#bells speaks

[keepontruckinlucky]

forgot to share the best pictures i took.

[lovely-bellflower]

I wanna see a story about how once upon a time forever ago, Stephanie was a pregnant teen who had to give up her child for adoption. I need a modern comic that talks about that.

So many of the sensitive subjects comics used to talk about is no longer referenced or used. Like how numerous characters had families with drug addictions or they had addictions themselves. I want to read about how that affects them today as adults or in how they treat others such as civilians that may have the same problem.

I don’t believe for a second either Barbara, Bruce, or Tim don’t keep a subtle eye on the baby as it’s growing up acting like a guardian angel from afar. So much personal connection between characters’ past with their present and how they treat civilians has been lost and I feel like a lot of stories suffer for it

[tyrannosaurus-maxy]

My new MacBook Pro is here!! RIP photoshop 2011 you will be missed dearly for your $0 subscription fee 😭

[grumpyascianteddybear]

" I am but a voidsent, but maybe don't call him a former ascian. Seems like your asking for trouble."

[elliesbelle]

emily gwen, the creator of the sunset lesbian flag that we’ve come to commonly use, still continues to live in poverty.

multi-billion dollar companies have used their design and made profit from it, and yet they have not seen a cent for their creation.

i’ve been friends with emily for years, and i have not once seen them be financially stable the entire time. i’ve seen them homeless, unemployed, starving. right now, they need our help more than ever.

please consider donating to emily’s ko-fi, especially if you’ve used their design to create something and profited from it.

[keepontruckinlucky]

the baby fever is so real rn. bradley entering dilf territory, the softness of the three of them cuddling, TOMMY...

i can't pick a favorite part rn. check on me later. make sure i haven't passed from the cuteness

My Future in You | 2.6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, babies and fluff and more babies, bradley being a nervous first time daddy, wc: 3.8k

…

“This… doesn’t look right.” Bradley pulls back and rests his hands against his hips, staring at the car seat with an unimpressed gaze frown.

“Sure it does.” You answer, peering around him to examine the situation in front of you. The straps are secure at the top of his chest, his plush cheek resting against the padded restraints.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t look comfortable.” Bradley answers you with a shake of his head. This is his second practice of the day. He doesn’t want Tom to be in the car seat too long, but he knows that his most significant job in all of this is getting the two of you home safe.

He leans forwards and begins to fiddle with the straps again. Your newborn doesn’t seem fussed by his neurotic, worried dad anyways. Bradley hums. “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll figure it out.”

“The Bradshaws! — How are we this morning?”

This, Thomas is fussed by. Over the last six days, the first six of his life, you’ve figured that your son has some pretty sharp reflexes. Even just blowing on his cheek makes him flinch. He jumps, arms and legs tensing at once, his still unfocused eyes blowing wide open as the doctor strolls into the room.

His lip begins to wobble and his nose scrunches up tight, his hands trembling under the confines of his mittens. You nudge Bradley out of the way and unclasp the straps right as Thomas begins to cry.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook this little sweetheart.” The doctor is smiling and reaching out to tickle the infant’s back and on your end, everything is forgiven. Bradley, however, glares at her as he reaches his son.

You hadn’t been expecting the same guy who once jumped off of the roof of a neighbouring frat house and into their pool to be such a nervous nelly when it came to parenthood. Especially not the same guy who told you he wanted no part in any of this.

You roll your eyes, rocking softly, shushing the baby. These past six days have taught you a lot of things. That the birthmark on the bottom of Thomas’ back is kind of the shape of Italy. That even though he can’t see much yet, he likes to look around while he’s being fed. That Bradley is not fast enough at changing diapers yet to avoid getting peed on.

That somehow, you and Bradley might have just created the most perfect little boy in the entire world. With his thatches of brown hair and his tiny fingers and toes, his sloped nose and poured lips. Those funny, jumpy reflexes.

“I’m just here to do some tests, see if we can get you guys home today.” She tells you with a bright smile. From the way that your face changes, she can tell that this is the news that you’ve been waiting for. Six days of barely walking, hearing other people’s babies screaming — you’ve been ready to go home for a while.

“Today? — Nobody said today. They said tomorrow.” Bradley interjects loudly. You scowl across at him and he shuts up, but the nervous way he fidgets on his feet tells you everything you need to know.

“I know, I know. But he’s doing just fine so far, and I’m sure you two are eager to sleep in your own beds again.” The doctor coos softly, learning from her initial mistake as she takes the baby from your arms. She follows your pattern of soothing and rocking and Thomas seems to consider quietening down.

Bradley pushes his hands into the pockets of his sweat shorts and just leans back against the end of the hospital bed. He’s so focused on watching this stranger with your baby that he doesn’t even hear you move until you’re pressing in against his side.

“You’re doing fine.” You promise him, stretching your open palm against the fabric of his black t-shirt, stretching your neck to look at him. “Stop stressing.”

He doesn’t say anything, and that worried frown on his face doesn’t soften either. Bradley swallows, brushes a hand over his upper lip and reaches out for you. You close

Your eyes as he secures an arm around your waist and tugs you closer, leaning down and resting his mouth against the top of your head.

He inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of unfamiliar shampoo and hospital borrowed soap.

“She called you a Bradshaw, you know.” He whispers finally, just before he straightens back up. You scoff, jabbing the tip of your index finger into his side.

“Don’t get any ideas, Pops. It’s bad enough you talked me into letting Tommy take your name.” You’re joking, of course. The amusement in your voice makes his chest feel that little bit less tight. You’ll say yes, one day. He’ll make sure it’s special and you’re not giving birth next time, and you’ll say yes.

He pinches your side playfully and tugs you closer again. “Pops? — I thought we agreed on you calling me—“

He grunts as you jerk your elbow back into his stomach, just enough to make him jolt but not enough to actually hurt the idiot you’ve come to be so fond of. There it is, he grins behind you, his chest rumbling with a soft chuckle.

Minutes later, the doctor turns around to you and gives you the go-ahead. Suddenly, the little boy in the roomy onesie is all yours, and yours alone. Well, not that suddenly, there’s paperwork first. But sudden feels the only appropriate word when you’re walking out of the hospital, with no one to guide you.

Bradley’s knuckles are white around the handle of the car seat in his right hand, a slightly softer approach to the way that he’s holding your hand in his left.

“You’re sure you can walk? — They said you could have a chair, if you want a chair.” He checks, for the second time since you stepped out of the elevator.

“I’m fine.” You give his hand a soft squeeze and groan softly as you step out into the mid-summer suffocation of the Florida heat. “Now walk with purpose. It’s too hot for this.”

Settled into the backseat beside Thomas, sleeping in his car seat, you catch Bradley frowning worriedly back at the both of you before he turns the key in the ignition.

The drive home is slow, and uneventful. The baby is asleep. Bradley’s eyes are trained seriously on the road, his hands holding a steady ten and two position on the wheel. You don’t dare suggest that he turns on the radio.

There were plenty of things that you had prepared yourself for when you had decided to have your baby. Your body changing, fine. Your career plans changing, okay. The hormones and the responsibilities and the tiny human who would depend on you for probably the rest of your life, sure.

Some things about such a drastic lifestyle change simply cannot be planned for.

Nine hours ago, you brought your son home from the hospital. This is something that you would never admit out loud, but in those last few days of your pregnancy, the concern had flooded your mind that maybe your feelings for Bradley were purely hormonal. You were carrying his child, it makes sense that your body would want him around. It was the after that had concerned you.

But, you had watched today as Bradley had carried the car seat in one hand and secured you by his side with the other. He had buckled your son into the car, and he had driven home under the speed limit the entire way.

You exhale softly as you step out of the shower. That’s growing easier now, six days later, but your body is far from healed. Your legs still tremble when you try to stand too long, and your back aches in a way you’re starting to worry might be permanent.

It’s quiet in your apartment now. You listen out as you towel dry your body, trying to find the pitch of a sports narrator or some soft music — anything. It’s almost dead silent.

You wriggle into your pyjamas and wrap your wet hair, walking slow out of the bathroom and down the hall. You’re barely dry, your warm feet padding along the carpet, wrinkled fingers pushing open the door to the bedroom.

One of the things that none of the articles you had read seemed to mention, is what to do the first time that you see the father of your child at home with your baby.

Bradley’s sitting up against the pillows with Thomas nestled against his chest. His hand eclipses the infant’s torso as he pats his back softly. Thomas’ cheek is resting against Bradley’s pectoral, you can’t see from where you are but instinct and your son’s uncharacteristic stillness tells you that he’s sleeping.

Bradley’s singing. He’s patting the baby’s back gently and he’s singing softly, trying hard to push the usually deep rumble of his voice into lullaby territory.

Your mouth falls slack, cold feet becoming still against the soft floor. This tiny first apartment and its discernible wooden doors that creak at every opportunity give you away and he stops just as quickly as he is perceived.

His gaze flickers up and his lips twist softly into a small smile. You watch him take account of your matching maternity pyjamas which threaten to be too big without the stretch of your bump. Amusement floods the hint of the smile on his lips — he loves to laugh at these pyjamas.

His hand stills against Thomas’ back, those glittery brown eyes flicker up to study the look on your face.

“Hey, babe,” He hums, keeping his voice low so that he doesn’t startle the baby. “How was your shower?”

“I didn’t think I would miss our shitty water pressure, but I’m just so glad we’re not at the hospital anymore.” You pad across the carpet towards him and crawl into bed, pulling back the sheets and draping yourself across Bradley’s brawny thighs.

He looks down at you and secures the infant close to his chest, freeing one hand to brush tenderly across your cheek.

“What was that song were you singing him?” You ask. The ceiling fan whirs above you like a thrumming, excessively loud lullaby. The warmth of his thigh props up your cheek.

There’s something about it all that feels too much like a dream. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. The NICU isn’t exactly a luxury retreat, despite its price point. Tonight is your first night home from the hospital. Your son is six days old and yesterday, he officially crossed the threshold into five pound territory. Tonight, he’s huddled against Bradley’s bare chest, wearing a diaper that had seemed too tiny for an actual human to wear and zipped into a onesie printed with little ducks on it. Geese, maybe, actually.

You lift your hand and reach out, watching your fingertip follow the soft cotton covering those wrinkled lines on the sole of Thomas’ foot that you’ve come to be so familiar with already.

The infant curls his toes and unclenches them again, scrunching his knees. Bradley watches, lips twisted into a smile that he couldn’t fight back if he tried.

There’s something about the steady, heavy thrum of Bradley’s heartbeat that puts the kid right to sleep. The warm bath and the ounce of milk that came before he was set on his dad’s stomach may have helped too. Bradley’s hand cups the back of Thomas’ neck, keeping the sleeping baby steady.

“Wildflowers by, uh— Tom Petty, I think?” Bradley shrugs. In truth, he knows the song inside and out — it was the first song he learned to play on piano. He’s used to playing that down. Girls find guitars hot, not his years of classical piano lessons.

You smile, lifting your head and pressing a gentle kiss to the sole of the baby’s foot, soft blue cottons

against your lips. Then, you lower your mouth and press it softly to Bradley’s stomach. Just once, before you drop your head back down and set it against his thigh.

“He’s so good, and I’m still exhausted.” You murmur, exhaling deeply. Behind heavy lids, you make a mental note to look into which ingredient in the smell of baby soap acts as such a good sleeping agent.

“You should sleep. He’ll be up again in a couple of hours.” Bradley reminds you, stroking damp hair back off of your forehead. Closing your eyes, you nod with him, but make no effort to move. He smiles. “Come on, I don’t need to sing the both of you to sleep, do I?”

You huff a soft sound of amusement, giving a small shake of your head. “Not tonight, Pops. Put him to bed, let’s get some sleep.”

Bradley chuckles, carefully shifting your son off of his stomach and instead laying him across his thighs as you sit up.

“Mom and Dad… isn’t that crazy?” He muses, stroking his thumb across the soft hair on the infant’s head. Thomas is still so small that Bradley’s palm makes him look even tinier. You lean into your boyfriend’s shoulder and stroke the baby’s cheek.

“I know.” You agree quietly.

Big, round cheeks and pursed lips, dark eyelashes and a soft little nose. His tiny hands balled into fists, his knees curled up to his middle. Blue clouds adorning his onesie. Half you, and half Bradley.

“Alright, we’ll see you in a couple hours, little man. Yell if you need something.” Bradley half jokes as he pushes himself up from the bed and turns to set the baby into the bassinet. With the lung capacity he has already impressed you with, you know that he’ll have no issues letting you know if he wants something.

He crawls back into bed beside you and flicks the beside lamp off, pulling the covers up around the two of you. Readily, you press yourself close to him and close your eyes. He smells like baby soap.

“Are you still hurting anywhere?” Bradley’s voice lowers to a whisper now, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck as he leans his head into the crook of your shoulder and cautiously rests a hand against your hip. Into the dark, your mouth twitches at a smile.

Your hips feel both squished and torn apart at the same time. Your back feels like it might never feel quite right ever again. But even with him a cautious distance from you, you can feel the perpetual warmth from his body.

“Everywhere. But I still want you to hold me.”

Slowly, he slides an arm under you and another over you. Draping his body around yours, he pulls you close and suddenly you get whatever it is that sends Thomas off to sleep so easily. The faint musky smell of his fading cologne. The steady, heavy thrum of his heartbeat. The long, deep pattern of his breathing.

Just when you think he has beat you to it, he reminds you that he’s still awake. A soft, chaste kiss presses to your throat, his voice low as he mumbles, “I love you.”

As much as Thomas is a good baby; he’s still a baby. A small one at that, with plenty of growing to do. Even now, he just about finishes an ounce of milk at a time — half of the time. That means a lot of wake ups. A lot of diaper changes with your eyes half open.

The first four days of parenthood pass you by before you’ve really come to terms with the reality of it all. Constant feeds through the night, surviving off of instant noodles and pizza — all of this doesn’t feel too far of a stretch from your recent college days.

But it’s harder now. The responsibilities are never ending. It’s hard to remain rational about any of it.

“If you could breastfeed, would you do it?”

From the other end of the couch, Bradley seems to startle awake. Brows drawing together in confusion, he stares across your dimly lit living room at you, then takes a second to look around him.

You’re at the end of the movie now, so he doesn’t have a clue how long he has been sleeping. Stretching his legs out, he sighs softly, “Yeah. I guess so.”

Your mouth twitches at the fact that he doesn’t even ask you why. He blinks softly and brings both hands up to rub at his eyes tiredly.

“What time is it?”

“Two, maybe.” You shrug, watching Thomas’ eyelids grow heavy. His hands remain balled and tucked in against his chest. He has spent these past four days stretching out occasionally, scrunching himself back into a tight ball frequently.

“No fucking way did I just sleep for four hours. The movie’s still playing.” Bradley protests, awkwardly fumbling to push himself upright and puckering his mouth into a deep frown. You just shrug across at him once more.

“I put the sequel on after you fell asleep.”

He hadn’t ever thought he would be able to have a regular conversation with a woman who had her breast out in front of him, but here he is. It doesn’t even cross his mind to check you out. The only thing he’s thinking about is the fact you’re running on maybe an hour of uninterrupted sleep and all you had wanted was to watch your movie with him. And he had fallen asleep.

He fumbles around, checking his pockets for his phone, finding it instead resting between his jaw and shoulder. You close your eyes for a moment as he checks the time. In the split second that your eyes are shut, Thomas makes a spluttering sound.

As quickly as you can lift and turn him, the has already spit the last mouthful of milk back against your skin and all down his chin.

“Oh, Tommy…” You groan, adjusting the strap of your nursing bra with one hand as you support him with the other.

“Here, I’ll take him.” Bradley offers, pushing himself up and starting to scoot towards you.

“We’re fine.” Maybe it comes out a little bit harsh, maybe your tone is a little colder than normal. Bradley frowns at you, sitting still at the opposite end of the sectional. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to—“

“I know you didn’t.” You’re just doubling down at this point as you wipe at Thomas’ mouth with a muslin cloth. Bradley’s brows draw together a bit.

“So why are you mad at me? — Just let me help you.” He pushes forwards again and reaches for your son.

“I said we’re fine!” You bite back. The baby flinches and quickly starts to scream. You slam your eyes shut, darkness behind your lids and a dull ache drilling from your temples to the core of your brain.

Opposite you, Bradley sighs, dropping his head forward into his hands. You’re both silent. The sequel plays on. The baby keeps on screaming. Neither one of you look at each other.

This is what all new parents go through, you know that. It doesn’t make it any less sore in the moment.

“What should I do?” Bradley asks finally, pushing up from the sofa and squeezing against your side, wrapping an arm around your aching shoulders. It’s not worth dragging your eyes open for.

“Never get me pregnant again, for starters.” You mutter half-jokingly. Bradley chuckles at your side and turns his head to kiss at those sore temples, like he can feel where it hurts. Maybe those dad-senses are sharper than you give him credit for.

“Not even once more? — But look how cute the first one wa—“ He’s only joking of course, but he still has the good sense to shut up when you turn your head and glare at him. He grins, and he looks just like he did the first time you were stupid enough to melt for that pretty look.

“You hungry?” Bradley asks. He read somewhere that breastfeeding can cause stronger appetites.

“Yeah.”

“Dad’s got it. We’ll be right back.” Bradley promises you, dipping forwards and kissing your temple once more, stealing the baby in one fell swoop. “Come on, buddy.”

Bradley pads into the kitchen barefoot, bouncing the baby in his arms and you let your eyes fall shut once more. You’re only two weeks in. They don’t start sleeping through the night for another couple months at least — sometimes years. You don’t know how you could do another couple years of being this delirious.

Closing your eyes, it’s easy enough to imagine that you’re not here. That you’re still in school, or still in your parents’ house. Somewhere safer, where you could hide from the limited responsibilities that you had back then. It would be so easy to drift off into a dream about life being that easy again.

Instead, the sofa dips at your side and your boys are back. Bradley announces himself by kissing your cheek softly and pressing a spoon into your hand.

“All we have is Ice-Cream.” He tells you, settling Thomas into the crook of his elbow and passing the tub of ice cream off to you. You blink at the vanilla flavoured frozen treat in front of you, then look up to stare at him. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow. We’ll both go. You can stay here and sleep in.”

You look away for just a second, digging the tip of your spoon into the ice cream, and hear him continue.

“We can get whatever we want, Mommy won’t be there to tell us no.”

Despite your best efforts, a smile itches its way across your face. You turn your head and attempt to force at a scowl. All five of Thomas’ right-hand fingers are wrapped around Bradley’s little finger, they both seem to be looking at you.

“I don’t care what you come home with as long as there’s more of this stuff in there somewhere.” You decide, slipping a spoonful into your mouth and savouring the flavour on your tongue. Bradley shifts, leaning his head against yours.

“Share.” He demands, leaving his mouth open. You snuff your nose at him as you dig another spoonful from the tub and shovel it into his mouth. “That’s so good.”

“Probably not what we should be eating. We aren’t setting a very good example.” You hum, ignoring your own advice and gulping down another spoonful, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table.

If only your mother could see you now. She would lose her marbles if she saw your approach to motherhood.

“Eh, this kid pees himself all day long. We’ll start being good examples for him later on.” Bradley shrugs, leaning his weight into you, turning his attention back to the tv. “So can you explain to me what I missed?”

…

Taglist: @chaoticweirdogeek @alanadetigy @itsmytimetoodream @oldnatgwenaccount @khaylin27 @bioodforbiood @luckyladycreator2 @mizzzpink @cherrycola27 @unordinare @heli991113 @ghxst-heart @momc95 @asteria33 @lilyevanswhore @diamond-3 @galaxy-moon @jostyriggslover96 @forgiveliv @shawnsblue @little-wiseone @lovemesomevesey @alm33 @averyhotchner @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @himbos-on-ice @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @slutford @kmc1989 @swiftsgirlfriend

[hinamie]

someone asked if i had ever drawn gojo with his scars, now i have :>

[luminousstardust]

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

Bell, Book and Candle (Richard Quine, 1958)

[keepontruckinlucky]

OKAY OKAY. THREE THINGS (i think)

1. MWAH, I'm so glad I could be the inspiration for this!

2. I had lemonade and funnel cake today 💅

3. IM GOING TO MURDER ANYONE THAT TALKS BAD ABOUT MY BABY RHETT. HE DESERVES THE COSMOS

4. “We all have our limits. And I want you to know something. You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want to, just because of me, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you have no other choice, or like you have to make me happy. Because your own well-being is more important than making me happy. You hear me?”

I needed that paragraph so so much today, Leah love. My well-being is more important than making anyone else happy.

the ferris wheel | rhett abbott

description: in which a fearless cowboy isn't so fearless anymore

pairing: rhett abbott x gn!reader

warnings: angst, fear of heights, toxic masculinity (aka rhett trying to unlearn all the harmful things his father taught him about masculinity), mention of a broken arm, slight panic attack, vomiting, working through familial trauma, rhett learning how to communicate, therapy, i think that's it

*inspired by a convo with @damrlova :)

Rhett Abbott hated being perceived as weak. 

More specifically, he hated being perceived as weak by you. His light, his love, his darling. You were so sweet, so loving, and you looked at him as if he’d set the very stars in the sky. 

You always told him how strong he was. You’d squeeze his big arms and marvel at his strength after he’d just finished hauling bales of hay or wrangling a stubborn horse. You’d cheer the loudest in the stands when he managed to have a good ride, and you’d come running to him and exclaim what a wonderful job he did, how proud you were of him. 

In your eyes, he was your hero, your protector, your knight in shining armor. And he was terrified of tainting that view. He didn’t want you to think of him as a failure. Yes, it was irrational. He knew that. But he was terrified of losing what you shared. The healthiest, most loving relationship he had ever taken part in. So he fought to keep on that mask of strength for as long as he could. 

Until it all came crashing down one night on the tippy top of a Ferris wheel at the Amelia County Fair. 

You were teeming with excitement over going to the fair. It was always your favorite event of the summer. You loved the energy, the atmosphere, and the nostalgia of it all. 

You also loved being able to watch your man ride. This year, however, was his first year attending the fair as just a spectator. The year prior, he’d finally hung up the reins, so to speak, and decided to step away from bull riding. It was not a decision he took lightly, but ultimately, he did it for himself, and for you. 

His father had always dreamed of Rhett following in his footsteps as a bull rider. Riding was the only thing that earned Rhett a hearty “good job” or “proud of ya, son.” The only time Royal ever seemed to be truly proud of him. And Rhett chased that feeling, the elation, the satisfaction, the warmth that bloomed in his chest when his father said those words. 

But it was never enough. No matter how many good rides he had. How many dislocated shoulders or fucked up wrists. He would never get his father to look at him the way he looked at Perry. The golden son. The boy who could do no wrong. 

Rhett loved his brother, he really did. But his entire life, he’d been endlessly compared to Perry. Held up to an impossible standard. And Rhett knew he would never measure up. 

Even so, he still tried in vain to make his rodeo career work. But why was he so determined to do so? Was it because he was truly passionate about the sport? Or was it only because he craved validation from his dad?

You posed these questions to him well into your relationship, after you’d seen him fall too many times. After you’d watched in horror as a 1,500-pound animal’s hooves nearly clipped him in the head. After you’d come home together at night after a ride and listened to his pained groans in the shower as he tried to wash his hair, but couldn’t, because he was in too much agony to even do so. 

It weighed heavily on you. You didn’t want to tell him to walk away from his dream, but there was a part of you that knew this wasn’t his dream. It was Royal’s. And you wanted Rhett to come to that conclusion on his own. 

It took a little tough love, but eventually, he did come to that conclusion. Unfortunately, it took shattering the radius and ulna of his riding arm under a bull’s hoof to bring him to that point. 

He realized, finally, that the blood, sweat, and tears were not worth it. None of it was, not compared to the excruciating pain he was in. Rhett had always considered himself to have a high pain tolerance, and he did. But even the highest pain threshold was no match for this sheer misery. 

He was out for the rest of the season. And in his heart, he knew he’d never ride again. His arm wouldn’t be the same after this. It would be too weak to hold onto the back of an angry, thundering bull. It was suicide to climb onto the back of another one of those beasts again. And Rhett didn’t only have himself to think of anymore. He had you. And he would never forget the frightened look on your face as he was being placed into the back of an ambulance. He never wanted to be the cause of that look again. 

So he walked away from the rodeo circuit. He stopped using it as a crutch to receive his father’s praise. Instead, he put his focus on you, and your relationship. He worked to build a good life for you both. 

His injury had begun to heal after many months of recovery and physical therapy, and after he was given the go-ahead to get back to normal, he set about making arrangements to build a home for the two of you. 

And through that process, he watched you stare at him in awe. You were deeply moved by the way he cared for you. You admired him for his strength and resilience, and he wanted to show you that he was a man of his word, that he was going to give you the house you deserved, the life you deserved. 

He was your guy. The one who always took care of everything. The one who made sure you had gas in your car. The one who wasn’t afraid to go check out a mysterious bump in the night just to give you peace of mind. The one who was brave. That was why he struggled so much with being perceived as anything less than that in your eyes. 

He never would’ve thought a damn Ferris wheel at the county fair would be his undoing. But he should’ve known it from the second he walked through the gates. 

He admired the way your eyes lit up as you took in the sights and sounds around you. You were on cloud nine, and he was glad he was able to fully experience it with you this year and be a spectator, rather than being a spectacle. 

He was perfectly fine at the beginning. You dragged him into the barn area to see the horses and other livestock. You insisted on stopping by a lemonade stand to grab one to share. You visited each vendor and made sure to say hello to friends that were working the fair that day. 

And then there was the Ferris wheel. The second you saw it, a grin broke across your face, and you grabbed Rhett’s hand. “Oh, babe! Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” You exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement. 

It would’ve been fine, except for one very small issue: Rhett was terrified of heights. For an adrenaline junky, it was an interesting predicament to be in. He could handle sitting on the back of a raging bull. He could wrangle spooked horses. He could go up against his own brother when he went off on one of his fits of rage.

But he couldn’t handle being high off the ground. It made his heart race, his head spin, and his palms sweat. But when you tugged on his hand and gave him your pretty doe-eyed glance, he tried to swallow that nauseating fear and follow after you. If it made you happy, it was worth it.

However, as you stepped into the line for the ride, Rhett found himself looking up at the wheel, and his knees went weak. It was so much bigger up close. It loomed imposingly overhead, and he forced himself to look back down at the ground so he couldn’t get dizzy. 

His heart had begun to race in his chest, and he focused on his footsteps carrying him forward. Right, left, right, left, right, left. Then you were at the entrance to the wheel and he climbed into the seat, trying desperately not to react when the seat began to rock a little. 

The entire time, you were talking animatedly about what you wanted to do after the ride, but he hardly registered a word you were saying. He sat there and stared ahead and willed himself not to throw up. 

The chill of anxiety bubbled to life within his chest, and he bit the inside of his cheek. He knew anxiety, he felt it every time he climbed onto a bull, just before he shot out into the ring. But that anxiety always melted away the second the gates opened and he was thrust out into the ring. During those few seconds he felt high off of adrenaline, he felt invincible. 

But here, sitting on a simple Ferris wheel seat, he didn’t feel invincible. He felt like a scared child. Suddenly he was small again, crying over a crushed bouquet of wildflowers he’d just picked, only for his father to tell him picking flowers was for girls, and that he needed to man up. 

And that’s what he tried to tell himself as you settled in beside him. Told himself to ‘man up’. Even though the term was ridiculous and incredibly harmful. It was difficult for Rhett to unlearn this ideology because it was all that had been drilled into his head. 

Men don’t cry. Men don’t show fear. Men are strong and steady. But Rhett didn’t feel like any of those things, especially not when the seat suddenly jerked forward and made him jump out of his skin. 

You noticed it, and you looked at him. “Are you alright?”

He nodded. “Y-yeah, ‘m fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ that, is all.” He thought it must’ve been convincing enough, because soon, you settled beside him, your shoulder touching his. 

The ride ascended higher and higher, and Rhett was already white-knuckling the bar in front of you. You noticed he was tense, and this time, when you looked at him, his eyes were squeezed shut. 

That’s when you realized he was trembling. 

“Rhett, baby, look at me,” you gently coaxed. 

He let out a soft sound, a whimper of fear, and he mentally cursed himself for it. But he couldn’t help it. “No,” he whispered. 

“It’s okay. Just turn your head and keep your eyes on me.”

Slowly, he turned his head, and you lifted your hand, gently cupping his cheeks in your hands, moving them high enough so that your fingers blocked his peripheral. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. “You’re safe. Just keep your eyes on my face. Don’t look anywhere else but at me, alright?”

There were tears glimmering in his cerulean eyes. His bottom lip quivered. And all at once, you felt terrible for even suggesting this ride in the first place. You didn’t realize he was frightened until it was too late. 

But instead of asking him about the fear, you made an effort to distract him. You could have a discussion when you were back on solid ground. For now, you kept his focus on you. 

“That’s it. Doing so good, baby. I’m right here. I want you to keep your eyes on me and tell me five things you see, okay?”

“O-okay,” he breathed. His eyes flickered about your face. “U-um…I see your…your eyes. I see your nose. I, uh, I see your mouth. I see your cheeks.”

“Good job. That’s four, I need one more.”

“And I see your chin.”

“There you go, that’s it.” You gave him an encouraging smile. For the next part of the grounding technique, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to get him to take his hands off the bar to find four things he could touch. So, instead, you skipped to the next step. “How about three things you can hear?”

He took in a deep gulp of oxygen. “The…the music from the merry-go-round across the way. I can kinda hear people talking. An’ I can hear machines movin’.”

You kept your voice steady as you replied. “You’re doing so great, Rhett,” you encouraged. However, at that very moment, your seat reached the tippy top of the Ferris wheel, and it stopped. 

That jerked Rhett entirely out of the calm headspace you’d been guiding him into. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Fuck, why did it stop?” Panic started to heighten his tone. 

“Baby, look at me. It’s part of the ride, they stop it at the top for a little bit before you go back down.”

“No, no, no. Why the fuck would they do that?! I can’t…I can’t do this.”

You kept your hands where they were, cradling his face. “Yes, you can. I’m right here with you, I promise. We’re doing this together.”

Tears had begun to well in his eyes again. Your heart ached for him, and you longed to wrap your arms around him, but you knew it would cause your seat to rock, and you didn’t want to send him further into panic. 

“I-I’m so fuckin’ scared,” he whimpered. 

“It’s okay to be scared. But it’s almost over, I promise. Just keep your focus on me. I’m gonna ask you another question, okay?” 

He gave you the go-ahead. “Okay.”

“What are two things you can smell?”

His brow furrowed as he breathed in deeply. “Your, uh, your perfume. And your shampoo.”

You beamed at him. “Great job baby.”

You continued to gently speak to him, keeping him distracted as best as you could. You had him focus on breathing, placing your hand on his broad chest as you told him to breathe in and out slowly. 

And little by little, the ride began to descend back to the ground. “We’re almost there, just a little more,” you assured him. Now that you were lower to the ground, Rhett was able to look away from you, his eyes flickering about to take in his surroundings. His shoulders began to visibly relax.

It was all going to be okay. Just a few more moments and his feet would be back on the ground. He found himself counting down in his head, until finally, the seat stopped at the bottom. Without hesitation, Rhett bolted from the ride, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so. 

As you trailed after him, you passed Trevor Tillerson and his new Flavor of the Week, waiting next in line for the Ferris wheel. You should have known the eldest Tillerson would run his mouth, because that was what he was prone to do. Especially after he’d had a few drinks, and judging by the fact that he smelled like a bottle of Jack Daniels, he’d had more than a few. 

He snickered as Rhett bolted past him. “Ain’t no way the big bad bull rider gets sick on kiddie rides!” He jeered, eyes wide in disbelief. 

The comment sent fire through you, enraged that he would pick on Rhett after what he’d just endured. A surge of protectiveness drove you forward, and without a second thought, you whirled around. “Shut the fuck up, Trevor!” And then you sharply slapped him across the face. 

You didn’t stick around to see his reaction. Instead, you promptly turned back around on your feet and rushed after your man, driven by your need to make sure he was okay. Just ahead, Rhett skidded to a halt beside a trash can, and promptly lurched forward, letting nausea overcome him, releasing the contents of his stomach into the trash can. Your heart ached as you trailed behind him, placing a comforting hand on his back and rubbing slow circles with your palm. 

“I’ve got you, honey,” you assured him. You hated the sound of his pained heaves, and you felt terrible knowing that they were all because you had insisted that he go on the Ferris wheel. 

Groaning lowly, he rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shit,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“Are you done? Or do you think you’ll throw up again?” You asked.

He nodded, grimacing slightly. “I-I think ‘m done,” he replied.

“Okay. How about you sit down here for a minute? I’ll go get you some water,” you softly coaxed, taking his arm and gently guiding him to a nearby picnic table. “I’ll be right back.” Then you slipped away to request a cup of water from one of the nearby food vendors.

Meanwhile, Rhett lowered his head to his hands, groaning to himself. “Fuck,” he cursed. He was so embarrassed for the way he’d reacted on that stupid Ferris wheel. Surely you thought he was a complete idiot.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. And when you returned holding two cups of water, and saw that his head was in his hands, your heart broke. “I’m back,” you quietly announced, placing the water in front of him. He grabbed the cup, his large hand engulfing the plastic container, and eagerly gulped down the cool liquid.

As he did so, you sat across from him, slowly sipping your own water. He wouldn’t look at you, and you could see shame burning brightly on his cheeks. “Fuckin’ embarrassin’,” he grumbled. 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Rhett,” you soothed.

“Yes it is. What grown-ass man goes up in a Ferris wheel and fuckin’ cries?”

You shook your head, your eyes filling with tears. “Baby, stop. That has nothing to do with you being a man or not. It’s okay to be scared of things.” Then you leaned forward. “You should have told me you were scared. I never would’ve had you go on it with me.”

He shrugged sheepishly, still refusing to meet your gaze. “Didn’t want you t’ think I was weak.” And there it was. 

“Look at me.”

He did.

You reached out and placed your hands over his own ever-fidgeting ones. “I could never, ever think you were weak. Nothing you have ever done says “weak” to me. You are the strongest man I know, and being emotional or scared is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. To be that vulnerable in front of someone? That takes courage.”

Rhett’s bottom lip quivered. “I…I know it’s stupid to think that way, but it’s just so fuckin’ drilled into my head. I can’t get rid of the mindset.”

A hot flash of anger flared in your chest, because you knew who was responsible for instilling that mindset in him. But you couldn’t let your anger come to the surface, so you kept it at bay. “I know it’s hard to shake it. But those are lies, you hear me? It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be scared.”

“It’s just…I’ve been on the backs of some of the meanest bulls in the rodeo. I stared down the barrel of a shotgun when I was a teenager when I got caught trespassin’ on someone else’s land. I’ve had m’ own fuckin’ brother throw punches at me. You’d think I’d be able to handle a measly little fair ride.”

“We all have our limits. And I want you to know something. You don’t ever have to do something you don’t want to, just because of me, okay? I don’t want you to feel like you have no other choice, or like you have to make me happy. Because your own well-being is more important than making me happy. You hear me?”

He nodded slowly. “The thing is, I know all that. But…how do I get myself to start believin’ it?”

You squeezed his hands. “Well, for starters, you don’t have to do it alone. I don’t want you to shut me out. You aren’t supposed to carry your burdens by yourself. I wanna carry them with you.”

That was so difficult for Rhett to wrap his mind around. He was so used to being alone, to navigating his warring emotions all by himself. It had been a point of contention in your relationship. You were always telling him you didn’t want him to shut you out. That you wanted him to communicate and tell you how he was feeling. But that fear of vulnerability was crushing. Even so, he knew he needed to be better about expressing how he was feeling. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“Will…will y’ help me figure out how to share ‘em with you?” He asked earnestly.

“Of course, baby. I’ll help you navigate it all, I promise.”

He nodded, his eyes glittering with emotion. Then he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Y’know how you kinda…hinted at seein’ a therapist?”

You nodded, because you had. You didn’t want Rhett to feel pressured into it, but in passing, you had mentioned to him that seeing a therapist was helpful to you. He hated to admit it, but he knew he needed to start seeing someone to help him navigate the muddled mess that was his brain. There were years of unchecked trauma and repressed emotions that needed to be dealt with. 

Before you, he wouldn’t have been caught dead admitting that he needed help. But you had made him see that it was okay to ask for help. And after the moment on the Ferris wheel, and how terrified he’d been to show you “weakness”, it hit him like a ton of bricks that, in order for your relationship to thrive, he needed to get a handle on those feelings.

“I think it’s time I started seein’ one,” he continued, his voice soft, as if he was afraid of admitting such a thing.

You reached out and gently tipped his chin up so he was looking at you again. “Oh, baby, you have no idea how happy that makes me. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you to say. I’m so proud of you, Rhett.” You lifted his hands to your mouth to press your lips to his knuckles. “I’ll help you find the perfect therapist just for you. I won’t let you do this by yourself, alright? I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

He managed a small smile. “Alright. I trust you.”

Those three words were music to your ears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he answered with conviction.

“We can talk more about this at home if you want. But I’m sure you’re exhausted after that awful ride. Do you wanna head home? Or stay here a little longer?”

He hesitated. “I…know you had your heart set on comin’ to the fair, but…I think maybe I need t’ go home and rest after that ordeal.”

You offered a warm smile. “That’s okay, we can go right home. Whatever is best for you, I don’t want you to force yourself to stay just to please me.”

You rose to your feet and held your hand out to him, which he gratefully accepted, allowing you to pull him to his feet. You leaned in to kiss him gently, and he melted into you. “Let’s get you home, cowboy.”

“Wait,” he said, as you began to lead him away. 

You stopped to look back at him.

“D’ya think we could, uh…get some funnel cake before we go?”

Your face broke into a grin. “Of course we can.”

Happily, you led him to a funnel cake stand, where you purchased the sugary treat to share. Then, you walked out of the fairground, with you nestled against Rhett’s side as you ate bites of the fried cake while you walked. It was a lighthearted end to a rather difficult night, but both of you were at peace, because the difficulty had lead to some revelations that would soon improve your relationship and deepen your bond. 

Rhett had a long journey of healing ahead of him, and the thought was rather frightening. But with your unwavering love and support, he knew he could do it. And you knew he could, too.

-

taglist:

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[keepontruckinlucky]

So, I met both Lew and Eden. They played Lucky. I got to hug Lew. I cried when they played Lucky. I have so many thoughts at the moment, but all I can say is... I'm getting a Lucky tattoo soon.

IGNORE HOW TIRED I LOOK

[sparring-spirals]

someone more well caught up with the campaign can correct me if im wrong. But based on the impression I've gotten, i love the like. Spectrum of "accidentally oncall" we have, with how the Mighty Nein are accidentally unknown go-to's for various powerful people to get tasks done, while Bell's Hells are accidentally primary sources and lynchpins for various powers to understand and coordinate events.

Like the Mighty Nein are. they're assholes, if you talk to them and they dont really like you. you'll know it and it will kind of suck. But for the most part people don't have to interact directly with them. It's almost weird how much they don't have to??? Like shit just gets. Done. And you find out later like OH its the same. weirdos. No idea who they are but you're told its the same group. What do they even look like. There are so many weird stories at least half of them NEED to be fake. Or people just assume incorrect attribution bc it cant ALL be the same group. What do you mean they saved a world and an island and? Turtles were involved? Sea serpents? what.

For anyone who knows even slightly better/has slightly better connections (but doesn't know them personally) They're just like a weird form of an urban legend where its like. elite strike team. silent and effective. (in the background we see them falling out of the sky into the ocean onto one another). But for the most part its really peak. Knows a guy who knows a guy. If someone HAPPENS to be present they might be squinting into the chaos like. That girl choked me with a stick once? Isnt that other one a professor. Wha- okay. They're gone again. Silent. effective. You have a really hard time tracking them down even if you want to. (If they want to find you though, you can't escape them).

And then with Bell's Hells. (At least when I last checked in). It goes more like. Hey some weirdos have critical knowledge for us. And it's just. an Absolute Halloween themed clown car of events that rolls up. There's a talking dead rat. Weird old gnome griping about wood. They keep flirting with everyone. Including someone that looks very evil. A busty faun just took your wallet. You're pretty sure this group threw a bunch of bees in someone's face in a street race and crashed a skyship and were absolute NIGHTMARE CUSTOMERS at various establishments. They're the ones with critical knowledge. They are communicating it SO, INCREDIBLY INEFFECTIVELY. They were on the moon? They have a person FROM the moon? They keep trying to be friendly with you. You don't want them to be. Another critical thing happens. They're the only one with knowledge. Again. The dead rat keeps flirting with you. You're getting voices in your head. More developments in the critical scenario. They're still the primary source on this potentially Exandria-shattering event. They're still spending an inexplicable amount of time talking about the hotness of various people inbetween dispensing information that literally no one else has been able to glean. You know who they are. You kind of wish you didn't. You are Going To See Them Again. (threat)

[keepontruckinlucky]

Tears in my eyes as I write this...

G, my darling (I hope that's okay to call you), this is spectacular. You conveyed every emotion I know that all the women in my life have felt at one point or another, whether it was a miscarriage, a stillbirth, or infertility.

This was so beautifully written. Jake's explanation of what happened, Elle making sure that her Mama was safe, and Alex!!! Sweet baby Alex making sure to plant white roses because he remembered Bradley doing it for Dragon and Ida. 🥺🥺🥺

All My Heart & All My Being | Jake x Shy!Wifey

opposites attract masterlist | main masterlist

synopsis: Jake & Y/N are given devastating news on what was supposed to be a routine midwife visit. Jake navigates how to tell his kids about the circle of life.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: miscarriage, tears, fear of doctors, cursing, talks of death, canon character death, mentions of depression, mentions of stillbirths

note: miscarriages happen in 1 out of 4 pregnancies. Most miscarriages are spontaneous, meaning that you did nothing to cause it. miscarriages are never your fault, and it doesn't make you any less of a parent. Angel baby parents are still parents.

Jake couldn’t hide his excitement. It was Y/N’s second ultrasound since she had discovered she was pregnant. It was the appointment where they were finally going to hear their baby’s heartbeat. Even though they had been here twice before, the same butterflies and nervous feelings still arose in their bellies. Jake was trying his best to not crush Y/N’s hand with his strong grip as they waited for the doctor to come in. 

Jake was halfway out of the chair he was sitting in, at eye level with Y/N’s bare belly. His eyes were wide as he was retelling the story of his last dogfight with Rooster and Coyote. Y/N couldn’t help the smile on her face as she ran her hand through his soft blonde hair. 

“And then, I broke right, turning right into the sun with Rooster still hot on my tail, but the ol’ man still hasn’t learned any new tricks,” Jake laughed, “He lost me in the sun, and I was able to turn quickly and get behind him to get missile lock on him.” 

“Going to turn this one into an aviator before they’re even born,” Y/N giggled. Jake looked up at her with pure admiration and love in his green eyes. 

“They’ve got a handful of uncles and aunts who will turn them into an aviator if I don’t,” Jake said as there was a soft knock on the door. Y/N sat up on her elbows and told whoever it was to come in, but Jake’s eyebrows furrowed at the young nurse who walked through the door, “Where’s Doctor Carpenter?” 

The nurse smiled at him as she walked to the ultrasound machine, “She’s with another mother right now, but she’ll be here soon.” Y/N nodded and laid back down on the exam table, “My name is Margaret, and I’ll be doing the initial look, taking a few pictures and then Doctor Carpenter will be in.” 

“Okay,” Y/N nodded, feeling the grip of nerves in her throat. Jake could feel the anxiety rolling off his wife in waves and squeezed his wife’s hand. Y/N looked over at him, as Jake raised their conjoined hands to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. 

“How have you been feeling, Mrs. Seresin?” Margaret asked. 

“Oh please, call me Y/N,” Y/N said softly, “I’ve been feeling more tired than usual with this one. It’s our third baby,” Jake gave her hand a squeeze, “But lately, my back has been hurting, I’ve had these weird dizzy spells, just overall felt like crap.” 

Margaret nodded as she put some of the cool gel on Y/N’s belly. Y/N let out a shaky breath as Margaret pressed the transducer to Y/N’s lower belly. She always hated this part of the exam, feeling like her bladder was going to explode from the pressure. 

Jake sucked in a breath as he watched Y/N stare up at the ceiling. She was uncomfortable and Jake hated that. “Did you hear about Dragon’s wedding present for Rooster?” Y/N looked at her husband and shook her head, “Well apparently, it was a fancy little picture book. Rooster was actually speechless, and you know that man is nev-” 

“How far along are you?” Margaret asked, interrupting Jake. He looked up at her, noticing the pinched look on her face. 

“12 weeks,” Y/N nodded, “But isn’t that on my chart?” 

Margaret nodded and plastered a fake smile on her face, “Y-yeah, yes, it’s just that-” 

Jake’s shoulders squared as he stood up from his seat, “That what? What’s wrong?” 

Margaret set the transducer down and turned to face both of them, “I’m not seeing anything on the ultrasound.” 

“What?” Y/N looked from the nurse to Jake and back at the nurse. She felt her heart start to race as she pushed herself up on her elbows, “There’s. . .there’s no baby? I lost the-” 

“I don’t know,” Margaret said, “I-I’m not really authorized to read-” 

“How about you go find someone who is?” Jake said sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. Margaret nodded rapidly and scurried out of the room with her head down. Jake scoffed and ran his hand through his hair, his jaw clenched shut, “What a fucking joke. Can you-” He looked down at his wife to find tears running down her cheeks, “Hey, sweets, what’s wrong?” 

“There’s no baby,” Y/N cried, and Jake wrapped her in his strong embrace. 

“We don’t know that,” Jake said, his voice strong and steady, “The nurse even said she’s not authorized to read it.” He pulled Y/N away from his chest and held her face in his hands. She looked up into his green eyes, “You hear me? We can’t jump to conclusions yet.” Y/N closed her eyes and nodded her head, not really believing a word Jake said. And to be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he believed what he said either. 

Jake gently shifted Y/N’s body so he could sit on the edge of the small exam table and hold his wife. They waited in painful silence for the doctor to come in. The only sound was the occasional sniffle from Y/N, which was followed by Jake pressing his lips to the top of her head. A small knock pulled them out of their quiet embrace as their usual doctor walked into the room. Jake felt some relief in his body, but the look on the doctor’s face didn’t help ease much of it. 

“I’m sorry for the wait,” Doctor Carpenter said, giving them both a sad smile, “Let’s see what’s going on.” She quickly went to the ultrasound machine. Jake moved off the exam table and stood by her side, holding her hand in both of his. 

Doctor Carpenter did the same thing as the nurse had done previously, putting the cold gel on Y/N’s belly and spreading it around her lower abdomen. Y/N looked up at the ceiling as Jake’s eyes were on the black-and-white screen in front of him. Doctor Carpenter worked in silence as she moved the transducer around, freezing on a spot, and taking a picture, before moving to another spot. The silence stretched for about ten minutes before Doctor Carpenter sighed, and placed the transducer down.  

Y/N closed her eyes as she felt Doctor Carpenter’s eyes on her. She couldn’t hear the words that came out of the doctor’s mouth but felt Jake squeeze her hand. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N and Jake, but there isn’t a viable fetus present,” Doctor Carpenter said, “I’m afraid Y/N has had what we call a spontaneous miscarriage. It doesn’t present like a normal. . .” 

It was all a blur after that. 

She could hear the door to the exam room shut. She could feel Jake move to lean over her and run a hand through her hair. She could faintly make out the sound of his voice as he spoke to her. She could feel him hold her in his arms, rubbing her back and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She could hear him sniffle and wipe away the tears from under his eyes. 

The car ride home was quiet, as Y/N leaned her head against the window, looking at the familiar landscape pass her by. Jake would occasionally glance over at her, noticing the hand that sat protectively on her belly. He shifted in his seat and looked at his wife again. 

Jake cleared his throat, “Are you in pain?” 

“Not physically,” Y/N answered, “It’s just. . . when you think about a miscarriage or losing a baby, you imagine blood and pain, not. . .” Y/N fought back tears, her mind trying to come up with the right words to say. Jake reached his hand across the center console and grabbed hers. Neither of them said another word as they drove the rest of the way home. 

When they arrived home, Jake noticed Amelia Benjamin’s bike by the front door. She usually babysat the kids after school while Jake & Y/N were at work. It was supposed to be a happy night, while Jake and Y/N shared pictures of their unborn child, and listen as Alex and Ella argued about whether it was going to be a boy or a girl. Now, all Y/N felt was dread of having to face her children and her parents. 

“Why don’t you go into the house from the garage and up the back steps,” Jake said, looking at his wife, “And I’ll go corral the kids to the backyard.” Y/N nodded her head in agreement, “I’ll be up soon and draw you a bath-” 

“I just want to lay in bed,” Y/N said, looking at Jake, “I’m okay. . . or I will be anyway.” 

Jake gave her a smile. Y/N was one of the toughest women he knew. She had to be tough when being married to an aviator. Nothing in Jake’s life was ever promised and Y/N had known that first hand. She had watched as partners of fellow aviators had been given folded flags instead of getting to hug their loved ones again. She always feared losing Jake, never one of her own babies. 

“I’m going to go in now,” Y/N said and Jake nodded. 

“Y/N,” Jake called her name as he stepped out of the truck. She looked up at him, “I love you, with all my heart and all my being.” 

Y/N smiled, “I love you too, with all my heart and all my being.” 

Jake took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts as he watched Y/N walk into the house. He turned the truck off and gathered his duffle bag from the back seat, before making his way to the backyard where he could hear the loud laughter of his kids. 

The second that Jake opened the gate to the backyard, Alex and Ella ran right to him. He greeted them with his usual bright smile and kiss on the cheek. He thanked Amelia for watching them and paid her. Then he stood on the front porch with Alex and Ella as Amelia rode her bike the two blocks it took to get to her house. 

“C’mon, let’s go get a snack,” Jake said, leading his kids inside the house. Alex climbed up on the stool at the kitchen island, while Jake sat Ella down on hers. He cut them up an apple, splitting it between the two of them, and giving them each a big dollop of peanut butter to go with. 

“Where’s Mommy?” Alex asked, looking around the kitchen for the usual bright ball of sunshine that was Y/N Seresin. 

“She’s uh,” Jake cleared his throat, “She’s not feeling well. She’s laying down right now.” 

“What wrong wit Mommy?” Ella asked, looking up at Jake with those big green eyes. Jake knew that at some point in time, they needed to talk to the kids about what happened, but he was hoping that he would have some time to gather his thoughts before telling them. If it was up to Jake, he would wait to talk to them, but he also knew that Y/N hated keeping things from them. 

“Your mommy,” Jake shook his head, “We found out today that. . . we lost the baby.” The room was silent for a moment as the five and two-and-a-half-year-old were trying to come to terms with what their father just said. How does one even explain the circle of life to kids? 

“How?” Ella asked. 

“I’m not really sure, Elles,” Jake said, running his hand over her blonde hair, “Sometimes, it just happens. There’s no explanation. There’s no reason. Sometimes, God decides he needs the baby a bit more than we do.” 

Alex blinked a couple of times, staring at the bottom wrung of the chair that Steve had chewed up, “Is that Baby with Uncle Bradley’s mom and dad?” 

Jake nodded, “Yeah. The baby is with Uncle Bradley’s mom and Dad, and Grandpa Seresin, and the dog your mommy had as a child, and Aunt Dragon’s babies.” 

“I don’t wike that,” Ella pouted, as the tears slowly started to roll down her cheeks. Jake cooed and walked over to her, picking her up in his arms, and holding her head against his chest as she cried. 

“I know, baby girl, I know,” Jake sniffled, “No one does. It’s hard to lose the people you love,” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “All we can do now, is show mama some love, give her some extra cuddles. She’s going to be sad for a while.” 

“I wanna go to Mommy,” Ella mumbled and Jake nodded. He carried Ella in his arms and walked up the stairs toward their shared room. Alex stayed in his spot, still staring at that beat-up wrung of the stool. 

Jake knocked softly on the bedroom door, waiting for the invite from Y/N to let him in. He knew not to overcrowd her and make her feel uncomfortable. Sometimes Y/N reminded him of a scared, feral dog that had been kicked one too many times. But her quiet, soft voice granted him permission to come in, and Jake gently pushed the door open. 

Y/N was facing the door and looked up to see her baby girl with tears rolling down her cheeks. Y/N gave Jake a sad smile and shifted a bit in bed to make room for Ella. Silently, Jake stepped across the threshold and brought Ella to Y/N. 

“My baby girl, what are the tears for?” Y/N asked Ella, as Jake pulled back the covers and gently placed her next to her mom. 

“I don’t want you to be sad,” Ella mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“I know,” Y/N said softly, “I’ll only be sad for a little while, I promise.” She pulled Ella in close to her chest and rubbed her back. Ella was like Jake in so many ways, that the small gesture was a sure way to make them both fall asleep. 

Jake smiled at his girls before returning downstairs to make Y/N some tea. Alex was still in the same spot as he was when Jake went upstairs. He eyed his child as he filled and set the kettle on the stove. Jake always felt like he had a hard time connecting with Alex. Y/N was already four months pregnant with him when Jake came home from a mission. And Jake had to leave when he was only three months old for another mission. Alex was also the complete opposite of his father and Jake struggled to find things they had in common. 

“What’re you thinking about, Lex?” Jake asked, leaning against the counter. 

“Do you know where I can get white roses?” Alex said, looking up at his dad. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed, “Uncle Rooster always gets Aunt Dragon white roses on Ida’s birthday. He says they are for membrance.” 

“Remembrance,” Jake said, “And I think I know a place where we can get some.” 

— — — 

Three days later, Jake and Alex were in the middle of Y/N’s garden, while she sat in a chair with Ella. Doctor Carpenter told her to take the next couple of days easy while her body and mind processed the news of the miscarriage. The kids had been a great help, keeping Y/N’s mind off the loss and giving her the extra cuddles that she didn’t know she needed. 

“White Roses love the sun,” Y/N said, as Alex finished digging the whole, “You picked a perfect spot, Alex.” 

The little boy wiped the sweat from his brow as Jake brought over the poted plant, “Thanks, momma.” 

“Alright Ella, you want to come help with this?” Jake asked, and the little girl happily obliged. She wiggled out of her moms lap and walked over to where the two boys were standing. 

Jake gently pulled the rose bush from the bucket it sat in, remembering all the critiques Y/N gave him while he helped her plant to other flowers in the garden. Ella and Alex cupped the bottom of the plant as they gently eased it into the hole. Y/N stood up from her chair and walked over to her family, watching as the kids covered the base of the rose bush with fresh soil. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes as Jake put his arm around her, pulling her flush against his side. 

“There!” Alex said, clapping the dirt off of his hands, “Do you like it?!” 

“We love it, baby,” Jake smiled, “Now come here! Family hug!” Y/N giggled as the kids ran right towards their legs, hugging them tightly, “I love you guys, with all my heart, and all my being.”

taglist: @damrlova @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388 @mygyn @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @seitmai @topgun-imagines @bradleybeachbabe @na-ta-sh-aa @startrekfangirl2233 @xoxabs88xox @atarmychick007 @lunamoonbby @sophiaslastbraincell @bradswolfe @fandom-princess-forevermore @dempy @lovelywiseprincess @krismdavis @eternallyvenus @dakotakazansky @pono-pura-vida @callsignharper @callsignartemis @starberryhorse @daggersquadphantom @gspenc @poppyalice2001 @els-marvelvsp @nyx2021 @t0kyoreveng3rs @frazie99 @spencvrr @kmc1989 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @toobouquet @malindacath @justenoughmadness @sagittarius-flowerchild

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[elliesbelle]

texts with college gf ellie

part 2

you and ellie have started living in an off-campus apartment together ♡︎

content warnings: dealer!ellie, cursing, mentions of marijuana, sexual content, mentions of sex, mentions of a strap-on, a bit of sexting, references to a strap-on as a "dick", mentions of penetrative sex, slight mention of a little daddy kink, minors do not interact

texts with domestic gf!ellie: part 1, part 2, part 3

texts with college gf!ellie: part 1, part 2

texts with gf!abby found on my masterlist here

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

we will see a free palestine

keep the lesbian flag creator alive

author's notes:

haven't done one of these in a while, so hope y'all enjoy this <3

first two convos are inspired by recent text convos between me and my live-in ex lmao (she was mad af when i fell asleep instead of unlocking the door cause she pushed into the front door expecting it to be unlocked and she spilled coffee on herself 😭)

also the uno convo is also inspired by the time my best friend and her gf were visiting me and we were playing uno with live-in ex and live-in ex was drunk and got mad as hell bc she apparently grew up with different uno rules slkdfjsdkl

making these reminded me to repair a few of my lingerie pieces cause i've been slacking on sewing them back ugh

also idk why this ended up being really sexy at the end oops well i hope y'all enjoyed anyway lol

[alliekitaguchi]

shadowgast in aeor fanon: anguish, turmoil, love confessions, horrors beyond comparison, fighting for survival at every turn

shadowgast in aeor canon: essek gets turned into a fish and caleb has to carry him around

[kenobihater]

i love that hickey's immediate defense mechanism to anything bad happening to him ever is to break out in the most scuffed patrick bateman type smile imaginable while he stalls for time to come up with a more sane response than either spitting vitriol or taking a chunk out of someone with his teeth.

his bitch wife having the gall to divorce HIM (god's greatest gift to bottoms and a known catch)? sniles. being unjustly flogged bloody in front of the crew after his genius 1000 iq plan doesn't pan out and land him an irish dilf? sniles so sneetly. telling goodsir to butcher billy, getting called out for killing his miserable ex-wife himself for din-din but reasonably drawing the line at meat processing, being clocked as growing up BROKE, and hearing "no" from a man he thought was a doormat?? i know in my heart that when he's sitting there for a moment with his rictus grin, his internal monologue is just incoherent violence like