics. It's such a sweet and soft pet name. I love it so much, especially in smut. My big hang up with smut prompts is that I worry I get redundant, but I'm glad you've liked them! I have a bunch of prompt lists I want to reblog and I'm trying to work through what's in my inbox, so there will probably be more prompts soon =)

I think you're in good(?) company in terms of not being able to shut up, because I will talk forever if someone lets me, too. My poor roommate used to come home and just be accosted by me and all the thoughts I was thinking. I wasn't always like that, but I have many, many ideas that I need to do something with and that's part of why I write. Fictional!M+G get a lot of my traits projected onto them, and this was no exception, even if there was real life inspiration, too.

I look forward to hearing from you on Tuesday!! You did prompt me to schedule the Talk Shop Tuesday post to be reblogged, so thank you for that! I almost forgot this week and we can't have that =)

[sirowsky]

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group.

(Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, very near miscarriage.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: I’m sorry that it’s been a little dry lately, I haven’t been in the best groove for writing. But I swear this will be the last chapter centred around the med-section for a good long while. We’re going to war from here on out, people!

To those of you who have stuck with this story all this way - I cannot thank you enough!! I LOVE YOU!!! 

Chapter 33

  “That kid you hurled at the wall? Why would he be working with Prince?”

  “He was completely unbothered with what I’d done to him. I mean, he came out of it fine, but he did die for a moment, you’d think he be a little scared. Young people think of themselves as invincible and I figured he just didn’t get how serious it was. But maybe, he saw me being able to do that as something to aspire to? Maybe the awe I saw in his eyes was ambition. Maybe he wants to be a super, and wants it so much that he doesn’t care if some people get hurt along the way.”

  You were back in Marcus’ office, and he was sitting in one of the sofas while you were pacing, trying to sort out what you’d learned, with an uneasy feeling in your gut.

  “Querida, please stop moving, I’m getting nervous just looking at you.”

  “Then stop looking at me.”

  “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

  You threw him a smile, but it contorted into a grimace when a sudden and very sharp pain in your lower abdomen forced you to double over.

  “Hermosa! What is it?”

  Marcus was on his feet and next to you in no time at all, catching you from hitting the floor as the pain intensified to the point where your legs gave out and started shaking. Your back was throbbing and your whole pelvis felt like it was being burnt from the inside. It was so intense that you couldn’t breathe normally, only suck in shallow gasps in between volleys of pain. Your stomach turned and you threw your head to the side not to vomit all over Marcus.

  “Talk to me, querida!”

  “Medical… baby…”

  It was all you could push out of your mouth through the gasps and kecks, and the overwhelming pain. It was worse than anything you’d ever felt before.

  You were only partially aware of being scooped up and carried away, but the rocking motion sent fresh arrows laced with acid shooting through you and you screamed in absolute agony.

  At some point you became aware of other hands on your skin, gloved and practised and efficient. And the light in the ceiling changed, to accommodate the need for excellent visibility for the medical staff. You knew that light a little too well, but it also gave you a small sense of comfort, knowing you were in the hands of people that could help you.

  You heard someone say that they needed to sedate you, or they wouldn’t be able to examine you, and you heard Marcus reply something, but he was too far away, and your own screaming was drowning him out. You wanted to reach for him, to hold him close and take comfort in his warmth and mere presence, but your arms were cramped around your abdomen, trying desperately to protect the little life in there.

  Then he was suddenly kissing your cheek, whispering that he’d be there, and that everything would be okay, but that they had to put you to sleep to protect you from the pain. For some reason, that made your powers flare, and a shockwave burst out of you, sending all of them, including Marcus, hurling across the room and into the surrounding walls.

  The staff were unfazed, quickly scrambling to their feet and returning to the task at hand, and only seconds later, you began to feel the heaviness of drug-induced sleep crash over you.

  As the pain lessened, the tears that had relentlessly filled and spilled from your eyes, completely blocking your view, finally calmed and you turned your head towards where you’d last heard Marcus.

  You saw him coming towards you, looking so scared, and you wanted to touch him. But then the drugs overpowered you, and you drooped away into darkness.

  “It’s okay, mi amor. You’re both okay.”

  When you came to, the first thing you were aware of was that Marcus was lying next to you on the bed, cradling you to him. His breathing was calm and even, but he was awake.

  As the drugs wore off more, you became more lucid, and the memories flooded your mind like a tidal-wave.

  Your hands reflexively found your abdomen, and tried in vain to feel if the baby was still there, from the outside.

  His voice and words washed over you and you could finally breathe again. The tears started up again with the relief, and he kissed your forehead and held you tighter while his hand joined both of yours, trying to reassure yourselves that it really was there and really was fine, even though you couldn’t feel it.

  “What happened?”

  He hesitated, and his voice was repeatedly plagued by tremors as he explained.

  “Your pills… Someone messed with them, to try and make you miscarry.”

  “I took two of them…”

  The sentence echoed through your mind over and over, awakening that beast of maternal instinct inside you, forcing the sadness aside to make way for anger, with the realisation that someone within these walls was capable of something so unimaginably cruel.

  But you were also heartbroken at your own failure to realise the risks of trusting anything given to you that had been made inside this building, right now.

  “And if it had been anyone but you, the baby wouldn’t have made it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t heal yourself, and yet you somehow found a way to turn your ability inwards, to heal the baby, to take back the damage as it was being done by the chemicals. You saved our child, even though it shouldn’t have been possible and even though you were sedated.”

  He sighed and slightly shook his head.

  “I will never be able to express how much I love the bear that lives inside you and makes you the strongest person on this planet.”

  “Well… since I’m never taking another one of those pills again, I guess you’ll get to hear her a lot more in the future.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, he laughed at that. He needed the positivity more than anything in that moment.

  “Good. I really have missed her.”

  You gave him a minute to just be in that moment of happiness, before bringing him back to all the severity that would accompany the immediate future.

  “Where’s Jack Daven?”

  “They’re looking for him now.”

  “If he had anything to do with this…”

  “I know. I hear you.”

  “I’ve never felt pain like that. It was like it was… shattering my bones and pouring acid into them.”

  “I’ve seen you in pain before, and this was different. The way you screamed… I’ll be able to hear that inside my head for as long as I live.”

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  “This has gone too far, hermosa. It needs to stop, we can’t keep being in this situation where the fucking med-section is more home to us than anything else.”

  “I know. Hey, did you ever get around to calling that realtor?”

  “Really? That’s what you wanna talk about right now?”

  “I need to talk about something to keep my mind off of how stupid I feel.”

  “Why the hell would you feel stupid?”

  “I should have known not to trust anyone, including the people who make those fucking pills. It never even occurred to me that someone could use them to hurt me. A dozen people have access to them during production, it wouldn’t have been that hard to fiddle with a batch. You were right, I haven’t been careful enough. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh, mi corazón… None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever think that.”

  You did, and you would, probably for a very long time.

  “Where’s Missy?”

  “With mom. They came to see you earlier, and I explained everything. We agreed that it’s probably best to keep her away from here for now, in case someone decides to try and use her against us. If our enemy’s capable of this, then they’re capable of anything. So, they’re gonna stay away until we’ve solved this. I promised Missy that you’d call as soon as you could, she was really scared for you both.”

  “Yeah, of course. I feel better knowing she’s safe, far away from here.”

  “And, yes, I did call the realtor. He could fit us in on Friday, if we wanted.”

  “That’s good. I feel like we might need to do something normal if we’re gonna be able to keep our heads through all of this.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Um, just one thing, though…”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s today?”

  He cracked a genuine smile with the realisation that some things just never changed.

  “It’s Tuesday, hermosa.”

  “I swear, one of these days, I’m gonna get it right.”

  That made him laugh in earnest, and the sound was the best medication you could have asked for. It made you feel at home, even though you were once again tethered to machines and feeling exhausted.

  “Hi, Mama Bear. Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you.”

  Marcus stopped laughing, and a kind of delighted shock spread across his face when your stomach suddenly growled loudly.

  He repositioned himself so that he could kiss it on top of the covers, and then rested his ear against it while he smiled happily.

  But then a really depressing thought occurred to you.

  “Marcus… we can’t eat from the restaurant any more. As much as I think we can trust Greg, other people have access to the kitchen.”

  That did nothing to deter his growing good mood.

  “Screw it – I’ll cook.”

  “All my six-to-eight portions per meal, every day? Honey, you won’t have time to do anything else.”

  At that moment, the twins walked in for their evening rounds.

  “Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  “Good, but hungry. Which is a bit of problem, right now.”

  But Marcus was already coming up with a solution.

  “Claire, you have three kids, you’re used to cooking for lots of people, right?”

  He was looking at the twin to the right, and she responded right away.

  “Yeah, sure. Are you thinking you’re gonna boycott the restaurant?”

  “Would you feel up to helping me? I need to be able to help her with other things too.”

  “Of course I would. Anything to prevent something like this shit from happening again. Also, cooking on the clock is so much more fun.”

  “Thank you so much. Our list of trusted individuals is extremely short at the moment.”

  Hold the god damned phone!

  “Marcus, how the hell do you do that?!”

  “Hermosa?”

  “How the fuck did you know that that’s Claire?! It’s driving me insane!”

  He chuckled and held up his hands.

  “Electromagnetism, remember. All humans have their own unique electric signature.”

  “Wha… So, you really have been able to tell them apart this whole time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s just unfair!”

  All three of them just laughed at you before Claire turned to Amanda.

  “Looks like she’s okay, so why don’t we get started on that cooking?”

  “We? He asked you.”

  “And I’m roping you in. Come on. Starving mother over there.”

  “Right.”

  They left and Marcus used his powers to dim the lights, so that he didn’t have to get out of bed. But he stayed fully dressed and on top of the covers, which suddenly really irritated you.

  “Am I on some sort of ‘no touch’ rule with you that I don’t know about?”

  “Huh?”

  You just gestured to his state of dress with your eyebrows raised.

  “Oh. No, not at all.”

  You pushed your eyebrows even further up.

  “You’re not! I’m just… worried.”

  “I’m not asking for sex, Marcus, that would be seriously unwise after almost miscarrying. I’m just asking to be allowed to be close to you again. You’ve kept me at arms-length ever since the incident at the house, and it’s making me feel like I’ve done something terrible to create some sort of precipice between us that you won’t let me…”

  He cut you off by kissing you, warmly, but not heatedly.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong, mi amor. I’m just scared. Scared of draining you, scared of losing you, scared of how badly I need you, every part of you, to the point where I don’t function without you. But there’s no precipice. You’re always allowed to be close to me, if you reach for me, I’ll always welcome you.”

  “Then consider this me reaching for you: Get your ass under these covers and hold me properly.”

  “Don’t worry, mama, it’s coming. Just rest for now.”

  He stepped out of bed and took off all his clothes, except his underwear, before returning to you. You turned on your side, careful to keep the wires that were attached to you from getting tangled or coming lose, and he wrapped his arms around you and tugged you snugly into him. Since the gown was open at the back, you could feel his skin against yours, and it calmed every nerve inside your body better than anything else ever could.

  A tiny current spread along your skin, and he hummed into your neck as the same kind of serenity coursed through him as well.

  Your stomach made an unhappy noise, and his hand came to rub gently at it while he whispered in your ear.

  “Marcus.”

  You’d forgotten to call Missy, but the twins would be back before midnight with food, and you’d have to get up and eat, so you decided to call her then. Right now, you were too tired, and feeling entirely too good, to move a single muscle.

  But, just as sleep was beginning to pull you down, a thought popped into your head, and you couldn’t understand how it hadn’t occurred to you before.

  “Mmm.”

  “What if it’s a whole network?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean… The more I think about what Prince said, the more I fear that this is so much worse than just a few people within HQ. He made it sound like there was a network, an organisation to this madness. ‘I don’t think you realise just how many people in this world are interested in levelling the playing-field.’ That’s what he said. Someone got him out of prison without raising any alarms, got him his equipment and my files and… I’m beginning to think that he was working with the Inventor all along. That your capture, and the way those cages were designed to effectively steal your powers, were too similar to Prince’s work. There are too many coincidences, there has to be some connection. And we can’t fight something like that. Especially when we don’t know who might be sympathisers.”

  “Fuck. This is making so much more sense than I’d like to admit.”

  “What are we gonna do?”

  He was quiet for a minute, subconsciously holding you tighter, while his mind worked the problem.

  “If we’re facing an organisation, the only hope we have, is to build one of our own. To equal the strength and cunning we’re facing.”

  “But how do we do that when we don’t know who to trust?”

  “We reveal the ace up our sleeve.”

  “I didn’t know we had one…”

  “We do. It’s just… kinda far up that sleeve.”

  “What is it?”

  “Verity.”

 Authors’ Note: I love criticism, please don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight​

@farfromjustordinary

@allmyspideys

@hrk-fic-recs

@strawberryperegrine

@lucrezia-thoughts

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[jawritter]

Daddy’s Little Girl...

Request: Hey you! Can I request a Jensen x Reader fic where they just had a kid. But for some reason only Jensen is able to calm the kid down. And the reader feels like she’s failing as a mother and as Jensen’s partner and feels left out. With lots of angst and fluff too, please? Thank you so much!

Warnings: None really, angst, emotional reader, some fluff. I think that’s about it..

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 2009

A/N: Okay guys disclaimer here.. This is a work of fiction, and I mean no harm to the Ackles family at all. Also I know this is a pic of Dean and a baby, and not Jensen, but I didn’t feel comfortable using a pic of Jensen’s actual children over a work of fanfiction. Guess I’m just funny that way. Sue me.. Feedback is golden! Please do not copy my work! All mistakes are mine!! I wanted to have this one ready in time for mother’s day...Oooppsss.... LOL. Enjoy lovelies!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST****

Emotions... So Many emotions...

Being a new mother was hard, and by no means did you expect it to be easy. Still nothing could have prepared you for the rollercoaster of emotions that seemed to be crashing into you with every other hour that clicked by on the clock.

At first it was joy, and happiness that you had even felt before. The excitement of bringing a new life into the world with the love of your life, then it was the happiness of bringing that new life home for the first time.

All that work you had put into setting up a nursery, organizing and planning, it had all gone down the drain pretty quickly.

You discovered that there was no 'game plan' in taking care of a newborn, and you had to adjust pretty quickly to rolling with the punches.

Joy turned to exhaustion, with long nights of staying up with a colicy newborn baby, and long days alone nursing while Jensen was working long hours filming. No other adult interaction, and no help. Just you and your baby...

Exhaustion turned into frustration, which only…. No that's not right...

Exhaustion turned into relief, which later turned into flustation...

You daughter had been crying for three hours straight. Nothing you did seemed to satisfy her. Nursing didn't work. You tired things like gripe water, and other colic relief methods that you googled online. You tried rocking her down for a nap, walking and bouncing across the floor. Singing. Nothing seemed to be doing the trick, and your daughter just kept crying...

Then Jensen walked in, coming through the door, and taking your daughter from your tired arms, and started rocking her and singing to her... 

Just like that the crying stopped, and relief flooded you...

Even though Jensen had worked an almost 14 hour shift, he told you to go and take a nice long bath, and if he needed you he'd call for you. To 'take a minute for some me time'. Which you gladly did...

One week…. 

That's how long it took the frustration to set in...

It seemed like Jensen just had the magic touch. There was no other way to put it. 

Whether it was late at night, or whether it was mid day. She could be screaming to the top of her extremely healthy little lungs, everything you tried to do failed at your feet, but as soon as she was in his arms, she stopped...

They always talked about this 'maternal instinct' that would kick in, and about the bonding of a mom and her newborn in the first few weeks of life, how magical it was...

You got to experience none of that, maybe you were born with a maternal switch missing, maybe there was something wrong with you. 

Are you not a good mother? 

Were you not doing it right? 

What was the deal?

Why did Jensen seem better at parenting than you?

As the weeks drug on to months, the only thing changed was that the preference of your daughter was absolutely her daddy, and not you..

He got the first smile…. 

He got the first laugh…..

He got the first word!! Dada! She still had yet to say mom, or mama…. 

Everyone assured you that it was just early, and that you were doing everything right. Dada was just easy to say, and that she didn't even really know what she was saying, just mimicking sounds..

Gen swore it was his voice that she found so soothing, and you could understand that, because you found it soothing to when nothing else was, but you still felt left out. 

Like he had some bond with your child that should have been yours...

What made it all even worse was the fact that you were having a hard time keeping up with everything in the house. 

Laundry was piling up, the kitchen was never clean enough, dinner was hitting the table later and later.. 

You forgot to pick up the one thing that Jensen asked you to pick up for him from the grocery store today, because as soon as you got there your daughter had the biggest blow out diaper of her life, and you had to change it. 

You had forgotten to pack enough diapers because you didn't think you were going to be there that long, and now she only had the one you changed her into, so you felt like you had to rush.. In case it happened again… 

Totally forgetting what Jensen needed you to pick up...

Then there was the fact that the two of you were having sex less and less. You were just so tired by the time you went to bed at night, that you just weren't in the mood. It wasn't that you loved him any less, because he was your everything, but you just were physically exhausted, and you felt overwhelmed. Like everything was piling up and it was just.... Too much...

Tonight was the biggest fight you had ever had as a couple...

When dinner was finally served... an hour late... and he'd bathed your little girl for you so that you could get caught up on folding some clothes, he'd come into the bedroom and suggested that maybe he should hire a housekeeper to help you keep up with the house...

That stung… Even though it shouldn’t have….

Did he think you were failing now as a wife... as a partner....

In your offense you had jumped down his throat.. 

Your words ring in your ears. Stinging at you the way that they had at him...

"Why? Why do you think you need to hire a maid Jensen... What, is the dinner not out fast enough for you? Is the house not clean enough for your liking? I don't need some stranger coming in, and helping me run my house Jensen. Our life is in the public eye enough.."

"Sweetheart... You're exhausted, overwhelmed, let me hire someone to help you. It's not about clean enough, or dinner it's..."

"THAT'S BULLSHIT JAY, THAT'S TOTALLY WHAT IT'S ABOUT!!! YOU THINK I CAN'T KEEP UP WITH EVERYTHING. THAT I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH!! WELL LET'S SEE YOU DO IT ALL!!! LET'S SEE YOU MAKE THE GROCERIES,  LET'S SEE YOU COOK DINNER WITH A BABY ON YOUR HIP SCREAMING, LET'S SEE YOU KEEP THE HOUSE SPOTLESS!!!"

"Y/n please your overreacting.."

"I'M OVERREACTING? FUCK YOU JENSEN! I'M SORRY I DON'T HAVE THE MAGIC TOUCH THE WAY YOU DO, OR OUR DAUGHTER PREFERS YOU OVER ME! I'M SORRY I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH! GO AHEAD!! HIRE YOUR FUCKING MAID!!!" Throwing the clothes you were folding in his face you pushed past him towards the door, nearly knocking him down as he tried to reach for you..

"WHILE YOUR AT IT WHY DON'T YOU MAKE A POST ON YOUR INSTAGRAM ABOUT HOW SHITTY OF A MOTHER I AM SO YOUR FANS CAN SEE JUST HOW SHITTY OF A WIFE I AM TOO!!!"

Before he could respond you slammed the door in his face, but you didn't miss the hurt look as the door slammed...

Hours later your daughter was in bed, and you sat alone in your room crying, unable to face him. You felt like a failure, you overreacted and blew up in his face,because you thought that he thought you weren't good enough, you were confused, probably more than a little hormonal, and a whole lot hurt about a whole lot of things…

Right now though, it was the crushing guilt and regret you felt for blowing up at him…. When you knew he was just trying to help you...

A soft knock at the door made you nearly jump out of your skin, and you hurried to wipe your face when you saw Jensen standing cautiously in the doorway...

"Hey." He said softly, but not daring to come into the bedroom, probably fearful of another blow up from you...

"Hey." You said, your voice deep and thick from crying... Looked back down at your hands, too ashamed to look at him standing there in the doorway like he was afraid of you...

"Can I come in?" He asked, and you just nodded. Picking at a loose thread on your comforter.. You felt the bed dip under Jensen's wait as he sat down next to you...

"Sweetheart I'm sorry, I shouldn't have suggested a maid. I wasn't thinking, and I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't doing a good job because you are....I could just see how tired you are, and thought that I was helping..."

Reaching over he wiped away the tears that were now falling down your face, when you looked up at him he reached his arms around you, pulling you into his hold. Kissing the top of your forehead lightly..

"You're doing a great job baby, our little girl loves you so much, I love you, I can't imagine doing this without you, I don't know how you keep all of this going, I'd already have pulled my hair out. I'm sorry I made you feel bad baby, please forgive me, I hate when you're mad at me. I don't hate the fact that I'm the reason you're crying right now. I’m not her favorite baby, she loves you too, so much.." 

His voice was strained, and it made you lift your head off his shoulder to look up at him for the first time, really look at him.. 

There were deep circles around his eyes with bags to match, long nights filming, and long nights here taking their toll. His hair was a mess from constantly running his hand through it. The lines around his eyes showed more tonight, and his brow was creased from worrying. There were a few grey hairs speckled in his beard, and there was a spit up stain on his sleeve. 

It hit you then....

He'd been in the trenches right there with you, not working against you because you're a bad mom, but doing everything that he could to try and ease the load just a little.

He hadn't made that suggestion tonight because you were a failure he did it because he loved you..

Wrapping your arms around his neck you buried your face in his neck...

"I'm sorry Jensen. I overreacted. I'm not crying because of you. It's just hormones, and exhaustion.."

Jensen lifted your lips to his, brushing his lips over yours..

"I have another suggestion, but I don't want you to get mad at me, this was actually something I was thinking about before the baby.."

You sat up a little in his arms, and looked into his tired green eyes. The ones that you fell so hard for so long ago...

"Okay, I promise I won't yell at you no matter what you say." You told him, making him chuckle a little.

"Let's move to Dallas, closer to my parents, that way we can have a baby sitter we trust, and when you need a some extra hands, or when just want to have a date night that we haven't had in forever my mom and dad can help, or even my siblings, it won't be strangers, and it gives all of us a chance to be around family. Plus my mom would be over the moon."

You smile at him a little, and the relief on his face was evident when you did. The thought of Donna spoiling another granddaughter was fun to think about...

Poor baby would be so overdressed, and over bowed that it made you giggle a little.

"Actually Jay, I like that Idea a lot, let's go home."

Jensen brushed his lips lightly over yours again...

"I love you Mama."

"I love you to Daddy.."

Just as you were about to kiss him again a cry sounded from the nursery that sounded a whole hell of a lot like Dadda, and you couldn’t help but giggle..

“Okay, well I’ll admit that she’s definitely a daddy’s girl.” Jensen said, pecking you on the lips before getting up to go get her..

“You better still be awake when I get back, I’m not done making this up to you.” Jensen said with a wink that insinuated everything dirty you could possibly think of, making you fall over laughing on the bed. God you loved that man..

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

Tag List: 

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays

[princess-of-riviaa]

The Last Time (Part 1)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: As an agent of the CIA, August is always leaving you. This time, you’re sure your heart is too broken for it be mended.  But when he shows up in your life after a six month absence, you realize things are never so simple with him.

Author’s Note: If you’ve read any of my other work (I’m looking at you, Vices Chapter 5) then you know that I have a weird obsession with a couple sharing a meal together and enjoying wine. I just think it’s very romantic and relaxing and the idea of someone cooking my favorite meal for me in my home gets me all soft. So I had to put it in here. Enjoy ;) also, I am obsessed with Taylor Swift and one of my all time fav songs of hers is “The Last Time” on her Red album, which gave me a lot of inspiration for this fic lol

Warning(s): there is literally no smut, just angst (I’m writing a part 2 to this that will include smut)

Word Count: 2.5k

There’s a second impatient knock on your front door before you can even reach it. “One second! God, don’t you know that it takes time to answer a fucking door--” you began as you pulled the door open, then paused.

Hard blue eyes and a blank face stared down at you. His facial hair had grown out since you’d last seen him--what was it, six months?--but he was still just as thick with muscle. His brown curly hair was cut short and brushed back nicely, though his button-down shirt and jeans had blood stains on them. If you were anyone else, seeing August Walker standing at your door should have been enough to make you pee your pants or run and hide. But being who you were, and him being who he was, all you could do was stare at him.

He took you in, too, taking a minute to scan every inch of you and ensure you were the same woman he’d left behind all that time ago. August opened his mouth--

You slammed the door in his face.

“Seriously?” He scoffed, his deep voice loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Go away!” you hollered back.

“I’m not leaving,” he insisted.

“Go! Away!” You repeated, hitting your door and imagining it was him you were hitting instead, wanting to hurt him as much as he’d hurt you.

“Let me in,” he said calmly, knowing you would.

“Fuck you, August.” A lump formed in your throat. It became difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think--though the latter had more to do with who was on the other side of your door and less about the tears you struggled to hold back.

“Y/N.” Just the sound of your name on his lips made you want to give in. You wanted him to hold you in his arms as he kissed you passionately, his mouth whispering “I’m sorry”s against your own.

You crossed your arms, trying to resist the urge to open the door again. You knew your worth, knew you deserved more than what this man could give you. But you wanted him--oh, how you wanted him.

“January,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear it.

You gasped. That name... that stupid nickname he had for you... god, it shouldn’t have so much power over you. But you found yourself opening the door anyways. You glared up at him, ignoring the relief in his blue eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to come home,” he said.

You scoffed. “Tired of the bounty hunter life already?”

“Tired of being away from the one thing that matters in my life,” he corrected.

You paused. He always knew just what to say. It was what you hated and loved about him: his beautiful words full of empty promises. “You should leave. You’re doing no one any good by being here.”

He took a step towards you and his scent overwhelmed your senses. That faint hint of his cologne--something woodsy--mixed with the smell that was pure August wrapped around you in a phantom embrace. You practically whimpered. The day that smell had vanished from your sheets and clothes had been a hard one. You’d wanted that smell back ever since you lost it. Now that it was here, overwhelming you, you only wanted it to disappear again. “I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were alright, that no one had touched you.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze as you snapped back, “You’ve worked hard to make sure that the world has no idea who I am, so no, no one’s come after me.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. The hurt in his eyes was surprising; he was usually a mask of indifference, refusing to let the world into his mind.

“You said you needed to see me,” you repeated. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now leave.”

“January,” he said again, stepping even closer to you. You were now pressed against your apartment’s foyer wall, stuck between that and August. “The promise of a fresh start.”

You knew what he was saying without having to actually say it. He was asking for forgiveness--for abandoning you like he always does, for making you worried sick for six months straight that each new day you’d wake up and hear the news that he was dead. “I’ve given you plenty of fresh starts, and they always end the same. With you running off on some new adventure and me all alone and broken hearted. You ruin me every time.”

“My adventure is when I’m with you,” he corrected. “My missions are just work.”

He was so close to you, so large against your small frame, that you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His shoes brushed against your bare toes and he eyed the thin tank top and booty shorts you were dressed in. The look made heat spread through your body and your thighs clenched together. It was always so easy for him to get under your skin. You hated it but you were helpless to fight against it.

“I missed you,” he said in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I missed falling asleep beside you every night. I missed coming home to a warm bed with you in it, your legs all tangled up in the sheets as you dreamed about me--about us. I missed touching you, missed marking what was mine.”

A whine caught in your throat at his words. You were suddenly glad to be leaning against the wall because your legs almost gave out at the thought of him taking you, fucking you, claiming you.

He moved slowly as he brought his hand up to your face, letting you push him away at any second. But you couldn’t--not when he was all you could hear and see and smell. He hadn’t even touched you and already you were bending to his will. His fingers brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “Tell me you missed me just as much, Y/N.”

Oh, just the way he said your name! You gave in and leaned into his touch as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Or tell me you didn’t and I’ll leave,” he promised. “I’ll leave and I’ll... I’ll never come back. I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“August,” you sighed, closing your eyes. You couldn’t stand to be under his gaze any longer.

“Yes?” His tone was hopeful, eager.

You opened your mouth before you fully knew what you would say--I missed you too? Get the hell out of my apartment? Take me over your knee right now? But you never got the chance to find out. Before any words could leave your mouth you both were silenced by the loudest stomach growl you’d ever heard. You frowned, looking between him and his stomach. The blush that crept onto his face told you that you hadn’t imagined the sound.

“When was the last time you ate?” You questioned, your maternal instincts winning out over the anger and lust burning inside you.

August didn’t care of himself. He only allowed himself the basest human pleasure when he absolutely needed it. He was like that about everything--food, sleep, warmth, sex even. You wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten anything at all today.

“I can’t remember,” he admitted.

You scoffed at him. You knew what that meant. It had been at least a day and half since he’d stopped to even stuff a crumb in his mouth. You dragged him to your kitchen.

“You can stay for dinner,” you allowed as you made your way over to the pantry, “and then you’re leaving.”

Because you had all the ingredients for it (and because--though you refused to admit it to yourself--you actually had missed him) you made ratatouille. It had been August’s favorite dish since you’d known him. He hovered over your shoulder as you danced around the kitchen, putting the vegetables and ham together. You finally managed to distract him with an appetizer of warm french rolls and cheese. He was insistent on helping you, though, and you finally sent him off to get a bottle of wine. It was quiet for several minutes as the meal cooked in the oven and you realized only when he came back that August had gone to the store a block away to buy some pinot.

“I have wine here,” you said, watching him scour your cabinets for wine glasses.

“I love you darling, I really do, but your taste in wine is...” He hesitated as he grabbed two glasses and brought them to the island, searching for the right word. “Your taste in wine leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh?” You scoffed. “And you’re so much wiser than me?”

He gave you a look. “I’ve spent the last decade and a half going all over Europe on behalf of my job. I’ve lost count of the amount of wineries I’ve been to, the amount of wine I’ve tasted. I’d say my palette is a little bit more advanced than yours, sweetheart.”

You just rolled your eyes. He was right. And you hated it. He knew more about the world than you ever would and you often found yourself envious of the depth of his worldly knowledge. He’d been to every part of the world and you’ve never been outside of your home state.

He poured some wine for both of you. You took a small sip and felt your tastebuds water. Whatever wine he’d bought--you hadn’t seen the label as he’d poured it, which was probably on purpose--was an explosion of sweetness in your mouth. You savored the aftertaste which tasted strongly of berry.

“I told you I know my wine,” he laughed. He’d watched you as you’d taken your first sip, wanting to gauge your reaction.

You just rolled your eyes and watched him as he took a small sip himself. A drop of the wine caught on the edge of his lip and his tongue flicked out to lick it up. Your gaze locked on his mouth, on that tongue, and suddenly your body was engulfed in heat as you remembered how that tongue felt on your skin--

The oven beeped. You jumped and lost your train of thought. It took mental effort to force the blush on your face to fade. August once again hovered over you as you pulled the food out and set it on the stove.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt,” he sighed, his voice right behind you.

“You may know your wine, August Walker, but I know how to cook.”

...

August’s plate was clear in less than a minute. After you’d lied and convinced him you weren’t hungry, he ate half of your plate, too. You couldn’t help it: you liked watching him eat. Admittedly, you knew it was strange. But he satisfied his body’s cravings and needs so rarely, held onto his self-control for so long, that it was a true sight to watch him give in.

Once he’d finished the food, he carried the dishes to your tiny sink and began washing them. Now it was your turn to be insistent in helping. He finally gave in when you used the tactic of pure logic--if you wash and I dry, we’ll be done in two minutes, you’d reasoned. He reluctantly agreed. You two fell into a silent rhythm for no longer than two minutes--just as you’d predicted. He rinsed his hands off when he was done.

That was when you noticed it.

The scar.

August Walker had worked for the CIA for years. You didn’t know exactly what he did (he was never allowed to share specifics) but you knew it was dangerous. He had scars all over his body. You’d seen them all. So you were used to the sight of him being covered in thick, pale scar tissue all over--but this scar was different.

You reached for his wrist and pulled it closer to you, moving too fast for him to stop you. You ran your thumb over the length of it. The scarring ran from the inside of his wrist to just a few inches below the inside of his elbow. The scar was straight and even. This cut had been made on purpose.

Tears were in your eyes when you looked back at him. “Tell me...” Your voice shook at the knot in your throat. “Tell me you didn’t do this to yourself. Tell me this was someone else--tell me you didn’t...” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The mere thought of it was unbearable.

“I did it,” he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“Oh!” You clasped a hand over your mouth as you began to cry. You didn’t want to picture it. The thought of him in that much pain...

He wiped the tears that slipped down your face. His blue eyes watched you, pained, as you continued to cry. “I did this to myself, yes, but I didn’t want to die. I’ve never been suicidal. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It took you a while to calm down even after his proclamation. But finally you managed to say, “Tell me.”

“You know I can’t--”

“Fuck the rules, fuck the secrets!” you exclaimed. “Tell me why the hell you cut your wrist open if you didn’t actually want to kill yourself.”

He hesitated, but one look in your eyes told him that you weren’t going to let this go. So he sighed and said, “I got kidnapped by some people. They tortured me for information. I knew eventually they would break me down. So I cut my wrist.”

“You wanted to die before they could get any information out of you,” you realized.

He nodded curtly.

You looked him deep in the eye as you said, “If you ever die, August, I’ll kill you.”

He smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were still sad at the sight of you in pain. You rested your forehead against his chest and breathed him in. Though he’d hurt you time and again, you loved him. The thought of him gone from this earth...

You pulled back and kissed him. It wasn’t rough and quick and needy, but rather slow and full of love. You wanted to show him how much he mattered to you, even after all this time.

“You don’t get to die on me, August Walker,” you whispered against his lips.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling him flush against his wide chest as he kissed you back just as intensely and full of love. “I’ll do my best.” After a moment he added, “how drunk are you?”

“Why?” you asked with a nervous laugh. You hadn’t expected the change in subject.

“Because I don’t want to feel guilty about fucking you tonight,” he said bluntly.

Your cheeks burned at his words, at the images they brought to life in your mind... “I’m drunk enough to let you fuck me, but not too drunk you should feel guilty about it.”

He smiled against your mouth. “That’s the perfect amount.”

...

THERE WILL BE A PART 2 (this time with smut)

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Pain Is So Close To Pleasure (Platonic!Reader x Modern!Queen)

Summary: As a recently promoted Soloist for the Royal Ballet, you move closer to Covent Garden with your four-year-old daughter, Rose. But your new neighbour turns out to be the last person you'd expect to pop up on your doorstep.

A/N: Fun fact, there is a woman called Elizabeth Harrod who is a soloist for the Royal Ballet, has a 4-year-old child and once played the character mentioned. All by coincidence. And she is married to Steven McRae who was the inspiration for the fic I was hugely inspired by. Fun times guys. I used to dance ballet once or twice a week for about 5 years but stopped 4 years ago. And I may or may not be regretting my decision to quit. Oh well. I really hope you liked this, do leave feedback if you don't mind and perhaps a like or even a reblog? I have at least 3 more ideas for this but if you think of anything then please please please let me know! Stay hydrated kiddos!

Warning(s): swearing, mentioned arguments, crying, mentioned nightmares, reader is female btw

Inspiration: Brian May’s instagram, Incandescent by @immistermercury on AO3, Modern Times Rock N Roll by @rhapso-kei on Tumblr and AO3, Outed by @platawnic on Tumblr

Word Count: 7.2k+ (it’s a big boi lads)

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26 @bijoukitty

Ask to be on my taglist if you want!

Never in a million years had you ever expected moving to a new house to be this fun. For it was only carrying boxes into the house repeatedly for hours at a time. Right?

Wrong!

It turned out that the opportunities for games increased tenfold when you have a child. The child in question had barely even stepped out of the van when she suggested that you compete against each other to see who could carry the most boxes into your new house. Given that you had actual professionals lifting the heavy stuff – chairs, tables and so forth – racing would actually speed things up with getting the smaller boxes in the house.

Small footsteps increased in volume before a similarly small voice asked, “What next, Mummy?”

You looked up at you daughter from where you were awkwardly crouched inside the delivery van, shockingly ungraceful for a ballerina, just for one moment amidst all of the chaos that came with moving to a new house. All wrapped up in her khaki green coat, her nose and cheeks were tinted with the pink of harsh January mornings. Her eyes were the same colour as yours, the most beautiful shade of (Y/E/C), and were always alive with excitement; today was no exception. She was almost the perfect likeness to you: the same skin, the same nose, the same lips. Her hair was more like that of her father’s, but she was beautiful all the same, and more importantly your precious girl.

You dragged yourself out of your daydream and passed a relatively small stack of books to Rose, “You got it?” you asked uncertainly, images of newly-ruined books spilt over the floor flashing through your mind for a second.

“Yup!” she was already running into the house and up the stairs by then and you chuckled despite yourself. You dragged a transparent plastic box from the back of the van to where you had now positioned yourself. This one was full to the brim of dead pointe shoes, each pair decorated with paints and lace and beads and whatever you had in the house at the time; one even had uncooked pasta stuck to it. You were sure that you were going to find more boxes like these considering how many pairs you had worn over the years.

It had become a sort of tradition for you, to decorate each pair of pointe shoes once they died, never quite being able to let go of them. You wrote their date of ‘birth’ – when you wore them for the first time - and their date of ‘death’ – the day they finally broke – on the sole of each shoe in gold paint and a fine brush. Often, they were the same date, which was evidence of how hard you worked. You liked to decorate the wings and the vamp using a random theme, usually shows you had performed. The ones you had oh-so-carefully picked up however was Tangled-themed, chosen by Rose when you had had a lack of inspiration. You placed it back down and swapped it for another, this time a Swan Lake pair. You smiled to yourself at the memories attached to that particular pair; it had been your first ever professional show, when you were still in the Royal Ballet School and the company had merged with the school for the first time since your arrival. You looked at the dates on the soles and almost gasped despite yourself.

16.12.2012 ~ 23.12.2012

Just over 5 years ago.

Those shoes were almost an entire year older than Rose. You couldn’t quite believe that you had been involved with the Royal for so long. It felt like mere days, weeks at the most. The only thing convincing you otherwise was the sheer number of shoes in the box and the combined weight of them all, seen as you went through upwards of 100 pairs every season. Fortunately, ballet wasn’t just turns, leaps, plies and wearing gorgeous costumes, it required a great deal of strength so carrying the box into the house was hardly a problem.

From a stranger’s glance, your new home appeared to be a house, Georgian with bricks the colour of coffee, immaculately painted and symmetrical to every other house in the immediate vicinity. But this was London, more importantly this was central London, and that meant you’d have to be a multi-millionaire in order to afford an actual house. It also meant that the whole block was once something that could only be described as a miniature mansion, and had been split up into houses and now, several flats. One of which you were now the proud owner.

You had spent a long time saving up for this flat; you had needed more space for you and your daughter for a while now and you had been long overdue a change from that studio flat in Camden. So, when this flat came up for sale, you felt as if all of your prayers had been answered. Compared to your previous home, this one had buckets of space, you had a bedroom each for a start. It was a mere twenty-minute walk to the Royal Opera House, making it so much easier when you had late performances or overrunning rehearsals. Or when you accidentally forgot your leg warmers or spare pointe shoes, incidents that happened more often than you would like.

You climbed the staircase to your first-floor flat; you supposed that that would take some getting used to, especially after long days of back-to-back classes, rehearsals and shows. You pretty much dumped the box of pointe shoes on the floor of the living room and turned around to leave only to have Rose collide straight into you.

“Sorry, Mummy!” she giggled, as sweet as ever, and blew you a kiss as a form of apology.

“That’s alright, darling, it was only an accident,” you blew her a kiss back, “Now, where did you put your books?”

She grabbed your hand and tugged you incessantly to your bedroom, “Look!” she pointed proudly to the stack of books on your bed, which looked as if it could collapse at a moment’s notice, but a stack, nonetheless.

Your heart broke slightly when you realised: she still thought you had to share a room. You crouched down to be eye-level with her, “Rose, why don’t you put them in your room, instead? They’re your books, sweetie, not mine.”

“But they are in my room,” she frowned, head cocked to the side in confusion.

“No, this is Mummy’s room. Your room is next door,” it was your turn to lead her into her own bedroom, a tad more gently than how she’d done it, and her eyes opened wide with wonder.

“I can have my own room?” her voice filled with disbelief and your heart ached terribly.

“Of course, princess. This flat is much, much bigger than our old one.”

She squealed with excitement and threw her arms around you, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, before running off to grab her picture books. You stood up, shaking your head with a chuckle before returning to the van. You grabbed another box, this one stuffed with Rose’s toys, “Rose! Can you come and bring this one in?”

She catapulted down the stairs, forever a tiny hurricane, and snatched the box out of your hands. You made your way to the front door with another box in your arms for about the hundredth time that day but stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the pavement.

Rose was wandering down the street, box of toys long forgotten and left on the stairs, heading straight for the busy road perpendicular to your own. You dropped your own box on the pavement and broke out into a full-on sprint to stop her, heart pounding with fear. She was reaching the end of the pavement, completely oblivious to the cars speeding along to her right, and to the car that was indicating to turn left. For a fleeting second you thought the reckless driver was going to hit her, when a man suddenly ran out f the pharmacy at the end of the road and swept her up into his arms. You scowled, endlessly grateful that she hadn’t been hurt, but more than slightly annoyed that a complete stranger had the audacity to pick up your precious girl. Your maternal instincts went into overdrive and, once you reached them, you snatched Rose back from the man.

“Get your hands off my child,” you glared at him. Now you could get a far better look at him, you could tell he definitely wasn’t young, his white hair and beard gave that away instantly. His eyes were masked by sunglasses, confusing you slightly; it may have been sunny that day, but it was only January. Something about him was strangely familiar to you, it was hard to describe but you were sure you recognised the overall aura he had about him. You shook off the thought for now, you could ponder over it long after Rose had gone to bed and you finally had some time to yourself. Speaking of Rose, you shifted your focus to her; she seemed unharmed, if a little shaken up. You placed her on your hip and she instinctively tucked her head into the crook of your neck and looked at the man curiously.

“Well, I did just save her life, you could at least say thank you,” the stranger muttered, his voice gruff but somehow light.

Your gut dropped; you recognised that voice. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, but that voice was way too unique to be anyone else’s. He must have seen the cogs turn in your head for he smirked slightly.

Internally, you were freaking the fuck out because holy shit you think you just met Roger fucking Taylor, but externally, you attempted to keep your composure because it didn’t matter who he was, he still grabbed your daughter and he was crazy if he thought you were going to let that slide.

You were frantically trying to think of something, anything, to you say when Rose felt the need to come to your rescue, “Are you Santa?”. When no one said anything because you were both, quite frankly, too stunned to reply, her excitement just grew, “Mummy, look, it’s Santa! Santa saved me!” she turned to look at him and put on her sweetest voice, “Thank you, Santa!”

He sighed, knowing full well he was about to break this poor girl’s heart, and said, “No, I’m not Santa, he lives a long way away.”

She pouted before finding something else that entertained her, “Why are you wearing sunglasses?” she giggled, holding out a hand to try and rip them off of his face and nearly falling out of your arms in the process. You placed her back on the pavement, just to be on the safe side.

He reluctantly took them off and gave them to her, and she grasped them excitedly. She tried to put the sunglasses on, but they were far too big for her, so they just kept sliding off, amusing her to no end.

You forced yourself to look at the man, now you were definitely sure it was Roger and fucking hell you hadn’t expected your day to go anything like the way it had. He raised an eyebrow and you only just clocked that he was still waiting for a reply. “Thank you for stopping her,” you said somewhat sheepishly; now you’d had the chance to think over what he’d actually done, you felt a little guilty for berating him like that. You’d naturally assumed he meant to cause harm somehow, but if he had had such intentions then surely, he wouldn’t have waited for you. He could have run off with Rose, but he didn’t. Naturally, you were still a little wary but while Rose had been interrogating the man over whether or not he was in fact Father Christmas, you had come to the conclusion that he was probably harmless.

*********************

By around lunchtime you had actually carried in everything that you could, so you’d decided that the rest of the day could be a well-earned lazy day. As you expected, Rose had had no objection to that whatsoever, seen as lazy days more often than not meant Disney marathons. You were making a light lunch, knowing that you’d need to save room for sheer amount of popcorn you’d bought from the corner shop, while Rose was picking out a film to start with.

“Mummy, I got one!” she called as you brought your sandwiches into the living room. She was sat by the TV, surrounded by DVDs with one in her hand. She squinted hard at the blurb of the DVD she was holding, as if she was trying to read it, which made you chuckle to yourself. “What are you laughing at?” she looked at you quizzically.

You shook your head slightly, not wanting to burst her little bubble, “Nothing, sweetheart. Which one did you choose?”

She stood up wobbly, coming incredibly close to falling right back down again but only just regaining her balance, “Zootropolis!” she had to say the word very slowly; the word was very hard to say for a four-year-old, even you struggled with it sometimes.

Zootropolis was one of her favourites at the moment, second only to Tangled, so you weren’t all that surprised by her choice. This would have been the fourth or fifth time watching it so far that month alone, and you were only about halfway through January. The joys of having a child, you thought wryly to yourself. Not that you’d ever complain to Rose. Besides, you’d much rather Zootropolis to Frozen, which you didn’t think you could ever watch again after being subjected to hearing Let It Go every day for weeks and then much longer in your head.

“Ah, good choice,” you said as she thrust the DVD in front of your face. You put the sandwiches down on the coffee table and took the DVD from her, “Why don’t you go and get a couple of your toys to watch the film with us while I set it up? Maybe you could get Nick and Judy.”

Her eyes positively lit up at the idea and she raced off to find them. You’d gone to Oxford Street just before Christmas to see all the lights and Christmas decorations, which then turned into going to the Disney store, which led into incessant begging from Rose to get one of the Zootropolis plushies. You’d ended up compromising, meaning she could get two of her choice, but she couldn’t play with them until Christmas. So now, any excuse to play with them was a good excuse and was guaranteed to keep her entertained for hours on end.

You had just put the disc in the TV when you heard the buzz signalling that someone was at the door. You were a little puzzled; you’d only just moved into this flat, how on earth did someone already have your address? You made your way to the door and held the button on the receiver, allowing you to talk to whoever was there, “Hello?”

“Hi, is this (Y/N)?” an unfamiliar female voice asked, only adding to your confusion.

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

“Well, my name’s Sarina, I think you met my husband this morning?”

A few minutes later, Sarina and Roger were sitting on your sofa with a cup of tea each, with you on the one-seater in front of the window, rhythmically pointing and relaxing your toes, a habit from dancing ballet pretty much every day for about fifteen years. It was around then when you started thinking about how weird this day was turning out to be. First, Roger Taylor saves your daughter’s life, then you give him your address even though you were sure you had no memory of that, and then him and his wife turn up to your flat for no apparent reason other than to have a chat.

You heard Rose’s obnoxiously loud footsteps run down the corridor and once she got to the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks. She had her arms full with soft toys but dropped them all when she noticed your visitors, “Mummy, look it’s not-really-Santa!” she pointed, face lit up with glee at meeting her saviour once again. Then she noticed Sarina and pouted with confusion, “Who are you? Are you not-really-Mrs-Claus?”

“Darling, we told you he’s not actually Santa,” you lightly chastised her.

Rose just looked at you as if she was trying to be patronising, “I know, that’s why I said, ‘not really’!”

Sarina only laughed and said, “My name’s Sarina, I’m Roger’s wife.”

Rose just looked even more baffled than before, “Roger? Who’s Roger?”

Roger waved awkwardly, having not said anything the whole time he’d been there.

A quiet ‘ohhhh’ came from Rose, but her attention quickly returned to her dropped toys, which she promptly rescued from the floor and popped onto your lap. You raised an eyebrow at the pile and looked back at your daughter, “That’s quite a few toys, darling.”

Rose grinned cheekily, “Well, I got Judy and Nick because they’re in the movie but then I thought that my other animals would be sad that I left them out so I got Dumbo, Minnie and Mushu and then I got Rapunzel because she’s my favourite and she loves Pascal and he’s a chame-,” she stopped, understandably struggling with the word.

“Chameleon,” you whispered to try and help her out.

“Yeah, that,” she giggled, not even trying to say it. You put it down to having new people over who she wanted to impress so you made a mental note to help her with it later on.

You turned back to your guests, forgetting momentarily that they were even there, something which you often did while talking to Rose, “Sorry, we were just about to watch Zootropolis as a sort of ‘well done’ for moving all of our stuff inside in one morning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt or anything, we just wanted to, well, welcome you to the neighbourhood, I guess. We live just down the road from here,” Sarina justified, and suddenly their surprise visit made so much more sense. You were infinitely grateful as even though it wasn’t like you had no friends at all who lived in London, it couldn’t hurt to have some close by.

“No, don’t apologise, it’s really sweet of you both, thank you so much,” you smiled at them both.

Roger then decided to speak up for the first time since he got there, and you were still wondering why he was being so shy, “Listen, is there anything we can do to help you out at all? I know moving house can be a pretty big deal so if we can help you with anything then do say.”

Your instant thought was to say that you were fine, that you’d be able to manage. You weren’t one to ask for help unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, it was difficult for you. But once you considered it for a moment, you remembered that you had a full day of classes and rehearsals tomorrow, Rose didn’t start at her new pre-school until next week and you hadn’t booked a childminder or a babysitter. You looked at the couple on your sofa, kind and eager to help, and finally opened your mouth to speak, “I have work tomorrow. Is there any chance you could look after Rose for the day?”

******************

“I promise I’ve almost got it; I just need to get the footing right after the grand jete,” you reached for your water bottle, “I’m not sure why I can’t land properly.”

“I think it’s because you’re making the chaines more aggressive than they need to be. If you take a gentler approach, then you can put more energy into how you jump and then how you land,” Samantha, the ballet mistress of the company, suggested.

You pulled your fuchsia leg warmers right up to the tops of your legs and tried again, this time taking Samantha’s advice. You landed perfectly flat on your right foot, unfolding straight away and placing your arms in fourth on impulse. You pointed your index fingers as part of your character’s variation which, as it differed from the traditional ballet hand, still took some getting used to.

The Sleeping Beauty would be your first performance since being promoted to a Soloist, and you had received the role of the Fairy of The Golden Vine, meaning you had your own solo in the prologue. You obviously wanted to do really well, you wanted to prove to both the audience and to the other dancers that you deserved the role and the position in the company, despite the little gremlin back at home who was also known as your daughter.

You absolutely adored the name you had chosen for your angel. Rose. The flower thrown onto the stage at the end of a performance which more often than not ended up in a vase on the kitchen windowsill. The colour of the leotard you rehearsed in. The rose-coloured glasses that all children wore at some point in their young lives when they were oblivious and innocent. The colour of optimism, love, joy. The word rose, in and of itself, had so many positive connotations for you, which was exactly what you had needed when you had been expecting her.

Samantha broke you free from your daydream, “Well, we have about half an hour left, is there anything else you wanted to look at before the show tomorrow night?”

It still had yet to sink in for you that the first of eight performances was tomorrow. You hadn’t given it much thought because you didn’t want it to stress you out. Especially when you had other things to worry about, like polishing your part in Act III. Which reminded you, “Could we go over the wedding scene?” you asked sheepishly.

********************

You lightly knocked on the door, looking at your phone yet again to check the address. You rubbed your hands together to fight the bitter cold of winter evenings, suddenly regretting not wearing gloves. A forget-me-not blue sky hung overhead, already getting dark even though it wasn’t even five o’clock yet. The pristine door in front of you opened after a few seconds of waiting, but what you were not expecting, however, was for Dr Brian May, guitarist for Queen, arguably the best in the world, astrophysicist and animal rights activist, to answer the door with pen all over his face, “Ah, hello, you must be (Y/N).”

“Err, yeah, hi,” you nervously chuckled, a little starstruck at the man in front of you.

“Mummy?” a small, uncertain called out, soon accompanied by an awfully familiar face peeking out through the doorway to the living room.

“Hello, sweetheart,” you crouched down to be eye level with Rose, holding out your arms as an invitation for a hug.

“Mummy!” she quite literally took it with open arms and the brightest smile you had ever seen plastered on her face.

“Did you have a nice time, princess?” you asked between soft kisses pressed to her head.

This launched her into a fit of giggles and she only just managed to gasp out, “I’m not the princess, Roger’s the princess!”

You stood up with Rose sitting comfortably on your hip, “Is he now? Then who are you?” you bopped her nose with each of the last three words.

Of course, more light-hearted laughter ensued, “I’m the queen! And Brian’s the royal ad-” she stumbled on the last word and pouted, only for the man in question to whisper something in her ear and for her to shout, “Advisor! And Brian’s the royal advisor! Can I show you the kingdom?”

You set her down on the floor carefully and curtseyed like you would at the end of a show, “Lead the way, your most royal highness!” You exchanged a curious glance with Brian and followed your now running daughter into the living room.

To the ordinary person, the living room would appear to be in a state of total and utter chaos. Dining room chairs held up bedsheets, forming a makeshift tent in the centre of the room. Pillows were scattered around the fort, along with seemingly ancient colouring books, with pages the colour of buttermilk, washable pens and sweet wrappers that had yet to be picked up.

Rose dived in, luckily into Roger’s arms rather than the wooden floor. He swept her up into the air, the girl squealing with excitement, before returning her safely to the ground. “Roggie, you’re silly!” she smiled sweetly at him, making his face flood with the red of embarrassment.

“Roggie?” you laughed at his expression and sat down on the other side of Rose, sandwiching her between you and Roger. You were secretly loving how much humiliation could be brought on by a four-year-old child.

Roger looked desperate to salvage whatever was left of his dignity, “Well at least it’s not as bad as ‘Bri Bri’!”

Brian just scratched his head awkwardly and took a seat opposite you all, “I thought it was cute.”

You just chuckled at the state of them both; usually it was you who felt like that, more often than not it was when you brought Rose to work with you, so you found it rather amusing to have someone else on the receiving end of your daughter’s jokes.

Brian cleared his throat, clearly wanting to change the subject as soon as possible, “Mind if I take a picture? You guys look pretty cute in there.”

“By all means,” you agreed, knowing that you had to get a picture too. You were almost guaranteed to tell your friends about this later and they wouldn’t believe you without some kind of proof.

He pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and quickly snapped a photo of you all in your rather adorable tent. He put his glasses on to examine the image and, with a satisfied nod, leaned over to show it to you, “I’d put it on Instagram but with Rose’s age…”

“Well, I don’t have a problem with it,” you said. It was such a sweet photo, you thought it would be a shame to not share it with people, though you figured that might be the performer in you speaking. It was the nature of the job; the performing arts were, at their core, just complex forms of storytelling. You turned to Rose, deciding that she should have a say on the matter, “Darling, would you be alright if Brian put that picture of us on Instagram? A lot of people would see it,” you warned.

She just beamed up at you, “Yeah because then lots of people can see the kingdom I made with Roggie and Bri Bri!”

You just laughed at her and pulled her into a hug while Brian posted the photo onto his account. You froze when your phone vibrated mere seconds later. It’s fine. You could just play it off. Maybe a friend texted you or-

“Mummy, look, your phone lit up!” a girl with sweet and innocent intentions somehow managed to flood you with embarrassment and suddenly you felt bad for laughing at Roger and Brian earlier.

Fuck.

You looked at her with the fakest possible smile and said, “Thank you, darling.”

“Is somebody a fan, then?” Roger taunted, not helping the situation whatsoever and instead making you want to throw your phone out of the nearest window and then you along with it.

Of course you were a bloody fan, why else would you get a notification when Brian posted on Instagram? “You see, it’s a long story, I err, just got, um, a text from one of my friends about the show tomorrow?” It came out as more of a question than an answer.

Brian and Roger exchanged a knowing look before muttering to themselves that you were ‘definitely a fan’ and ‘who do you think you’re kidding’.

To hide yourself as much as humanly possible, you decided to open the app and check the post. It turned out that you weren’t the only one who had the post-notifications turned on. Other fans were already beginning to shower it with likes and comments, and you were intrigued as to what people were saying.

Who is the little girl?? She’s so cute 💖💖

Yes we stan Bri and Rog being grandads

Is it me or does she look like that dancer from the Royal?

How someone had worked out that last one, you would never know.

Brian, being the saint that he was, decided to save you from your shame, “Rose mentioned that you’re a ballet dancer,” he smiled, finally starting to clear up the mess of wrappers and pens.

“Did she now?” you asked playfully, bopping her nose much to her delight before helping Brian out.

“You any good?” Roger asked.

“Well, I’d hope so seen as it’s my job,” you joked.

Roger’s brows furrowed instantly, “Wait, it’s your job?”

You nodded, giggling slightly, “Yeah, I’ve danced professionally for about 5 years-”

“Mummy, that’s older than me!” Rose interrupted, mouth open in bewilderment.

“Yes, sweetheart, that is older than you, but remember to wait for your turn to speak, OK?” you reminded her. You’d been working on that for a little while and she was mostly getting the hang of it, although she slipped up every now and then as you’d expect from a four-year-old.

“Sorry, Mummy,” she apologised in a singsong voice.

“Thank you, my darling,” you kissed her head and pulled her in for a hug, “Anyway, I dance with the Royal Ballet down in Covent Garden. I just got promoted to a Soloist so I’m starting to get better roles than I was before.”

“So, what have you been doing today?” Brian asked, eyes bright with the same curiosity you saw in Rose from time to time.

“Well, I had my warm-up class at nine, then my technical one at eleven. I’d usually have another class or physio but we’re opening The Sleeping Beauty tonight, so I was in rehearsals for that all afternoon. Oh, and we had a final costume fitting just after lunch,” you counted them on your fingers, smiling bashfully when you were met with looks of bewilderment and awe.

“And you’ve got to do a whole performance too?” Roger asked incredulously.

“Yeah, I mean technically I should still be at the Opera House to eat my dinner but I had to come and get this little munchkin first,” you tickled Rose, her adorable giggles filling the room.

When you finally showed her mercy and ceased the tickles, she said, “I get to watch Mummy dance from the side!”

You quickly filled Roger and Brian in when they shot you looks of confusion, “She means the wings. I can’t afford to hire a babysitter for every performance I do so she gets to watch for free. Besides, she loves it, sometimes we dance together backstage when I’m not needed seen as the music’s loud enough.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Brian began warily, and you were already dreading the question that was sure to follow, “But why isn’t there anyone else to babysit her for the evening?”

Ah, the wonderful question that was asked of you nearly every time you met someone. You quickly shot him a look of not in front of Rose, and thank God he understood, for he nodded and sent you a smile as an apology. You turned Rose around so she was facing you instead of leaning against your front and said, “Darling, we have to go in a minute so why don’t you run and grab your toys, OK?”

She jumped up and ran off, hopefully to find her belongings, always oblivious and you hoped she’d stay that way for quite some time.

You took a deep breath and finally answered Brian’s question, “Rose’s father and I split up when she was two, and none of my family live in London,” you shrugged; Rose’s dad was still a bit of a touchy subject. Understanding washed over the both of them immediately, and suddenly you remembered they had both gone through the same thing.

Brian quickly changed the subject yet again, somehow sensing that you weren’t feeling all too comfortable, “Do you think we could come and watch one of your shows? We could bring Rose with us and that way you won’t have to worry about her being backstage.”

“That’s so sweet of you, thank you. I don’t think I can get you tickets for tonight but I probably can for tomorrow if that’s alright?” you smiled at his enthusiasm, especially considering you had only known him for about twenty minutes at the most. Roger didn’t seem as excited, though you were expecting that because, if you remembered correctly, he wasn’t a huge fan of musical theatre and ballet wasn’t far from that.

*********************

It was around one o’clock in the morning and even though you were yawning what felt like every ten seconds, you somehow found yourself sitting on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You knew that you should be settling down, Rose had gone to bed about an hour ago and you normally followed not long after, but you weren’t quite ready yet. With every passing minute, you would be feeling even more regret tomorrow, but it felt as though something was physically stopping you from sleeping.

“Mama?” a small, tired voice called from the doorway. You never closed your bedroom door all the way for this exact reason. Rose shyly tottered into the room, dragging her blanket on the floor behind her and hugging her stuffed dragon toy with her other arm, “Mama?”

You placed your phone on a cardboard box full of things you had yet to unpack and gestured for her to climb into your bed, “What’s up, sweetness?” she clambered into your arms and you shuffled back to lean on the wall behind you. Her cheeks were damp against your shoulder and your heart leapt into your mouth, “Hey bubba, it’s OK, you’re OK, I’ve got you.”

Tiny sobs escaped her mouth and you rocked her gently, patiently waiting for her to calm down. Fortunately, it was only a matter of minutes before her crying ceased. You took this opportunity to gently approach the subject of what had caused all of this, “Did you have a nightmare, darling?”

She nodded, keeping her movements and voice as small as she could, as if someone was confining every part of her, “Daddy.”

You took a breath to ground yourself because fuck you didn’t want her to have to deal with your mistakes and said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice, “What happened with Daddy?”

She rubbed her eye with a tiny hand and murmured, “You. Daddy. Loud.”

You tried to put the pieces together, assuming that you’d been arguing with him. This happened when she was scared, or sad, she would act like she was two instead of four, which restricted her language especially. You supposed acting younger was a comfort to her. When you’d split up with her father, you’d hoped to God that she was too young to remember any of the arguments she’d overheard. You and him had been a classic case of ‘settling down far too quickly’. Rose had been an accident and simultaneously the one to show that the both of you weren’t thinking any of it through at all. He’d walked out after the biggest fight that you’d had, and you were quite grateful for it, if you were honest.

“Me and Daddy didn’t get on very well, darling,” you explained, “You won’t ever see him again, I promise. And I won’t be loud like that, OK?” You felt her nod against your chest, and you could feel her settling down already, “Did you want to sleep in Mummy’s bed tonight?”

She perked up at your suggestion; sleeping in your bed was always a treat reserved for special occasions, and you despised the thought of making her go back to bed by herself. “Please, please, please, Mama? I like your bed, it’s soft and warm and snuggly.”

You responded by turning off your phone and the lamp on your bedside table, and tucking you both in, still cradling her against your chest like a baby. You wondered as she already began to drift off, if it had really been procrastination that had been stopping you from going to sleep earlier, or if it was just a mother’s instinct. Or if you were just thinking that to try and make yourself feel better about yourself.

**********************

Backstage was even more alive with excitement that evening. Someone had seen Brian and Roger in the foyer and word had quickly spread, though you hadn’t said a word on the subject to avoid the rush of inevitable questions. It would make the tabloid headlines by tomorrow morning; you could guarantee that.

The whirlwind rush of backstage never changed, and secretly you hoped it would always stay that way. It was absolute chaos, someone’s pointe shoes had gone soft, or someone’s lost a bit of their costume, or someone’s tights had ripped. It was strange compared to the scene of calm and serenity seen on stage; it was as if each dancer was put under a spell of some sort the moment they stepped out of the wings. While most would find the constant change of environments unnerving, you quite liked it, it kept you on your toes better than the pointe shoes on your feet.

It was a tad strange not having to chase after Rose every five seconds, tonight she was out in the audience for the first time ever. You’d never thought to take her to watch a ballet, she’d seen basically every show in the Royal’s repertoire from the wings, sometimes more enthralled by what went on behind the scenes than the dancing itself. She was forever trying to help anyone who needed it, usually it was looking over a costume or a hairstyle and pointing out anything that was out of place. It was one of the only times people were grateful for the brutal honesty that came with her youth. When she wasn’t doing that, she’d sit somewhere where she could watch the performance through the wings with a sticker book to keep her occupied during the ‘boring bits’, or she’d sleep on the sofa you’d asked Heather to put in place for exactly that reason.

You always felt guilty about making her stay awake so late, considering evening performances didn’t end until around eleven o’clock at night, meaning she wasn’t in bed until just before midnight. Luckily, it wasn’t most nights as you didn’t perform every night, and you had asked to not do as many evening performances as possible, making up for it by doing almost every matinees available. However, that didn’t stop your heart from breaking slightly every time you saw Rose yawn as a result of the lack of sleep. You just didn’t have any other options, until tonight that was. And in secret you were hoping that Brian and Roger would be able to help out again, though you’d never bring it up with them.

You shook yourself back to reality when Meaghan, the dancer in front of you, made her entrance, meaning you had to step forwards, ready for your own. The fairies had to line up in the wings and you were the last one to go on and dance your solo before the Lilac Fairy. You watched Meaghan dance, adrenaline coursing through your veins as it always would just before an entrance, and her beautifully danced solo was done in what felt like thirty seconds rather than two minutes. You took a deep breath and ran on when you heard your cue, plastering a smile on your face that was real for the most part.

You felt the music flood every corner of your mind. You didn’t even have to think about the steps you were dancing, letting muscle memory take control. You lost yourself in the beauty of the music, and in the beauty of yourself. You knew you looked like a real fairy, you sure felt like one, and you hoped that at least one child out there in the audience was watching you and thinking wow I want to be able to do that. You ran over in your head literally everything you knew about ballet, every little piece of advice you’d ever been given, something you probably should have done backstage but that didn’t matter because there you were. You were dancing on your own, all eyes on you, and you relished in the attention that you’d usually shy away from. If that is what it felt like every time you performed on your own, then fuck you were hungry for more. It was over in what felt like a heartbeat but also an eternity, and you ran over to your place further downstage.

Now you had the opportunity to pause for a moment, you took it to scan over the audience, though it was in pure vain as they were obscured by darkness. You supposed it helped dancers with stage fright, though you couldn’t help but wonder why you’d become a dancer if your stage fright was that bad. It was no longer a problem for you, but it had been helpful when you danced on that stage for the first time, especially considering you had only been a teenager when you first started performing with the Royal. You had to admit that you were trying to find Rose, Brian and Roger, knowing they were out there somewhere, watching with wonder in their eyes. You forced yourself to give up with that particular challenge; it was a rookie mistake to try to find loved ones in an audience. You just hoped they recognised you from wherever they were seated.

Elation just ran wild through your veins and you couldn’t stop the blush of pride filling your cheeks, not that you wanted to. This was the reason you danced, for the childlike joy that it brought you, the kind of glee that was the cause of each and every one of Rose’s giggles. It was pointe-shoe pink, it was ice cream on a hot day, it was a butterfly flying past you. It was ephemeral, blink and you’d miss it, but the hangover feeling of sheer bliss, that was the reason you danced.

You were hardly conventional, you knew that. A young single mother, a ballet dancer who had been promoted to a Soloist in her early twenties and living in London of all places. You were a ballet dancer, dancing to the melody of her own piano and to hell with anyone who said that you couldn’t.

[janeyseymour]

Let Me Help You

Hello! Here we are with yet another piece of writing! 

Jane Seymour was always the first one to help her fellow queens. She didn't mind it one bit because, in a way, they were helping her by letting her help them.

Can also be found here! 

Jane Seymour often helped the other queens. For Catherine of Aragon, it was subtle. She was slowly breaking down the walls that the first queen had built up around herself. For Anne Boleyn, it ranged from holding her through nightmares to simply patching up a skinned knee. Anna of Cleves was hard to help, ever the independent woman, but Jane Seymour knew that if it ever came to it, she would be there in a heartbeat to help out the German woman. Katherine Howard was most certainly the queen she helped the most, stepping in as a maternal figure to the youngest queen. Catherine Parr was one that just needed a push in the right direction when it came to taking care of herself. And Jane? Jane didn’t mind any of this one bit.

-

I.

Catherine of Aragon never liked to put her emotions onto anybody else. Instead, she held everything in for as long as possible before unexpectedly exploding at the smallest of things. Unfortunately for Jane, Catherine was about to unleash her wrath.

“Oh my- Jane, can you just relax for like five minutes? Kat went out with Anne and Anna! She’s going to be fine, and she’s going to do the dishes when she gets back!”

“But I told her they had to be done before they went anywhere! And forgive me for worrying about my daughter while she’s out with the two who are most likely to get her into a sticky situation,” Jane shot back.

“Okay first of all, you need to give Anne and Anna more credit and-”

“That’s rich coming from you, Miss “Anne is the most irresponsible person I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t trust her as far as I can throw her.”

“You know what Jane?” Catherine’s voice got scarily low.

“What Aragon?”

“Stop mothering everybody, especially Kat! Newsflash, she’s not your daughter! You just feel like you need to step up because you couldn’t even be a mother in your last life! You died before you could!” she shouted.

Before Aragon could speak another word, Jane had wrapped the woman in a hug. This was the last reaction that the first queen could’ve ever expected from the third queen.

“Lina,” Jane sighed. “What’s got you down?”

“Jane! What the- I just said something so terrible, and your first instinct is to hug me and ask me what’s wrong? Are you insane?”

“Thank you,” Jane whispered as she continued to hold Catalina.

“What the- why are you thanking me?” Catherine was beyond confused. “You should be yelling at me, screaming at me like I deserve!”

“You trusted me enough to break that stoic persona you have. You lost your cool. You needed to do it, and I’m just glad you didn’t lose it on Boleyn.” She let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“Jane, what are you talking about?”

“Even in the show, you say something about having to “keep your cool”. You only carry that over into real life. I’m just happy you finally trusted me enough to let down your guard.”

At those words, Catherine of Aragon broke. Jane Seymour wasn’t wrong in what she had said, and the golden queen had been so blinded by trying to keep up some sort of characterization that had been fabricated for her.

The blonde was shocked at what was happening before her, a small pang in her chest surging through her. She had broken the first queen. The Catherine of Aragon was openly crying in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” Jane sighed as she pulled the crying queen close to her.

“No, you were right. I don’t ever break. Thank you for being here,” the first queen gripped the third queen’s shirt as if her life depended on it.

“Of course love. Don’t think for a second I won’t ever be here for you.” Jane placed a gentle kiss on the woman’s hairline. The golden queen didn’t cry for much longer, but the silver queen held her through it all.

“Are you feeling better love?” she asked gingerly as she felt the upset queen’s breathing regulate once again. She felt a nod. “That’s good. How about we go sit down and watch some television to relax?” She felt another nod.

Normally when the two women watched television together, Jane found herself on one end of the sofa while Catherine settled on the other, but today the two found themselves sitting beside one another.

It was an unusual sight for the other queens to walk into: the strong Catherine of Aragon tucked into the motherly Jane Seymour’s side fast asleep.

“Mum? Wha-” Kat started

“Please go do the dishes I asked you to do,” Jane paused as Catherine moved in her sleep. When the golden queen situated herself the blonde continued pointedly, “ before you left the house today.”

II.

Anne Boleyn had a tendency to get hurt quite a bit. After she had purchased her heelys, the occasions where she wasn’t covered in bandages were few and far between.

“Janey!” Anne’s shrill voice called out. “Jane!” She called again when Jane didn’t come running to her rescue.

“Yes love?”

“Remember when you told me if I got hurt again and had blood dripping down my legs again, if I got blood on your white carpet again, you would take away my heelys?”

“Jesus Annie,” Jane sighed loudly. “Stay outside, I’ll grab the first aid kit and be out in a moment.” Jane set down her embroidery and pushed her glasses up before setting off to find the first aid kit.

“Jane! It’s kinda getting all over the front step!”

“Better than my white carpet,” Jane huffed as she brought the first aid kit out. “It took me weeks of scrubbing to get that stain out.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Sorry not sorry... I’m just tryna have some fun,’ and then you laughed.”

“But I apologized after!”

“After I took away your wheels for a week,” Jane rebutted. “Now, please give me your leg so I can clean this mess up.” Jane opened the kit to find various snacks in place of the many bandages she had stocked up on for occasions like this.

“Anne Boleyn, where is all of my medical equipment?” Jane spoke lowly, slowly becoming more and more frustrated.

“Well uh,” Anne laughed awkwardly. “Funny story about that: I thought that if I got hurt again, and clearly I was not planning on it-”

“Mistake number one.”

“I thought I would probably want a snack instead of a bandage. I guess I was wrong.”

“For the love of-” Jane stood up. “Just tell me where the darn bandages are.”

“My bedroom, in the top right drawer of my desk.”

“You are so lucky I love you,” Jane muttered as she walked back into the house. Moments later, she came back with a wet paper towel and bandages to see Anne had dove into the cheetos that were placed in the medical kit.

“Turns out, past me was right. These cheetos are really hitting different.” As Anne continued to munch on the snack, Jane began to clean up the mess. Once, the green queen offered the blonde a cheeto but was told “Anne, you know I do not put such snacks into my body, and I’m still not quite sure you do either given how bad they are for you.”

“But they’re so good!” Anne whined.

After a few minutes, the third queen had finished cleaning up Anne’s leg and grinned.

“Wheels please.” She outstretched her hand.

“But Jane-”

“I don’t want to hear it. Wheels. Now.” The second queen slowly began to take out the wheels of her shoes and placed them in the silver queen’s hand. “You’ll get these back in a week.”

Anne groaned. “But now I have to walk . Where’s the fun in that?”

“At least you won’t be getting as hurt this next week. Please be more careful in the future.” Jane threw a pointed look at the girl before dropping her facade and placing a kiss on the other queen’s head.

It was a good thing Jane had taken away Anne’s wheels, because had she not, Anne would’ve broken her arm the very next day.

III.

Anna of Cleves almost always refused help.

“Seymour, I’ve got it handled, seriously. It’s fine,” she would say.

Jane would protest, “But Anna, you don’t have to go through this alone!” And most days, the blonde was met with “but it’s really fine. I know how to handle myself.” But there were some days where Anna couldn’t just brush the issue under the rug and go about her day.

Jane’s cell phone rang, and as usual, she answered with, “Hello, this is Jane!”

“Seymour, I know it’s you. That’s why I called your number,” Anna deadpanned.

“Oh Cleves! Where are you?” She then looked down at the number she was calling from. “This isn’t your number!”

“I-” she was interrupted.

“Miss, you have one more minute before I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the phone,” a voice could be heard saying.

“Who is that?” Jane’s heart began to flutter. Where was that girl?

“Doesn’t matter. Listen, I’ll get straight to the point: Anne and I-”

“Hey don’t forget about me!” Katherine’s voice could be clearly heard.

“You have my daughter?”

“Uhm, Anne, your daughter, and myself may be in a bit of a sticky situation.”

“Anna of Cleves,” Jane began, only to be interrupted by Anne.

“Ooh, she used your full name! You’re in trouble!”

“Anne Boleyn!” Jane’s voice was much sharper this time.

“Ooh! Someone’s in trouble!” Anne’s voice rang through. “Oh god, it’s me. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Just tell me where you are,” the blonde was about to blow.

“The police station on main and third. Please come bail us out.” The line went dead. Anna of Cleves had hung up on her, mostly in fear of what Jane would say next.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, the three were greeted with a not-so-thrilled looking Jane.

“I’ve posted bail. Let’s get going. We’ll talk about this in the car.” Jane began to hurry to the car, the other three not far behind her.

“Can somebody please explain to me why I’m picking the three of you up from the police station at 9 pm on a Monday?” Jane’s tone indicated she wasn’t playing around.

“Mum, it’s honestly not our fault,” Katherine tried.

“Not the time Kat.” The pink haired queen shrunk in her seat.

“Seymour, I was protecting your daughter from a creep. The man in the cell next to us? He tried to make advances at Katherine. I tried to push him away, and we kind of got into a bar fight. The cops were called. I didn’t have my wallet on me like I usually do because we just opened a tab, so I couldn’t post bail. I’m sorry.” Jane’s face softened at the admission.

“Is this true?” She directed the question at the other two queens in the car. Both nodded. “Well then, none of you are in trouble. Thank you Anna.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat for your daughter, you ol’ mum,” the red queen chuckled lightly.

“And I’d bail you out again in a heartbeat ol’ Cleves.” Jane gently ruffed the woman’s hair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t just bail us out myself.”

Later that night, the third queen made her way to the fourth queen’s room.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe. Seriously,” Jane smiled softly as she handed the German some chocolate.

“I’d do anything for you queens,” Anna happily accepted the chocolate.

“And we would do anything for you too, you know.”

If only Jane had known Anna had been craving chocolate all night.

IV.

Katherine Howard relied on Jane Seymour quite frequently, not that you would ever hear the older queen complaining. It made her quite happy to be able to put her maternal energy into something instead of having to bottle it up, and the pink queen didn’t seem to mind being coddled. Yes, she relied mostly on Jane to comfort her from her fears and nightmares. Yes, Jane almost always was the one cooking meals when they weren’t eating out. Yes, Jane was even the one who mostly accompanied on the very few outings the fifth queen wanted to make. But Jane was useful for other things too.

What most people wouldn’t pick up on about the blonde is that she was quite good at styling hair. Most wouldn’t know this due to the fact that the third queen’s hair was often worn down, or at the very most in a plain bun.

Katherine quite often liked to change her hairstyle. Some days it was down, some it was up in a simple ponytail, and other days one could find her with some sort of intricate hairstyle that Jane had done.

“Your hair looks so pretty today!” A stranger in their local store would say.

“Thank you,” she would blush. “My mum did it.”

Today, Katherine had taken it upon herself to try to style her own hair in two dutch braids. Unfortunately for the fifth queen, her locks had decided to work against her today, and she instead only succeeded in tangling her hair. After trying to brush it out for fifteen straight minutes, she gave up and walked into the living room.

She watched Jane for a few seconds before the mother figure pushed her glasses up on her face as she read her book.

“Mum?” She whispered from the entrance.

“Oh hello Kitty!” She took in the girl’s appearance. “Having a bit of a struggle with your hair today?” She said, although not in a harmful way; it was soft, almost sympathetic.

“Yeah,” the pink haired queen played with her fingers. “Do you think you could-”

“Of course.” The blonde haired queen stood from the chair and led her daughter back to her room.

“How do you want your hair today?” Jane asked as she began to brush out the younger queen’s tangles.

“Just two plaits please,” she asked shyly.

“That seems a bit too simple for you to not be able to do yourself,” the blonde chuckled. “What do you really want?”

“Two dutch braids. I just couldn’t quite get all of the hair to stay in neatly,” she admitted.

“That’s quite alright. That’s what your ol’ mum is here for, isn’t it?”

“You’re here for so much more, and you know that.”

“T’was just a joke, dear daughter of mine.”

As Jane worked, Katherine couldn’t help but become fascinated with the way her mother so effortlessly twisted her hair. With a few more twists, the girl was presented with two clean braids, much nicer looking than the ones she had attempted earlier.

“There you are love.” Jane smiled softly.

“Thank you.” Katherine turned to face the blonde and pecked her cheek.

“Only the best for my daughter.” Jane gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind the girl’s ear.

“Thank you.” Katherine grinned from ear to ear.

Jane knew that Katherine liked being referred to as her daughter, but she didn’t quite know how far that one simple title went for the younger queen.

V.

Cathy Parr was quite the independent woman; her past life only proved this. Her song in the show only proved this. That didn’t mean that every once in a while she leaned on the mother of the group though.

“Jane?” Cathy called from her room.

“Yes dear?” Jane appeared with a skillet in hand.

“I need help.” Jane stayed quiet, silently urging the woman to continue. “I can’t find the right words to convey what I’m trying to say.”

“Well, how long have you been working on this piece?”

“Far too long,” Cathy sighed. “It’s been like three hours, and I just can’t come up with the right words.” She handed over the laptop and allowed her fellow queen to skim over what she had written.

“Well, it seems to me Catherine, that the point you are trying to make is quite simple, but it can get a little confusing with all of the bigger words you use. You know, it’s okay to not use such big words. It’s okay to keep things simple sometimes.” The blonde handed back the laptop.

“I-” Cathy read over what she had written, seeing that what Jane had spoken was true.

“You’re right. Maybe I should try to say things more simply.”

“When are you going to realize that “Mama Jane” is almost always right?” the silver queen laughed. “Mama Jane also knows that you haven't had anything to eat today, so come eat some lunch with me, will you?”

“But I have to finish this Jane,” Cathy grumbled.

“You won't be able to finish it if you haven't got any brain food, now will you? Come on, it’ll be quick. I won’t keep you for too long.” Jane exited out of Parr’s room. Cathy groaned but rose from her desk to follow the blonde.

“What’s for lunch?” she questioned as she watched the silver queen busy herself.

“I was thinking of a stir fry. Any requests?”

“Lots of vegetables please,” Cathy responded. “So, what have you been up to today?” She tried her hand at holding a conversation.

Jane was a bit taken back. Parr wasn’t one to casually strike up this sort of conversation. These conversations were normally reserved for Aragon and Katherine. Still, she was delighted to answer.

“Oh you know, same old, same old. I spiffed up around the house, watered my flowers, and settled in to read a bit. I took to reading some of your writing. It’s quite good.” Cathy blushed at the compliment. “I’m assuming you’ve just been trying to write since you woke up this morning?”

“I, uh- thanks. And, yeah, but it wasn’t really going anywhere. Thank you for making lunch by the way.” Jane nodded as if to say you’re welcome.

A few moments later the two were happily diving into their lunches in silence, save for the few crunches that could be heard from the vegetables being devoured.

“This is delicious,” Cathy complimented.

“Thank you!”

“You should like, open up a restaurant or something. Everything you make is just- to die for!” It was Jane’s turn to blush.

“Thank you love. Maybe in another life,” she laughed weakly. The two continued their lunch when Parr was struck with an idea.

“Oh my gosh,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

“What is it, love?”

“I know exactly how to word what I’ve been trying to say!” The writer stood up abruptly and began to clumsily make her way to her room. “Thank you for lunch Jane!”

“I told you you needed brain food!” Jane shouted in good nature.

-

Jane Seymour had adapted to being the mother figure in the house, and she didn’t mind this one bit. In fact, helping the other queens helped her. They might not know it, but in helping them, they were helping her.

[crystal-soba]

hihi i hope you’re having a wonderful day filled with sunshine n rainbows !! 🌷✨ could you pls write dbd ghostface/danny johnson with daughter ! reader ? perhaps where he’s the killer in the reader’s trial ? ooo or maybe where she finds out what he does n she gets scared ? 🥺💛

Heck yeah

.Danny found you in an alleyway, no stereotypical basket and blanket. Just a crying baby on the cold hard ground, cold and sick. You must have been abandoned there was no way a decent human being could allow you to rot in a cold alleyway. Screw work today, he felt a pull. Some sort of connection to you, he didn't know why. He wasn't one for children or kids in general.

.When he picked you up your crying didn't stop but it did quite down. How long have you been here? You felt cold, too cold. He took off his jacket and wrapped you in it. You must be hungry and afraid. He started to run to his house, he would have to call his boss later.

.When he opens the door to the house you were still whining, he walked to the kitchen and stared at the fridge trying to find something for you to eat. He sighed and opened his flip phone and called his boss, his boss had a son so he probably had an idea of what to do.

.He was getting ready to go to the store, a big list of supplies needed to give a three month old baby a decent life and you still being carried by him. He realized just how much he was unprepared, no clothes, you were covered in dirt and horrible smells and still starving. He sighed as he poured you a small bath in the sink. He scrubbed all of the mess off of you, he made a make shift swaddle for you made of one of his old shirts.

.As he walked through the Walmart he noticed all the strange looks people were giving you. He was doing his best, he didn't really know where these maternal instincts came from but they felt like something in his life was going to change for the better. He would eventually sort out all of the papers and certificates later but for now he was focused of making you a bit more comfortable. He wouldn't say it but looking for cute clothes for you was fun. He didn't care what other parents said or looked at you, he was going to make your life amazing no matter what.

.Six years have passed from then. He had gotten a different job, working as a journalist. You were his sunshine, his everything. The first victim of his was your real parents. He wanted to show them their mistakes and wrongs, he mad sure their deaths were painful and slow. After that he found it made great headlines for stories. Killing had become a side job.

.You were his main attention at all times, he would make sure you never found out about his job. The things he did were never going to be found out by anyone, especially you. You moved to different states constantly, never being able to have friends. You didn't have any other family, no grandparents, or uncles or aunt's, just you and daddy.

.your new house was smaller than the last one, you had a small room you were driving you and dad while watching a movie. He sat with you for a bit before going to his office. His office was where he wrote newspapers and did his job. You weren't allowed in the room, you didn't know why but you didn't want to fight with your dad.

.Danny sat in his office gearing up to start the next job, he grabbed his camera, knives, and suit throwing them in a duffle bag. He walked to you "y/n sweetie, daddy has to go to work. There's MacDonald's on the table and remember. Bed is at 7:00. I'll be back in a few hours." He grabbed his keys and left after you nodded.

.As he was stalking a couple holding hands he took mental notes. It had been a few hours of walking around their house until now. He was stalking them back to their house. Then he would kill them, just a simple quick few stabs then run.

.After he killed them he took a photo. Before he was going to leave he felt a cold chill as black mist flowed from the doors of the house. When he looked up he heard running and saw blood covering the forset floors.

.It was a week. A week without your dad, he said he'd be back later. When was later? You started to pack a bag full of snacks. You knew he was either lost or missing. You could find him, you looked at the map and tried to follow the streets, it felt like a maze of building and houses. You looked back and forth between the map and the forest. Maybe he went in to write about some animals?

.As you walked deeper and deeper into the woods you ft colder and colder. A dark fog made it hard to see where you were. "Now why is their a child in my domain?" The voice was dark and creepy. You couldn't see anything Infront of you. "I'm...I'm looking for my dad." You were scared "Ahhh. And who is your father?" You scratched your head "His name is Danny and he has black hair with blue eyes." The person chuckled "My child are you sure you want to see him? Where he is a dark place, no one is allowed to leave." You clutched your bag and nodded. "Very well."

.You woke up in a forest your head hurt a little before standing up. "Daddy!?" You called out as loud as you could. You started walking around the forest. You bumped into someone, you looked up "Daddy?" The old man standing there was surprised when he saw a child. "Can you help me find my daddy?" Bill didn't know what to do, this was no place for a child "What does he look like him?" You pulled out the drawing "He's my dad. He has short black hair, blue eyes, uhhhhh he likes to write stories." Bills sat down, maybe Dwight? "Does he have glasses?" You shook your head.

.Bill walked with you while holding your hand, he doesn't know what to do. He can't leave you alone with that maniac running around.

.That maniac he was talking about was walking towards him, he told you to hide behind the tree. The man had a black robe and a dropping ghost face. You watched Bill, The man also had a sharp bloody knife trying to stab your new friend.

.Bill tried to fight him off. Successfully ripping of his mask, Bill stoped. It was exactly how you described your father. He was shocked.

.It was daddy! Be was here. You got up to see him walking out of your hiding spot. Just before you ran to him Bill was stabbed in the chest. You watched as Bill's blood hushed out of his chest, daddy sat up and wiped the blood off of the knife.

"Y/n?" Your eyes were giant as you breath had quickened. "Y/n what are you doing here?" You were scared no horrified. You watched your father kill Bill. Tears filled your eyes and slipped down. "Y/n it's.... Init what it looks...looks like." You started to run away still crying.

.Danny watched you run away from him. He fucked up to whole new level. How would he convince you he was still alright. He had to stop you before you hurt yourself. He ran after you, he can still hear the crying coming from you. He started to cry, you were scared of him. And it was his own fault.

.You tripped over a big rock tabling down. Danny caught up to you, he picked you up. Your face was dirty and scratched your nose bleeding. He hugged you tight not letting you go. "Y/n please. Daddy had to do it, don't be scared daddy won't hurt you." He was still crying. "Why....Why did you have to..." You cried stuttering. "Because if I don't, I don't get him I would be punished. And I won't get to see you again. Don't worry he'll come back. It's like tag." You wiped away tears. "Tag?" He nodded fast. "Yeah I have to get the other people so I don't get in trouble."

.It took a while for you to stop crying. "Why are you here." He shrugged "I don't know." He picked you up rocking you. You held onto him. "Is he...okay?" He had shakey breaths and nodded. "Can we go home?" He was unsure as of what to say "I...I don't know sweetheart. But it's okay, don't worry." You nodded holding onto him tight.

.You both walked through the woods calming down "promise me you won't hurt anyone." He nodded "promise." He would have to do it when you weren't around the trials. Wipe the blood off his suit and possibly have someone taking care of you while he was busy... Oh well everything would be okay as long as you were safe. He knew life wouldn't be the same here but he was fine with it. You would be fine without certain things like tv or movies.

.He let you sleep on him, not being able to run or chase after survivors with you in his arms was impossible. He'd have to let most of them go this time. He watched you breathe, you were so peaceful. He can't let anyone or anything hurt you. That was finnal. step up his game and work harder for you. he smiled while looking up at the moon, he looked at the drawing close to him.

.You were everything to him, his little ray of sunshine. He's going to do everything he can to make you happy. Even if he has to somethings he will regret. It's all for you, the one good thing he's ever done right by.

So how was this? I really hope you like it. Sorry if it took a while, my first request and I want to do more so hit me with em

[taronfanfic]

Can you do a one shot with Taron about his fiancée giving birth to a baby girl? pls and thank you!

A/N: This ended up writing itself very quickly. It’s everything I’ve deliberately tried to avoid writing in all of my other fics so clearly my brain needed to get it out of it’s system! Normality can now resume.

It always was going to be today. Taron had woken you up with the softest kisses to your forehead and then stomach. He’d brought you breakfast in bed and a vase of fresh white roses bloomed upon your bedside table.

“One whole year.” He kissed the back of your left hand and admired the engagement ring he’d bought you. “I did think we’d be married by now but I still mean every single word I said to you before I proposed.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” You replied sleepily.

“And as soon as this little one is with us we can celebrate properly. My perfect little family.” He kissed your stomach again and kept his head close as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I love you.” You cooed down to the sight of your fiancé and bump together.

“We love you too.” Taron replied with the biggest smile. “So take it easy today. I’ve got to run else I’ll be late for this meeting but text me if you need anything. My phone will be on silent but I’ll check it as soon as I get out and be straight home later.” He kissed you a long goodbye before darting off out the door of your London townhouse.

He’d only been gone for half an hour when everything started to happen. You were relaxed in bed, scrolling through your phone when your waters broke. Surprisingly you didn’t panic, just called Taron straight away and waited for him to pick up. He shouldn’t have been in his meeting yet but he still didn’t answer your call so you left him a voicemail.

“T. It’s me. No need to panic but my waters have just gone so come back when you get this. Our baby girl is coming to say hello!”

As you waited to hear back from him your contractions started to kick in with a bit more force. They were uncomfortable to say the least but you knew you had to stay calm and wait it out. You had hours of this left yet. There was still no word from Taron as you struggled to get on your feet and make it downstairs to get a glass of water. You were checking your phone every 30 seconds until the next contraction kicked in, making you double over and lean your weight against the kitchen counter. You dialled Taron’s number again and waited, listening to the endless ringing before his voicemail message clicked in again.

“Taroooon!” You called out in pain. “Jesus Christ check your bloody phone!” You hung up and immediately redialled him but still didn’t get an answer.

It had been an hour and a half since your waters had gone and there was still no reply from Taron. You tried calling his publicist and manager too but you knew they’d be in the same meeting as him, all phones on silent or turned off. He’d not even told you who the meeting was with or where it was so you couldn’t phone anyone else to get a message to him. Your frustrations grew with each stronger contraction. You were coping but also growing desperate for Taron to be by your side.

With the next break from the pain you called Taron’s mum who unsurprisingly picked up immediately.

“Hello, Y/N. Is everything ok? You don’t normally call me.”

“I’m in labour and Taron isn’t answering his phone. Please can you try and get hold of him because I can’t do this without him.” You spoke quickly, wanting to get everything said before your next contraction started.

“Oh gosh! Wow!” She cried from the other end of the phone before her motherly instincts kicked in. “Is anyone else with you? Have you called the midwife or hospital yet?”

“No. I just need Taron.”

“Ok, it’s ok. Don’t worry. I’ll get hold of my useless Son. After your next contraction call the hospital and a midwife will let you know if you need to think about going in yet. Leave Taron to me. I’ll make sure he gets to you as soon as possible. You’re doing so well, Y/N. Everything will be fine.” She hung up on you as she heard you groan in pain. You’d not moved from the kitchen, still slowly waddling around the dining table and leaning against whatever you were next to when the pain got too much to handle. The thought of going into hospital on your own was terrifying. It was never part of your birthing plan either. Taron was always there in the plan. He’d carry your bags, he’d rub your back and hold your hand and keep talking to you to make sure you were relaxed. This was not the plan and him not being with you was stressing you out more than the thought of having to give birth. You called his number again and again and again, desperately hoping that one time he’d actually answer.

Time seemed to be passing quicker and quicker with every contraction coming faster than the last. You found yourself on all fours, unable to move as the pain felt like it was paralysing your whole body. There was nothing left to do but phone the hospital and prepare to do this on your own. The midwife timed you through your next two contractions and then said you should head in so you called for a taxi and grabbed one of your two hospital bags, hoping it had at least some of the right things in it.

The taxi driver was incredible, talking to you constantly and taking your mind away from your missing fiancé. He even carried your bag into the maternity ward and made sure you were in safe hands before he left. Being surrounded by other people was helping to keep you calm. The midwife hooked you up to the monitors and examined you to reveal you were already 8cm dilated. You were just about to panic thinking that Taron really was going to miss the birth of his own daughter but then your phone started to ring.  

“I’m SO sorry, I never thought it would be today!” Taron rushed his words and you could tell he was running. “Are you ok? What’s happening? Are you at the hospital?” You switched him onto speaker phone as you felt the next wave of pain sear through your body. You couldn’t answer him with words but your noises should fill in the gaps easily. “Babe it’s ok, you’ve got this. I’m just jumping in a taxi now so I’ll be there really soon.” You let out a louder cry. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

“That’s what you said 9 months ago you fucking idiot!” You shouted back in anger before hanging up on him. The midwife just laughed gently at you.

“How long have you been together?” She asked.

“4 and a half years, engaged for 1 of them though. It’s the anniversary of our engagement today too.” You relaxed again as the contraction eased off.

“How lovely! How did he propose?” The midwife kept you talking and distracted from the impending pain.

“Nothing over the top actually so it was a nice surprise. He was just really cute all day, I got breakfast in bed, we spent the day walking around Borough Market and he bought me some white roses and offered to cook that night. It was just like a really sweet date day and then in the evening I was upstairs and he called me back down and the lights were off, candles everywhere and he was waiting for me on one knee.”

“Oh wow, that sounds so perfect. I hear so many stories of big public engagements and they just make me die inside. I couldn’t think of anything worse! So have you got a date set?” You were hit with another contraction so couldn’t reply but thinking back to the night when Taron proposed had been good for you. You stayed calm through the pain, thinking of how much you loved him and how much he loved you and it was over before you knew it.

“We’d just started planning the wedding when I found out I was pregnant so we decided to wait until after, she kind of took over. I just know she’s going to be a Daddy’s girl too so I’ll be reminding her of how late he was to her birth.”

“Not too late though!” Taron crept slowly through the door before rushing over to you and placing his hand to your forehead, moving your hair away from your face before leaning down to kiss you. “I’m so sorry.” He mumbled against your cheek. You grabbed hold of his hand as the next contraction hit and squeezed it hard, making up for all the ones he’d missed before. “Ow, ow, not so hard.” He started to complain but the look of daggers you threw his way soon shut him up. “Ok, ok, whatever you need, love. You’re doing brilliantly. Just breathe.”

“I can’t do this!” You cried out as the realisation hit you. Having Taron by your side gave you a moment of déjà vu. You’d imagined this scenario so many times. You’d dreamt about it happening and been living for this moment for the past 8 months and now it was happening you started to panic.

“Yes you can. You’re absolutely fine.” Taron soothed you. “I’m here and really soon our baby girl will be too. You can do this.” The contractions never seemed to let up, wave after wave of pain coursing through your body, so much pressure pushing against you.

“I can see the top of the head so when you need to, give me a really big push Y/N.” The midwife instructed from the end of the bed. You had no time to think, just went with what your body was doing, pushing hard and clinging onto Taron until it was all over. The room fell silent for a second before you gasped out for breath. You opened your eyes to see the midwife between your knees, Taron leaning over and looking down, cooing at the sight of his new born daughter. You heard her first cry and it made you cry too. Everything was overwhelming as you held her on your chest and looked down into her eyes.

“She’s so beautiful.” Taron whispered before he kissed the top of your head. Drawing your eyes away from your daughter was difficult but you knew you needed to see Taron’s reaction. He was crying too, tears falling down his cheeks and over his beaming smile. “I’m so in love.” He leant down to kiss her too. Everything was peaceful and still, just the two of you taking in the sight of your daughter who you’d been waiting to meet for so long.

“Have you decided on a name?” The midwife asked. It was something you’d discussed together but you’d never managed to settle on one, hoping that you’d know as soon as you saw her. The look Taron gave you said it all. You both knew.

“Rose.” You replied.

“Rose Carwen Egerton.” Taron gave her full name and in that moment you’d never felt happiness like it. You were the perfect little family.

[graceygabs]

do you ever feel scared that your parents are actually emotionally abusive but you are just so conditioned to it that you think its normal? is it even possible that they are wonderful supportive parents in every other way but this one flaw that they have has the capacity to literally ruin you.

like...today my mother and i got into a fight and she started yelling at me, and for some reason i cannot handle conflict. something in my brain shuts off. i shut down completely. i start to get really dark thoughts. i want everything to end. its like that grating tone of her voice makes me wants to liquify my brain so i can forget what it sounds like. it triggers something in me that turns everything off and wants everything to end. suddenly the room becomes sticky, my presence is not right in this world and my axis is tilted 360, i loose all happiness. like all these happens in the five seconds that she changes her tone?

so i tell her i need to breathe, and start to walk away, because my therapist has told me this is a good and healthy coping mechanism in a fight, to walk away and breathe. and she yells at me as i am walking away, out of the kitchen. she meets me in the living room, where i burst into tears (literal sobs). “I just need a breather, please” i say. and she continues her yelling, her tone, after me and up the stairs. she agrees, but appears frusterated af, annoyed i am crying. inside if feel like i am dying, like i am caving from the inside out. like i am made of sand and quickly just dissolving. and by the way she sees i am crying...hard.

does this not set off some kind of maternal instinct, some thought process of wow i really did hurt her, i’ll stop, is she okay? but it doesn’t, so i go to my room and facetime my sister because the world is spinning and im crying and i cant breathe and thats when the yucky feeling hits the

wrong. i feel wrong. 

i can’t explain it. 

and this has happened for most of my teenage years. the only times i remember being extremely depressed was after a fight where i could to my room and bead my insides on my heart strings, imagine the skin ripped from my face. any violent image to take me away from where i was. i remember one time i was in so much anguish after a fight i went to the bathroom and took a razor blade to my knuckles. it started to bleed so i went and told my mom, and she knew it was because i was upset, and she helped me clean it up but she never once apologized or seemed concerned? i had just self-harmed? like? does that not set off alarm bells?

i would need comfort, after fights like those, and in a sick twisted way the only people who could give me comfort were my parents. so i would go to their rooms and say, “i don’t feel well” this was well established code for, i feel sick to my stomach because we fought, but like they knew that? and they would respond, oh it’s because we fought, i get it. i would use words like anxiety and depression, and still to this day it doesn’t seem to phase them?

flash forward to the present, i hang up with my sister. my mom texts me. “i’m sorry we got so upset. love you.” we, not her. she never takes responsibility, ever. ever. ever. she didn’t come up either. she just texted me. her way of mending it. later i come down. reiterate it in person. ‘im sorry we got so upset.” escalated.

i wasn’t the one who yelled. to the point of causing the other into literal tears? like.

i hate the way i depend on them for emotional support. i text my mom too much. mutltiple people have said she worries too much about me. im 20. i moved away from home for 1st year uni. found out i was having surgery in the summer after, decided to transfer. i would cry every time i would leave home to go back to school.

i now wonder if my constant communication with them helped attribute to my extreme home sickness, because out east i was also the happiest i had ever been.

now jan of my transfer year i cant help but wonder if it was my decision to transfer or the underlying tone that i would feel better if i was closer to my parents, their way of keeping control over me? 

every decision, everything i want to share with them, they are so supportive

whenever i want to share my feelings about something my mother always comes back with ‘i think we r pretty good parent’s”

ill txt them constantly and tell them in person “i appreciate u i am so thankful” contanstly. why? maybe out of guilt or fear that if i dont they will blame me somehow.

most of the time i have this instinctual feeling to get away. get out. stop texting me. they dont let me drive hardly. i still feel like nothing is real or validated unless they know or i have their support.

im also bi and havent told them in 2.5 years. part of the reason i think is because its a part of my life that is mine and mine alone, it is something they cant relate to, or advise or influence me on

i love my parents but i have a desire to get away from them, are they emotionally abuse, am i being un grateful?

[itsthebeatingofhishideousheart]

Not Your Sweetheart Chapter 3 - 23rd December

Warnings - Talk of cheating, swearing, anger, lying,

Word Count - 2,593

No Beta. First published 2018

Summary - When Sarah’s ex-turns up on her doorstep begging her to come to the family home for the holidays, she really wants to tell him where to go but she’s always been too kind-hearted. After just a few days with her in-laws, Sarah starts to think that she should have gone with her first instincts and stayed home.

     The rest of the drive was filled with silence. Guilt and shame from one side, rage and resentment from the other. The sun was getting close to the horizon when Kane finally pulled up outside a large, white farmhouse nestled in the centre of a few acres of land with a large forest on the outskirts. The car rolled to a stop and Kane switched off the engine but neither of them made a move to get out. After a moment, Kane unclipped his seatbelt and twisted to face Sarah, taking her hands in his. She immediately tried to pull them back but Kane hung on.

    "I need to tell you something, sweetheart. I'm sorry." Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes, she tried to pull away again but Kane wasn't letting go. "I know. It's too late and you don't care. But I had to tell you. I thought we were it, you know? For the longest time, we were everything I wanted but guess I felt like we ended up in a rut. I went looking for something exciting and new somewhere else when I should've talked to you and we could've worked through it. I broke us and I'm sorrier then you will ever know. No matter what happens in the next few days, I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry and I will never stop loving you." Kane placed a gentle kiss on Sarah's lips before caressing her cheek. He gave her a sad smile before climbing from the car, leaving Sarah to gape after him and wonder what the Hell was going on.

    As Kane opened the trunk and started pulling out their bags, he heard the door to the house creak open. Peering around the open trunk, he watched his mother smile widely and open her arms to Sarah. The older woman wore faded blue jeans and a Christmas jumper with a pattern that almost made Kane's eyes cross.

Maureen Stinton was in her late fifties, her figure was still trim and her hair was a glossy grey. She smiled widely as Sarah stepped into the hug but Kane dropped his gaze when his mother's eyes turned in his direction. Focusing on pulling the few bags from the trunk, Kane kept his head down and quickly scrubbed a hand across his face before slamming down the lid more forcefully then he meant to. Kane jumped when he noticed a figure next to the car.

    "You fucked up, boy." Kane swallowed and nodded. His father wasn't a large man but the patriarch of the Stinton family was an imposing one. Alex had been in the army for much of his youth and he'd ran his home and family like they were his soldiers, firm but fair was his favourite phrase. Broad shoulders and a balding head, bushy eyebrows above steel-rimmed spectacles usually gave a completely different impression to those who didn't know him.

    "I know, sir" whispered Kane. Alex sighed and swept his gaze along the rapidly darkening horizon. They stayed silent for a moment before the elder Stinton spoke again.

    "You're not going to get her back. Especially not after she's run the course. But your mother already told you that." Kane nodded, keeping his eyes downcast and trying his hardest not to cry. "You're gonna have to live with whatever happens out there, boy. This is all on you." Kane crumbled. His knees gave out and he fell forward into his father's arms, sobbing hard and silently.  Alex held his son until the shuddering breaths had calmed.

    "I don't know if I can do this, dad."

    "I know, son. But we have no choice, so you'll do what you have to." Kane straightened up and Alex brushed the tears from his cheeks just like when he'd been a kid. Kane picked up the bags, swallowed the lump in his throat and followed his father inside.

    Sarah followed Maureen to the large, farmhouse kitchen and smiled. The place always smelt of bread and cookies whether the older woman had been baking during the day or not. Since both were always freshly made and slightly warm when offered, Sarah had often wondered if Maureen was a secret baker that only did her cooking at 3 am so nobody would know. A lump suddenly rose in Sarah's throat and she couldn't seem to breathe past it.

Her own parents had been killed in a car crash just months after she'd married Kane and Maureen had stepped up and handled everything when the pain became too much. The idea that Sarah was going to lose another maternal figure hit her like a tidal wave and she struggled for breath. Maureen looked fine really but Sarah knew these things could be deceiving and her mother in law had always been a strong woman with a dislike for showing her own weaknesses.

Sarah closed her eyes as the kitchen began to spin. She felt her knees give out and braced herself for the impact of hitting the floor but it never came. Strong arms grabbed her waist and lowered her into a chair, then a cool hand landed on the back of Sarah's neck and her head was forced down between her knees.

    "Are you okay, love? You gave us all a Hell of a shock there for a minute." Slowly, Sarah lifted her head and looked at Alex. She managed a watery smile and accepted a tissue from Kane, she blew her nose and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was husky and full of emotion.

    "Yeah, I'm good. This last year has done me in, is all." Sarah looked up and caught Kane's eye, noticing the fear in them and she suddenly remembered why she was there in the first place. "Being ill for so long really sucks." For just a moment, Sarah thought she saw a glimmer of something in her father in law's eyes, something almost like pity. Most people thought of Alex Stinson as some dumb army grunt but he could be incredibly astute at times and Sarah suddenly wondered if he knew more about his son's recent mistakes then he was letting on.

    "How about you sit here for a bit and let Mother bring you some food. Kane tells me you haven't really eaten today. We'll take the bags up to your room." Sarah smiled a thank you and watched as the two men gathered the luggage and headed for the stairs, Kane throwing a last worried look over his shoulder. Although whether he was worried about Sarah's health or about her making any more mistakes was hard to tell.

    Once Kane and Alex were safely out of earshot, Maureen placed a mug of coffee in front of Sarah and perched on a chair.

    "Are you okay, love?" she asked. Sarah chuckled and sipped the liquid joy before replying.

    "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Maureen frowned, confusion colouring her features.

    "What do you mean?" Sarah blinked and realized she'd apparently just opened her mouth only to change feet. Then again, given how many lies were going to be told this Christmas, maybe Sarah could claw back some good Karma by admitting to this one. She reached across the table and took Maureen's hand.

    "I know you asked Kane not to tell anyone but I won't say anything, I promise. You're gonna be fine, Mama. You're a fighter, it won't beat you." There was a beat of silence before Maureen simply smiled and patted the younger woman's hand. She got up and went to the oven as Kane and Alex started clomping back down the stairs.

Sarah frowned, the vague worry from earlier making a sudden return. Maybe Suz had been right. This was a bad idea.

    The 23rd December dawned bright and frozen with a thin layer of snow on the ground. Sarah stared out of her bedroom window, chewing her lower lip while her mug of coffee went cold in her hands. Between her own overactive imagination and Kane snoring on the air mattress, she hadn't gotten much sleep. Sarah had tried to call Suz but she couldn't get a signal. The rational part of her mind reminded her of how isolated they were and of how patchy the signal had been out here on past visits but rationality seemed to have flown out the window sometime around 3 am.

    "How long have you been awake?" Sarah started a little and looked down at her ex-husband. Her heart fluttered a little at the sight of him, this used to be her favourite time of day. Kane with his hair mussed and stubble across his chin, a glint in his eye and probably that cocky smirk that would make them both late for work.

    "A few hours. I couldn't get back to sleep once I woke up." Kane ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the greasy feel of it, before struggling to his feet, joints popping from spending the night on the air mattress. He sighed and perched on the bed, eyeing Sarah.

    "I know it's hard and I know I'm being selfish but mum was so insistent on having us here this year. She said it was because she didn't know if she'd even be here next year." Sarah stared at Kane but his expression didn't change. She turned back to the window and sipped her now cold coffee, Sarah was still sure that he was lying but there just didn't seem to be a point to it.

    "I'm going to take a shower before the rest of your brood gets here." Sarah placed her mug on the cabinet and left the room, grabbing a towel as she went.

��   The house was just starting to come alive and she passed Alex in the hallway and Maureen coming out of the bathroom. Both were cheerful and wished her good morning but Sarah just smiled and nodded, she suddenly wished she had just stayed at home.

    After getting dressed in black skinny jeans and an emerald green sweater, Sarah swept her dark hair back into a low ponytail and was about to head downstairs when sudden movement from outside drew her to the window. The tree line was just visible and she could see someone moving around. Sarah cupped her hands around her eyes and squinted but she couldn't tell who it was. Sarah moved away from the window, took a deep breath and headed downstairs with a forced smile on her lips.

Maureen was just turning from the cooker with plates of food in her hands, she smiled at Sarah and gestured for her to take a seat.

    "Eat up, love. The others will be here soon and you know they won't hold back." Sarah managed a chuckle and took the offered plate, loaded with eggs and bacon, sausages and mushrooms, hash browns and fried bread. Despite her anxiety, Sarah's stomach grumbled and she ate, heartily. Kane fixed her another coffee and a glass of juice before tucking into his own plate. The conversation was mundane and light-hearted but Sarah couldn't help but feel it was all very forced. She pushed her empty plate aside and sipped at her coffee while Kane enquired after the relatives that would be arriving any minute.

    Sarah hadn't really met the rest of the family very many times despite how long she and Kane had been together. They were at the wedding, obviously, and then it was just a handful of holidays and birthdays, the odd card through the post.

Alex's younger brother was named Jeremy but everyone called him Jez. Sarah always felt uncomfortable about that for the simple reason the man didn't look like a Jez. But he did look like a Jeremy. He was tall and willowy with a shaved head and piercing eyes. Jez's wife was named Kiya and she was something of a mouse. Sarah had tried on the few occasions they had met to make some kind of conversation with her, just to be polite, but she was constantly looking to Jez as though seeking permission. She was a slight woman, flat chested and extremely thin with mousey hair and eyes that always walked exactly two paces behind her husband.

Jez and Kiya had a son who was a few years older than Kane. His name was Stanley and he gave Sarah the creeps. Shorter then Kane by a good foot, balding and slightly tubby, Stanley looked harmless and could actually be very charming when he needed to be. The problem was, he didn't know how to just be Stanley instead of being Creepy Stanley. Sarah had found him very handsey and usually tried to avoid him but sometimes, like Easter four years ago, he just managed to sneak up on unsuspecting females. Sarah had always felt sorry for his wife.

Isla was almost a carbon copy of Kiya. Very quiet, always deferring to her husband and never seeming to have an opinion of her own. But Sarah had seen a completely different side to Isla when she came along to the Hen Night Suz had arranged before the big day. A woman arrived at Sarah's house in huge, spike heels, fishnet stockings and a PVC mini dress. Blonde hair teased into a geometric shape and so much makeup Sarah was sure she'd have to throw her head back to get her eyes open. It had almost floored Sarah and Suz when they realized this was how Isla was when she was away from Stanley.

    The rest of the family arrived just before lunchtime and Maureen and Alex served a huge buffet and grill while they all sat in the living room and caught up on the last year. Sarah sat in a corner and picked at her plate while casting her gaze around the room. Isla and Kiya were very obviously keeping their distance while being very touchy-feely with Kane, who in turn was trying to escape or keep furniture between him and these suddenly amorous women. Sarah sipped her beer and tried to hide her smirk. If that had happened a year ago, she'd have gone to his aid but now he could deal with them himself.

    "Let me refill that for you, babe." Sarah winced as she realized she'd been so caught up in Kane's misery that she hadn't been keeping at least one eye on Stanley. She opened her mouth to refuse but Maureen slapped her nephew across the back the head and shooed him away.

    "I don't know what Jez and Kiya are teaching that boy. If Kane ever spoke to a lady like that he'd be going straight over my knee, I don't care if he's in his thirties" she spat. Sarah gaped at her for a moment. She'd never seen Maureen this way with her family, usually she a little more chilled out and forgiving. Maybe she really was ill but it just wasn't as serious as Kane had said.

    "Yeah. I completely agree but Stanley would probably enjoy it." Maureen gasped and, for a moment, Sarah thought she'd gone too far but then the older woman burst into peels of laughter and had to grip the doorframe to keep herself upright, making every eye in the room turn towards them.

    "This is why we love you!" she cried. Sarah felt that familiar sadness again but brushed it off. There was something weird happening with her in-laws and she didn't want to be thrown off by too much sentiment.

[write-this-way-please]

Moments

Those of you that have been following me for a while, know how close this prompt is to me. To the requester I’m so sorry for your loss. I hope this is able to comfort any that read it. Not gonna lie this too a lot out of me emotionally and I broke down crying in public while writing it… But I think it also helped me. And today (4/25) happens to be the anniversary of my dad’s death so I think I needed this to cope....

Moments

Kiseok chuckled seeing you wandering back and forth through the office. “Baby relax” he grinned, grabbing your hand trying to slow you down. You’d always been so busy. Never resting for a moment. But that was how you liked it, you hated sitting idle. There was always something to do and you were going to find it.

“Oppa I can’t” you smiled as he tugged you onto his lap. “I have a bunch of phone calls to make” Life at the AOMG office was pretty busy as it was and on top of the tour Jay was planning so much needed to be done. The crew was getting bigger, the company was expanding, new deals were met and you were taking it all head on.

He kissed your wrist, taking your phone from your hand. “Slow it down. Don’t let life get away from you.”

“Then hire more people and give me a break” you laughed, hitting his chest, kissing his lips softly. “And stop distracting me from work”

“Hey now. I’m your Boss. I am your work” he wrapped his arms comfortably around your waist, kissing you back.

You smiled pulling back as your phone rang. “Mmm I gotta get that. That’s the manager from Taiwan.”

“Noooo” he whined against your ear. “Let it ring”

“I gotta work” you laughed pulling out of his grip and answering your phone. “Hello? This is she.” you wedged your phone against your shoulder and ear while jotting down notes and retreating to your office.

Kiseok laughed, watching you scurry away, your business no-nonsense tone echoing through the hall. His eyes softened looking at the photo of the two of you on his desk. You were always so put together. But even he noticed that you were overcompensating. You worked too hard, kept yourself too busy.

He tried not to relate everything to your father’s death, but it was part of who you were. Part of your past. It hadn’t even been that long, but it felt like you were almost doing too well.

He’d never lost a parent before so it’s hard to tell how one is supposed to grieve. But something felt off. The years before he’d notice a dip in your mood around the anniversary that you lost him, but this year you’d been at a high.  

It was almost unnerving. But he’d let you feel what you needed to when you needed to.

It was almost out of nowhere when it finally hit.

Tablo and Haru had spent the day at the studio, and Kiseok hadn’t seen you smile so brightly. Haru visiting was the only thing that could pull you out of your office. You absolutely loved that girl. You loved children in general, but you were so tender with Haru. Rather it was a maternal instinct or simply being charmed by the girl you were the happiest you’d been in months.

But after the two had left Kiseok noticed the pained look in your eyes. “Hey…. you ok?” he reached out to touch your arm but you’d retreated, hugging yourself. You forced a smile, trying to push out the sadness, but it only made you look so broken.

“I’m o-k…” but your voice cracked and the tears finally fell.

“Hey…” his voice was calm as he pulled you into his arms. “What’s wrong? Talk to me...”

Talk.

The one thing you haven’t done.

The one thing you refused to do.

Because no matter how much you vented, how much you grieved it would change nothing.

Burying your face in his chest you finally broke. All you could do was cry. You didn’t even really understand it yourself but it just made you so sad. You loved Tablo and Haru more than anything. Their relationship was beautiful, she smiled and held on to her father the way you once did. And maybe that why it affected you so much? It was hard to explain being jealous.

It almost didn’t make sense.

It warmed your heart to see little girls with their fathers. It was like you were reliving your childhood just watching them but afterward, you just felt this huge emptiness. It was like you were reliving the moment you lost your father all over again, while simultaneously basking in all the good memories, and grieving over the lost future. It was like being over stimulated with everything that you’d just compartmentalized to live.

There was no way to explain it to Kiseok. How do you explain being jealous of a five-year-old? It was selfish and silly almost. Everyone deserved to have their dad in their life and as much as you loved seeing Haru with Tablo, you envied her.

You envied her innocence and you were so thankful that she didn’t know your pain. Because it wasn’t a pain you’d put on anyone.

Kiseok continued to rub your back as your sobs slowly subsided. Outside of the funeral itself, this was the most open he’d ever seen you and he hated feeling helpless. How was he supposed to make this better? How was he supposed to make you better?

Desperately gripping onto his shirt you looked up at him, choking back a sob. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Shhh….There’s nothing wrong with you.” he kissed the top of your head.

“I miss my dad so much Kiseok….”

“I know Jagi...I know….It’s gonna be alright.” he tightened his grip around you, desperately wanting to do anything in his power just to make you feel safe again. But even he knew it was better for you to just feel. Feel anything and everything your body needed you to, because repressing everything was going to break you.

Eventually, the tears stopped, the heaves turned into sniffles, and soon enough you tired yourself out. Your body just shut down to try and heal your heart. Kiseok looked down at you, stroking your hair as you slept on the couch.

There were no words to heal the pain in your heart. But what he could do was be there for you. Whenever you were ready to face this head on he’d be there. But he couldn’t push it, you needed to be the one that was ready.

You kissed his hand, gripping it tightly, thankful that you weren’t alone in this.

End

I guess I did this as a fluff leading to an angst. It doesn’t feel right to try and pretend that it can be a fluff at the end. 

I wanted to illustrate hope instead. This was and still is how I grieve. Never wanting a moment to stop working and being sad. I just needed to do something and I never allowed myself to feel because if I let in one feeling it was like opening a floodgate and I would just be a mess on the ground. Relapsing in every sense of the word. 

[fizzingwizard]

one of the difficult things about working with preschoolers... you never can know what will entertain them

so today I had a new student, she’s taking a trial lesson, but she had missed two or three classes (I kept seeing her name on my attendance list each week but she never showed, very confusing) so her parents decided to schedule the makeup lessons back to back. Here’s the thing, back to back lessons are tough even for older students, since in my job we teachers are allowed very, very little flexibility in our teaching style - which means the student ends up sitting through a lot of repetitive activities and vocab. It’s really hard to make that fun. It’s next to impossible with preschoolers. Once in a while there’s a genius kid who just amazes everyone, but seriously, planning a curriculum based on the habits of genius children would just be bizarre...

Anyway, so this little girl finally arrives, but not until 20 min past our start time, because her parents forgot again (lol). She is a really adorable kid. Super friendly. Lots of kids are scared, they’ve never met a foreigner before, they’re just shy around new people in general, they’re not used to being separated from their parents - but she was ready to go right from the start. Her mom and dad still came in with us, she wanted them to, but I do think she’d have been fine on her own.

However, in spite of her energy and eagerness, I had such a hard time getting her interested in anything I had planned. I meet a lot of kids because I got to a LOT of different schools and I never know in advance much about the kids, so for that reason I keep a bag stocked with everything that’s ever interested a kid. Some of my all-time winners include a fishing activity in which after practicing vocab, the kids get to “catch” a magnetized fish using a “fishing rod,” a bowling activity using paper cups and a soft ball, building a tower, puzzles, and easy physical things like doing a countdown and then “blasting off” by jumping into the air. Until today, most of those activities hadn’t failed me even once.

But this kid was just not having it! Instead of fishing, she wanted to rip the fish. Instead of the tower, she wanted to knock it down (all kids want to do this, of course, but most want the tower to at least be more than one level high!). She did like the bowling, but she refused to do it in an educational way, and we would have to stop eventually anyway. (Then she played keep-away with my ball with more persistence than any student I’ve had to date.)

I was kind of flabbergasted - I’ve had one other kid who was like this, but 1) he wasn’t taking a trial lesson, he was thrown into the class with no preparation so it’s not surprising he didn’t know how to act, and 2) he was even younger than her.

So, I was at my wit’s end. Luckily I remembered that I had made strawberry cake props for the kids, and cake makes everyone happy. So once I finally caught her attention with the cake, I just invented a game where we hid the prop behind a vocab card, stuck it on the board (all kids like to play with magnets), and then hopped from the opposite wall over to the board to “find” the cake.

Of all the activities we did, I thought this was the most boring. But she loved it. She wanted to do it over and over. We made it through all the vocab this way. There’s no way I could have predicted that hiding a paper piece of cake behind a square card with a cartoon cat on it and hopping across the room together would be the key to her education. Like.

The nice thing about little kids is you don’t have to pull out all the stops to entertain them. They love cardboard boxes and crumpling things up and stacking things. Easy peasy. The difficult thing is each kid is so different, and so self-assured, that if they decide they’re not interested, it’s a real challenge to get them to change their mind.

I’m hoping this kid won’t be my student. She is an adorable little girl and a bundle of fun, but she’s also the type that runs you into the ground. I don’t have many preschool kids who aren’t challenging in some way or another. They just have so much energy and you can’t stick to one thing for long because their attention span simply won’t last. That is the job and I’m good with it. But this kid was too much for me, I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. Of course, if she becomes my student I’ll just work as hard as I can, like I do every time this situation pops up.

In brighter news, my other class of kids her same age went pretty darn well today. We’ve been up and down the past couple weeks because the kids aren’t used to me, I’m new at this school, and I’m not used to them. But I had seen that they were overall an engaged group and far from the most difficult I’ve ever had. (Ooohhh the stories I could tell). And today was the best class yet. Even though one girl pretty much took a nap through the second half of class xD In the end there’s nothing I can do if a kid comes to class sleepy or sick. (One time a preschool boy fell asleep in my class, but he fell asleep close to the doorway, so I had to pick him up to make sure the door wouldn’t hit his head. He was pretty big for his age, so I was worried about how long I could hold him - I’m a weakling and my 25 pound dog gets heavy for me after a while. However, this kid turned out to be so light, and he mushed right into me when I picked him up. Didn’t even wake up. Just mushed right into my shoulder and his legs did that monkey thing where they subconsciously lift up and cling to your torso. I was so charmed. Maternal instincts going haywire. I think I told that story before but it’s just one of my favorite memories from this job.) The other kids seemed to have fun and learned some things, so I count it a success.

[elstine-harboson]

The Cost of Life.

It is a decrepit shine of a forgotten time, a large dome encasing the roof with what would have been pure-pearl colored walls along the outside to hold the magnificent weight up; now cracked and crumbling after years of war against time. The roof itself has been parted open with the greenery of a large tree busting through the ceiling. Pressing the large bronze doors that had oxidized into a greenish hue, Danirel could see the base of the large, ancient tree with a stone slab in front of it; a sacrificial shine of sorts. The title that made up the floor in its hayday had all but crumbled into dust after years of earthquakes; leaving the ground spotted in a brilliant sea of green from various sources of moss and grass alike. Otherwise, the building was dimly lit from the single sky-light provided by the rebelling tree, empty and musky inside.

Danirel looked around at the tree and it's dome with a look of awe upon his face "This Libram sure downplays details." he looked down at his Libram and then over at Elstine who he'd taken with him. The Dagger and Eye were in his pack and he'd made the journey here as quickly as he could.

As Danirel approached the slab with the gathered items, he'd feel the warmth of the area - the location did indeed seem soaked with energy; perhaps it rested on a ley line of sorts. Regardless, he'd feel the electricity in the air but still a sense of dread, perhaps. As he'd approach he'd hear a rustling noise along the brush that surrounded the trunk of the tree. Danirel frowned at the brush and squinted his eyes, he leaned in to hopefully get a better look but remained cautious, he hadn't completely recovered from the events of the previous night and he wasn't in particularly good fighting shape.

With a smug smirk a female pressed through the weeds and brush; a young lithe lady in drab leathers with a rust-colored shoulder length hair, wild without a care. "It has been a long time, Dan. Are you getting enough sleep? - You look tired."

He stared at the woman and paled as he realized who she looked like and her question "No... I am not." "Well, I can give you the same stuff I gave El; though I know he doesn't take it much... Shame what happened to him, put him on the slab Dan."

He frowned at her, the rush of questions that he wanted to ask only held back by the urge to do as she said. He lifted Elstine up and onto the slab where she instructed and then watched her closely "It's been too long.".

"Yes, and it'll be even longer Dan... I went away for a long time, but only to get better. It's like I told Elstine; the only function I had to continue living was taking care of you two... I needed to be better, I didn't have the strength. Now, I do - now we are here. I've been here for awhile now, and now everything has come full circle... Let me see the items you have."

Her words hit him hard "Coulda said bye." he sighed and reached into his pack, retrieving the eye and knife and offering them to her "You let us think you were dead."

"You know that's not my style, Dan." She gave a brief half smile, shrugging her shoulders slowly. She'd look from the dagger to the still bloodied eye, grimacing - she could tell Dan had been a lot and fought her maternity instinct. She simply set the items down on the slam, looking to Danirel. "You know what we have to do next, don't you?"

"Not entirely no but I'm sure you'd be willing to tell me." he offered her a half hearted smile, he was still recovering from the shock of her appearance.

"Well, Dan." She'd step closer, pressing a covered hand against his plated-chest, feeling his battered armor. "I want you to know, and understand - I never loved either of you, I took care of you both for my own selfish reasons. So I wouldn't be alone... It could be anyone else, and I would be just as content. I'd rather just not be alone; I hope that makes it easier for you." She'd hold her crooked smile, her head tilting off to the right as she stared up to him in silence for a moment. "You need to kill me, to fix El."

His face turned deathly pale as her words left her lips "No, I won't do that, it should be me instead."

"No, Dan - it has to be me you blood idiot... It's not just a blood sacrifice; it's just... To unlock my full power, to fix his body... I'll need to die to become as close to nature as possible. With that, I can fix him... But you have to kill me."

His frown deepens and he nodded "You wont really be dead will you? You'll be there with nature?" he looked down at Elstine and he clenched his jaw, was he really going to kill one of his oldest friends to revive another?

"Well," She began, looking to Dan... She'd roll her shoulders into a shrug, and huff. Now wasn't the time to be a paragon of truth: "Of course, Dan - lets just... Get this over with, it's not exactly something I've been looking forward to, but it is my job - I do owe it to him. To you."

 He sighed again and nodded "How do you want to go about this then?"

"Uh, well - I don't know... You're the guy with an ax. I don't know the quickest way."

He snorted "Just like that then?" he slowly removed the ax from his back and studied it for a moment "I'm sorry that this is how it had to be.".

"I mean, it is what it is... We kinda all knew it'd end this way, dead you know? I still remember saving you from that river..." She'd huff, shrugging slowly lowering her gaze. Fortunately, she didn't have much to convince her to stay here - this was the best thing she'd ever done, the least selfish thing. "Better me, then him or you."

He nodded at her again "I've said similar words... are you ready?".

Shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, ready as ever I suppose... Lets do it big guy, make sure to get some sleep; tell Elstine to take his meds - and I know he's been smoking. You two take care, yeh?" She'd proceed to hold the slab of stone as she lowered herself to her knees.

He sighed, the emotion in his next few words making clear on his stance of the next few actions he would make "Despite what you said earlier I feel like you weren't telling the truth. We were a family Jagen. Always will be." before he lost his will to do it he brought his ax down on her and struck to kill instantly, not wanting her to be in any form of pain when she died.

The last bit of warmth and kindness that Danirel would feel from Jagen would be the splash of her crimson essence along his face; her body slumped forward and crashed to the earth. Just like that, the earth around him stilled and eased - He knew now why there was the eerie feeling of this location; a place of fate - the threads knew of his deed here today... Silence echoed around hi, he could feel the throb of his heart building in his throat. After a moment, a form of bees and wasp fluttered together and formed a humanoid shape; a mass of flying insects hard to see through turned to look at Danirel and then to Elstine's corpse. It hovered what would be a hand over Elstine's figure, his body glowing an unnatural green hue as his flesh and organs flexed and mended together through the pure power of nature. The body restore, the spirit could be placed.... The Dagger capable of speaking to spirits would be directed with the Observer's eye - focused back into the cell of his pale flesh. With a cough, Elstine would awaken - shooting up to a frantic sit; staring pointedly at the bloodied Danirel; silent.

Dan smiled sadly at the man "Hi..." his voice failed him at that moment, he looked down at the unmistakable corpse; his ax giving away his role as the murderer "Glad to have you back..." he stared down at the ax still in shock at what he had done.

@scassira-revmore @magical-mcarthur @wolfmandon @r-glasford @caeliam @ley-walker @ynyssatruegrove @trixe-arclanke @justtideguard

[theres-a-fine-line-fic]

Chapter Thirty Three- Ask Your Soul If You're Alright

When I got home, nothing had changed. I almost wanted to call Jenna to invite her over for coffee or something. Anything to stop the house from feeling so empty. It hadn't even been 12 hours since Josh had left, but the house was missing his presence already. The house was far too big just for me. I stopped myself from calling Jenna. I didn't know how much she and Tyler knew or if Josh had told anyone about what had happened last night. I sighed heavily realising that my phone was still upstairs, as I hadn't bothered to bring it with me to work. There wasn't any need, I would have been busy all day (had Dave Rose not sent me home) and no-one would need to contact me, as far as I was aware anyway. I turned on my phone and walked out of the bedroom, and into the bathroom to take my makeup off and change back into some loungewear. I had no plans on leaving the house today, so why shouldn't I allow myself to look like shit? My phone began jackhammering against my side table with notifications and messages coming through. I guess Josh had told someone. I checked the screen: 48 missed calls, 27 messages and 101 emails Not including any notifications from tumblr and the other apps on my phone. There were a lot of missed calls and texts from Jordan. I opened the most recent text. Ava please just tell me you're okay! No one has heard from you since last night and we're all worried, especially Josh. If you haven't called me by 10am, I'm going to come round and see you with Ashley. I know things are hard, but we want to make sure you're okay, we love you like you are family. The message hit me hard. I didn't want anyone to worry, so I started to type a message back. I was about halfway through composing a text when Ashley's name appeared along with her photo on my screen. I hesitated on whether or not to answer, only connecting the call seconds before it was due to go through to my voicemail. "Hello?" "Oh Ava, thank God you answered! Where have you been? You haven't been on social media for days and no one had seen or heard from you since last night. We were beginning to worry, no one wants you to be alone after... you know?" It was sweet for Ashley to care, although I was perfectly fine on my own. I could hear either Jordan or Abbie in the background asking Ashley if I was okay. After what I'd said to Josh, I didn't expect any member of the Dun family to speak to me again. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I just needed a little quiet time. I honestly didn't mean to worry anyone." Ashley made a small noise of agreement, possibly understanding what I meant. "Ava, would you be okay have a visitor or two?" I could feel my breath catch in my throat, I didn't want to have to see Josh just yet. Ashley noticed the long pause, and quickly tried to explain herself. "It would be Jenna, not anyone else, don't worry." I breathed a little sighed of relief. I knew Jenna would be worried, last time we were on a break, we were both texting each other almost constantly or hanging out, getting coffee or picking up pieces to decorate the house. I didn't even need to check my phone to see that there would be missed calls and texts from both her and Tyler. "Sure, but I will look like crap. Sorry, I mean honestly like Professor Trelawney on a bad day." Ashley giggled softly at the silly reference. "I'll pick Jenna up, we'll be round in 20 minutes, okay? Also, do you mind if I tell Josh that I'm coming round to see you? I just don't want him to keep worrying." He shouldn't be worried about me, I was horrible to him! "Okay. Make him a cup of tea for me before you leave please. He likes milk and two sugars." Ashley agreed, and we terminated the call. I headed back downstairs to the living room to tidy a little. I folded the blankets that I had left sprawled along the couch and lit a couple of candles, opening the blinds to let a little light in. It didn't take long for the doorbell to ring, alerting me to Ashley and Jenna's presence. Both girls looked relieved when they saw me. They couldn't honestly have expected me to have done something stupid in such a short space of time. Jenna quickly threw her arms around me, I squeezed her back tightly. Ashley joined in, both muttering something about being happy to see me and how was I holding up? As I moved away, Ashley looked down at my chest, a ghost of a smile on her face. "I like your shirt." I looked down at my shirt. Sure enough, I was wearing one of Josh's own band merch t-shirts. Damnit. I'd just picked it up off of the floor when I'd came home, it was lying inside out so I just assumed it was a plain black t shirt and didn't bother to check otherwise. I ducked my head down and sniffed the chest. Yep, it definitely smelled faintly of Josh. Nice one Ava! "Uhhh, I hadn't actually noticed that until you pointed it now. I should go and change. Do you guys want to wait in the living room?" I turned to go back upstairs and find one of my own t-shirts. Jenna took my hand and walked me into the kitchen, Ashley following behind. "Just sit down, I'll make coffee and you can tell us what happened." I tried to interject and offer to make the coffee, but Ashley told me just to relax. "In that case, do you want to make coffee for just you and Ashley? I already have one." I grabbed the "big Bertha" coffee cup sat on the side where I had left it 5 minutes before. I took the lid off to take another gulp. "Ava, what on earth are you drinking?" Ashley looked suspiciously at the cup. "I call it the face melter, 3 shots of espresso topped with cold brew. And a little vanilla syrup to sweeten it." "Jeeze Ava! I know you don't want to think about what's happened recently, but giving yourself a heart attack isn't the way to avoid the situation!" Jenna took the cup out of my hand and sat at by the sink where she had been stood moments ago. Ashley looked at me with raised eyebrows. "How many of those have you drank?" I shrugged a little in response. "It depends if you mean today or since yesterday evening?" I could tell Jenna's maternal instincts were kicking in as she frowned at me trying to avoid answering Ashley's question. "Cause if you mean today, this is only my second one! If you mean yesterday... this is my fourth?" I whined as Jenna quickly poured half the coffee down the kitchen sink, before topping the rest up with milk from the fridge. "Don't complain, you still get your coffee but in a reasonable way that wouldn't give a blue whale a caffeine induced heart attack! Seriously Ava, be sensible woman." I rolled my eyes a little as I grasped the coffee cup again, taking a long sip. "How come you aren't wearing your ring?" Ashley asked quietly, taking her mug of hot coffee from Jenna. I raised an eyebrow at her, confused by the question. I raised my right hand, showing the men's silver ring which adorned my middle finger. It was the only finger that it would fit on without falling off. "Josh's ring? The one I woke up wearing in the hospital?" Now it was Ashley's turn to look confused. "Uhh... no. The other one my brother gave you?" Jenna shook her head quickly, causing both Ashley and I to look at her with bewildered expressions. "Ashley, Ava doesn't know. It didn't happen." What were they on about? Ashley's eyes widened as she realised she had let something slip. I couldn't think of anything to do with rings that had happened recently. "You know you might as well tell me now, it seems kind of important whatever the hell you guys are on about?" I didn't mean to be blunt with them, but the lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion had depleted my supply of sweetness for the present time. Maybe this whole situation was affecting me more than I had previously considered? "Ava, Josh was... well. You know that day in Lincoln where you went out to dinner? The night your relationship became public for the first real time? Well did anything seem out of the ordinary?" "Yeah Josh danced!" I laughed before noticing the serious look on Jenna's face. "Anything else? Think back, really analyse that night." Ashley tried to encourage me. I tried to remember as much as I could, even though it stirred a stinging sensation in my chest. Josh and I had gone out for a meal, which was delicious and then went sightseeing. We met the three girls and took photos, then went back to the hotel room. Sure the room was more of a suite and a hell of a lot bigger than I was expecting. There was everything we could possibly need to have a romantic night to ourselves, and we had laughed and danced our way well into the early hours of the next morning surrounded by a beautiful view of the city. I shrugged at both women. "It was just a little more romantic than normal. It was a really great night and we had both had a lot of fun? The only weird thing I can remember is the next morning. Jenna and Tyler kept prompting me to say if anything else happened the night before and kept staring at my hands?" I tried to ignore the now dull ache in my chest. This really wasn't the type of thing that I wanted to consider right now. I was definitely beginning to regret even asking Ashley to explain what she meant. Ashley and Jenna looked at each other and nodded. "There's a good reason for that though. Do you remember how surprised you were when you entered the suite?" I nodded a little, not entirely sure as to where Jenna was leading with this questioning. Ashley carried on the point Jenna was trying to make. "Well, you two were the only ones who had a suite. Jenna and Tyler, Mark, everyone else all had rooms. Josh paid for that with his own money because he wanted everything to be perfect-" "Because we were expecting a child together at that point?" I interjected, assuming I knew what Ashley was going to say. I already knew this, why did it matter anymore? We were through, finished, done, over. However you wanted to say it, Josh and I were no longer together. "Well, there was a little bit of that thought in his plan. Did he tuck your chair in when you sat down in the restaurant and carry you up to the room when your feet hurt? The whole night was roses and your favourite food and drinks, making memories and enjoying a little private time together right? Wasn't it the first time you had been able to act completely like a couple in public? No cares in the world? He tried his hardest to sweep you off of your feet and make you feel loved, didn't he?" My eyes had began to prickle a little as Ashley prompted again. I was trying to avoid the tears welling in my eyes, deciding instead to stare down into my mug of coffee and nodded. Avoiding eye contact and keeping my cards close to my chest was the plan right now and I had no intentions of differing from it. "Ava, at no point did that strike you as unusual? Even for Josh?" Jenna butted in, trying to drive the unknown point further home. Ashley took a deep breath again, before continuing. I could feel her lean across the table and rest her hand on my arm. "My brother wanted everything to be perfect for a reason. You mean the world to him, he would have moved the moon and stars for you if you would have asked him to. Really, he would even do that for you now if you wanted him to do so. He wanted to show you how much he cared for you, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you." I couldn't help but to feel sick, something major was about to be announced and I wasn't ready for it. I could tell by how anxious Ashley sounded, her voice wavering a little as she spoke. "Ava, Josh had the ring ready, it might even still be in his pocket.He had carried it around for about 3 weeks. He had even asked Nick for his permission and to help him pick which one." I didn't expect the next sentence to be uttered, especially not now. I knew I had broken Josh's heart, I had followed suit in doing the one thing I had promised him that I wouldn't do. "Ava, that night, after spending so long on arranging everything, even with Tyler's help planning everything, he was going to ask you to marry him."

[spontaneoushiccups-blog]

On the other side but still in the middle.

I have sat down to write a blog post several times and stared at the white screen and then, minutes later, closed the tab and went back to whatever. It’s so hard to write about because in part I feel like it’s just sad. What’s the point in sharing sadness or struggle. I don’t want sympathy- or I don’t know, maybe I want a little sympathy? The support has been imperative. I don’t want people to feel sorry for us, or for me to come off like I’m complaining, or just disseminating darkness for no reason. My Mom says the story is hopeful. I hope so. Yesterday I was reminded how comforting it is to read about or hear about other people’s stories and struggles, particularly with sick children. We aren’t alone, and we feel so alone a lot of the time, so I guess that’s why it’s good to share. Maybe we can help other people feel less alone in whatever they are dealing with. So quick recap from birth to today: Moments after birth, Iris was taken to the NICU at the University of Utah where they immediately plugged her into machines to track her heart rate and vitals. A few hours later she was escorted by her Dad and the medical flight team (because they are trained to medically assist in transit) across the hospital bridge to Primary Children’s where she was admitted to the CICU (Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.) 3 days later she went in for the Norwood. The doctor had to come in the day before her surgery to do the equivalent of the fast-talk-warnings at the end of pharmaceutical commercials and break down everything that could go wrong during surgery. From having a stroke that could kill her or never recover from, to her body not responding well and going into cardiac arrest and everything in between. I remember crying pretty hard as he was explaining everything to us and he stopped and said, “Are you ok?” And I looked back at him like, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He finished by saying, “So hold onto her tight today.” We spent the rest of that day taking turns holding her and sobbing. The next morning we met with the anesthesiologist who explained how they would be medicating her and it just sounded like grown ups in Charlie Brown, garbled radio static. Then they wheeled her down the hall and gave me a pager for updates. I opted not to stay at the hospital and instead go to my Dad's house nearby. I got an update when she went on the by-pass machine. Got an update when they succesfully dropped her core temperature to 30 degrees. Got an update when they started the arch reconstruction. We set up an alter for her and sent out the word to my lady tribe to light their candles for her, and I sat on the floor and prayed. I prayed to my Grandmothers, my aunts, to everyone who I have loved who has died, who is on the other side. Then I took 2 Xanax and fell asleep. I woke up hours later to Ryan saying, “It’s over. She’s ok.” That night we threw an impromptu party. It was the best and the worst day of my life so far. She stayed in the CICU for 2 weeks until we were admitted/downgraded to “the floor” where she stayed for 2 more weeks. A lot happened in that time, but all that matters is that we finally got out and got to go home again. This time with our baby. Since we got home from SLC and the hospital, Iris has been doing really well for the most part- but is struggling with oral feeds. This is super common for "heart babies" because the GI system requires a lot of blood flow, and her oxygen levels sit so low right now (between 75 and 85- you or I are at around 98) and her body prioritizes sending blood to the lungs and the brain to keep her alive, instead of to her stomach. She still has an NG tube, this sad thing taped to her face that reminds me and her Dad and anyone that looks at her that she is not well, that she is not just our “normal” baby. I think we hate the damn thing so much because of that. Like if we can just get that fucking NG out then maybe everything will be ok. But we are reminded daily that she is simply not strong enough to eat her full calorie intake on her own. She needs the help of the tube. She isn’t well, and that is simply the truth. Of course she isn’t- she is between 2 major heart surgeries (what they call “interstage”) and she is barely 10 weeks old. Some days we feel great and everything is almost normal. Every morning we have to take her blood oxygen levels and her heart rate, weigh her, give her her medication through her tube. She isn’t “allowed” to cry for long periods of time, so when she gets upset (as newborns do) the pressure is on to soothe her as quickly as possible. It’s a constant game of “is she doing this because she is a newborn baby and she has gas? Or because her sternum is wired closed and maybe she’s in pain?” She can’t take tylenol very often because it could mask a fever- which we need to be aware of as she cannot get sick during interstage because the risk of death is much higher because of her weak heart. That also means we can’t really go out, and our sanitization game has to be strong. Everyone that enters our house must wash, and sanitize, before even breathing near the baby.No one who is sick, has been sick recently, or might be sick is allowed. It’s an interesting game when you have a four year old who goes to pre-school (what we refer to as “The Plague Pit”) We have gotten into a routine so it’s not so bad. We have a cover for her carseat, so sometimes we’ll pack up the anti-bacterial wipes, the sani-spray, and the hand gel and sneak away somewhere we know will be mostly empty for lunch. Sometimes the longing I feel for normalcy is overwhelming. I am pulled out of the lull of stressful haze that has become my day-to-day life to be reminded of what we don’t have. It seems like everyone around me is having healthy babies, and sometimes the grief of not having that completely takes over and I feel broken. This has been such a challenge to my “maternal instinct.” The whole time we were in the hospital my instinct was nagging so heavily to just get the baby out of there- let me take her home and just nurse her and everything will be ok. Of course that wasn’t the case- and I had no choice but to trust the doctors, despite daily- stupid fuck ups that would cost us days of progress. I was warned going into this to be prepared to advocate advocate advocate for our child, and it’s true. You have to keep your eye on every doctor, every nurse, every decision made, every medication thrown at her, every procedure, everything- and you have to understand it (I feel like in the last 3 months I went to cardiology school- the terminology of everything alone is a lot.) And it’s not like we can “ask the doctor” when we are unsure or scared. This experience has taught me that the medical system is a convoluted web of specialists that don’t necessarily talk to each other. It’s an elaborate corporate bureaucracy and the worst day of your life is just another day at work for them. Iris currently has a team of specialists, and it’s not always clear who is in charge or who we should call or refer to for action. She has her PCP (Primary Care Provider) who knows nothing of DILV or cardiology, but is just our family practitioner. He’s the one that basically gives her “regular check ups” gives her immunizations and measures her against normal standards like a baby would. She has her cardiologist- he’s the one that originally diagnosed her (which is something we still marvel at- that he could diagnose such a specific condition on a baby that was the size of a peach with a heart barely the size of a blueberry) He’s the one that performs her echocardiograms monthly, and checks in on the performance of her heart and BT Shunt. She has a speech pathologist- who determines how well she swallows and her technical oral capacities. She has a nutritionist who advises her daily calorie intake and “feeding plan” and she also has her pediatric cardiology surgeon, who will perform her next surgery in August. We don’t know who this person is yet. If we need anything from the tangential doctors it all has to go through the PCP. I remember when her surgeon in Salt Lake came in to check on us the day they closed up her chest (they keep the chest open for a few days after the surgery because of swelling.) “You guys look like completely different people from the ones I saw the other day,” he said “I don’t know how you parents do it. If it were me, I wouldn’t have done it.” Our jaws hit the floor. WTFF does that mean?? I think about it often. Of course this is the greatest trial of my life so far- but I look at my Iris with her strawberry hair and her chubby cheeks, as she smiles and coos at me while I check her sats or change her diaper and the tight electric heat of the stress of it all just melts away and I am so grateful she is here, and I would do it all again. Which is good- cause we are going to have to in just a few short months...