#do I need to say that it's 2:30 in the morning and I haven't proofed read this before posting?

[tanith-rhea]

Carnations

It was beautiful, in a morbid way, that this would be the way you'd go. A botany teacher whose lungs were filled with flowers.

Author's note: absolute angst on this one, I won't promise tears cause different people sail different ships, but I can say that there is no happy ending, a good old character death which I suspect is over-described, and the illusory or not certainty of unrequited love.

You may do with this information whatever you please 💛

You'd always had a fascination when it came to flower diseases. Hanakanjō always seemed to you like the worst thing that could happen to a person, flowers sprouting from one's skin and betraying their emotions to others around them. In the end, you wish you could trade it for yours, it would be mortifying to burst into pink carnations every time Larissa walked past you, but at least you wouldn't have yellow ones choking you up at night when you replayed her words repeatedly in your head.

"I could never fall in love with an employee," she'd said, nursing what little wine was left in her glass.

"Do you think you could control it?" the question had nothing to do with your fondness for the principal, it spoke of how much of a romantic you were, actually, how tragic it would be if it happened.

She seemed to consider it for a while, before settling for "I'm fairly certain. I have no interest in falling in love and even if I had I would make sure to not harbour any feelings for someone I could not pursue. I wouldn't be so careless as to set myself up for heartbreak," her voice sounded sure and final. She finished her drink and inhaled carefully before eyeing your glass and seeing you'd also finished yours.

"I'm afraid it's rather late," she continued softly, "This was supposed to be a work meeting and I kept you for far too long," she paused, and you felt something tighten in your chest as you realized the conversation (and your lovely evening) was over. "Thank you for indulging me, though."

Larissa would never fall in love with a teacher. And you, pretty much a teacher and "one of the few she considered a friend", would never have your feelings reciprocated.

It was rather lovely, to be in love, and you discovered you didn't mind to love alone that evening when you left her office. It was really such a shame that your lungs begged to disagree.

The first time you coughed you were in class. You were about to explain to a second-year student how a certain plant could be made into poison and medicine depending on the situation or its handling when you broke into a fit. You hadn't caught a cold and no flowers were blooming quite yet, so when you couldn't stop for a whole thirty seconds you thought it rather odd.

The blood in your elbow pit once you finally stopped was also curious, but you carried on until all classes were finished.

Later that same day, you were at the quad waiting for a student who had asked you to take a look at his potted plant which he said didn't look so good. He had left class just a few minutes before and passed through the quad to tell you he would go to his dorm take the plant and come back in two beats but he was taking his time, apparently.

Distracted, you didn't notice someone approaching the table you were sitting at and squeaked like a scared squirrel once Larissa's hand laid on your shoulder.

"My, my, I did think you were a bit lost but it seems you were in fact stupefied," she sounded amused. Your face was catching fire.

"You absolute menace, why did you sneak up on me like that? Do you want to kill me?" your voice was still squeaky; like you'd inhaled helium.

Larissa laughed, full of mirth and fondness, and you couldn't pretend to be displeased with her when your lips were insisting on twitching up. You were probably making a funny face while fighting back your smile because she only continued on, if softer, as you shook your head and looked away.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, I was only passing and wanted to know what you were up to." Her hand was still resting on your shoulder and her thumb was now soothingly stroking small circles on the hollow of your clavicle.

She smiled affectionately at you while you composed yourself enough to answer. You had close to no dignity left but you would fight to recuperate it.

You cleared your suddenly tight throat, "I'm just waiting on Ajax for plant advice. He's babysitting a Dahlia for a friend of his and is worried it might be dying."

"A dahlia?" Larissa arched an eyebrow.

"Yes... why?" what was so curious about a boy caring for a flower to her?

She shrugged, "Nothing, just-" she paused, her fingertips pressing a bit as if gripping you lightly for a second, "their meaning, I imagine, but boys his age probably don't know these things anymore," she smiled dismissively.

She squeezed your shoulder softly again, eyes glinting a bit before saying, "Well, it's always lovely to run into you, dear," and leaned down to kiss your cheek, hand sliding from your shoulder to your chin as she held your face gently and pressed her lips right under your cheekbone.

She eyed the spot where her lips had been, probably because they left a mark redder than your blush, before smiling once again and leaving. Once she was out of view, you brought shaky fingertips to your warm face and suddenly you were doubling over with coughs; unstopping, burning things scorching your throat as blood springled your trousers and then, like it was just another product any coughing fit could conjure, there were two yellow petals, tinged half red in blood, laid on your lap.

"Professor...?" Ajax's voice caught your attention, and frankly people had to stop surprising you like this. You looked up to see terrified eyes staring at the stains on your lap. "Is everything alright?"

You definitely didn't feel alright. "Yes, it's just an inflammation or something," you pretended to dismiss it and he didn't seem too convinced, "Is this the child?" you pointed at a perfectly healthy dahlia.

"Yeah... I left it on the window this morning and it seems a lot better now." He shifted from foot to foot, "I brought her here just to confirm she's alright," he completed.

"She?" you couldn't help a smile. It was a joke when you said the child.

His face reddened a bit and it was amusing but mostly adorable how uncomfortable he suddenly seemed.

"Xavior and I have this thing that we talk about her like she is a person," he appeared to be immensely interested in her since he couldn't take his eyes off the plant to look at you while explaining, "We read on a website that plants can communicate with others and respond well to being praised and stuff so it because sort of a thing and-"

His words were coming more and more like undistinguished mumbles so you took pity on him and interrupted, saying "She's alright, Ajax. A healthy little girl as far as I can see, don't worry."

He visibly relaxed, deflating like a cloak of lead was sliding off his shoulders. He finally looked you in the face, still unsure and stealing glances at your lap.

"Thank you, prof." He nodded forcefully and marched quickly back inside.

The tricky thing was that you loved life, but you also loved Larissa, and you didn't want to stop doing either of those, even if they might terminate each other and you in the process.

Love is such a beautiful sentiment and dying from it was just your luck. If you could choose, in all honesty, you might have chosen to die exactly like this.

That didn't mean you were eager to do so. And that was why you decided to distance yourself from Larissa. You loved her, and you knew your love would only grow stronger and having her around did not help to keep you from diving deeper into the magnificent, all-encompassing feeling of completion that filled your heart and soul so absolutely it spilt.

In the first few weeks, she didn't seem to notice, but after your third refusal of a shared glass of red at her office she appeared at your door, concern written between her brows.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I have the feeling I don't see you as much as I'd like this past few days and was wondering if something happened."

She had no business looking so caring and... worried, fretful.

You were still standing at the doorsill, feeling thin roots curl and clench inside your chest like anarchist veins looking for tissue to spread themselves onto when the thought occurred to you for the first time. Why can't she love me back?

It was nonsense. You knew her, you knew why, and of course your life was on the line and it mattered more than school rules or power dynamics but she was not looking for love. She made it clear not once, but several times when she'd repeat incessantly every time someone brought up the fact that she was single.

"I don't see why I need someone, Tish," or "I don't mind being alone, Vlad," and "No, dear, I don't feel incomplete, I have everything I ever wished for".

You hadn't had a problem with it before, but now, seeing her standing there, gloved hands clasped together in front of her elegantly but not fooling you at all. The air was charged, she was waiting for something; an invitation to enter, an explanation, reassurance. Her hands in front of her were not a sign of grace but an attempt at not fidgeting. She never fidgeted, you suspected she practised so much that now every time she felt uncomfortable she'd instinctively adopt certain poses that evoked control.

"Finals are coming soon," you said with no thought at all, and her brows furrowed deeper, "I mean... Preparation for finals," you tried to salvage, "I like to do a pre-review with smaller classes."

She clearly did not buy it but also didn't question you. Instead, her posture impossibly improved as she cleared her throat quietly, "Well, I'll leave you to your evening plans then," and she motioned to leave.

"Which-" you said quickly before she could go, she stood attentively, "I don't have," you said, voice breaking at the end as you felt petals clog up your windpipe.

Larissa smiled, surprised and clearly pleased, and you stepped out of the way so she could enter.

"Give me a moment," you whispered with what you hoped was an easy smile as you excused yourself to the bathroom.

As soon as you closed the door you tried your best to vomit, expel? Get rid of the petals slowly rising with as little sound as possible. If you coughed there was a chance Larissa would hear and ask questions. You weren't sure you could lie to her if she asked why you were coughing petals like you're the embodiment of spring. Even if she'd know the reason, you couldn't trust yourself not to tell it was because of her.

But you can't vomit something coming from your lungs, and there is no such thing as "gracefully letting a foreign solid thing leave travel through your respiratory system". You just grabbed a towel from the cabinet and muffled the screeches and choking and sobs on it.

After an unknown amount of time, a knock took you out of your breathing exercise to regain control.

"Is everything ok in there?" you weren't coughing anymore, but her small voice made you want to cry. Your face was still flushed from all the exertion and the tears brought by pain were still drying on your cheeks.

Your breathing quickened as dread and heartbreak occupied the emptiness left by bloody petals. You screamed without a sound, air leaving your throat, face twisted from grief. You'd die from loving her and you knew you would do so soon.

Larissa didn't wait for an answer much longer, and as she opened the door you curled into yourself, hiding the petals between your legs and chest, burying your face on your knees so she wouldn't see how ugly you looked when falling apart.

"Love, what happened?" she breathed, kneeling beside you without another word and taking you into her arms.

Why was she calling you love? Why did she have to do that? You were her friend, dear and darling and sometimes sweet. You weren't her love, you would never be and that was going to kill you. Why did she have to be affectionate when it cut you deeper than any cruelty ever could?

You couldn't make a sound, your throat could barely manage between you not breathing from all the muted crying and you scrambling for air when you realized more petals were coming as Larissa's smell filled the air, easily overpowering the flowers' while she hugged your body with one arm and kept the other around your shoulders, fingertips massaging your scalp under the crown of your head where she kept her face pressed.

This was so close to love. Why was it so hard to take that final step? You shared evenings together like a years-old couple, talked easily as if you'd spent a life together and not two years of acquaintanceship, you thought of her every second of every day, nurturing her in your heart and her rejection in your lungs.

You wished you could make her fall for you. You didn't mind before, and it wasn't the prospect of death that made you yearn for it so much now. You realized you were sick because it was too much. You had too much love inside of you and if she didn't want it there was nowhere it could go, no one to belong to, so it had to cease to exist, one way or another.

As your tight muscles started to tire and your body to fail, Larissa helped you to your bed. You were less than a person, more like the hollow ruins of a once beautiful castle that was now being conquered by nature, retaken, reclaimed.

When you stood and full flowers fell from your hiding place to the floor, you heard Larissa's surprised intake of breath. A few uncertain second passed as you looked down to the beautiful blooms you couldn't help but longingly admire, wishing them to finish you before Larissa continued to care for you like it wasn't just make it worse.

You were so drained she practically carried you across the room, laid you down on the bed and looked for the Nth time uncertain. After a few seconds she seemed to reach a conclusion and slid under the covers beside you, pulling you half conscious to her chest.

Before you completely blacked out, you heard her whisper, "I wish it was me."

The next day she wasn't there. When you woke up with very few memories of the night before, you had the sense that something was missing and as snippets of images and vague recollections started to pile up into a sequence of tortuously sweet moments, you had your worse fit of coughs that date.

That was it. You were done for. Larissa cared enough to wish to die in your place but not in the way that could save you.

You'd do anything for her but she simply couldn't do the one thing you needed from her. And it wasn't her fault, you knew she could try, hell she did try the night before for all you knew but it just was not possible. No one could force people into love and you wanted nothing of the sort. Even if you hungered for Larissa like a person starving to death you were happier knowing she would have a good life, everything she ever wished for, as she said, than being forever bound to you when she didn't want it.

You knew you didn't have long now, you weren't really coughing as flowers with the semblance of thin stems were lodged in your throat, so you fumbled desperately for something to write on while you still could.

When Larissa found you, she didn't see the paper, the tray with tea she'd gone prepare to wake you up with fell with no sound she could hear, the shattered porcelain not registering underneath the deafening white noise. She lifted your body from the floor beside the bed where you'd slipped off only to scream and let you fall onto the mattress as she saw glassed-over eyes.

She screamed and wailed and didn't notice the countless people rapidly entering and immediately leaving the room to look for help. The love of her life lay on a bed of flowers, yellow and red while their skin was almost translucent. Choked on the stems of what could be a small bouquet, blood slowly pooling beside their mouth.

"Dear Larissa, I hope you forgive the state I'm bound to be found, and that whoever has the misfortune of finding me has it in themselves to remind this scene as a terrible but miraculous love letter.

I loved you so much that it killed me.

Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe not nice, I'm dying so I don't have time to weight my words too carefully.

I'm writing this to thank you. Thank you for every time you smiled at me, talked to me, touched the back of my hand while handing me wine or made me nothing at all other than company.

Life was harder but infinitely sweeter while I was fortunate to love you. I am in love with you, and I hope after I'm dead I'll be able to still be. I know you'd be kind to the point of letting me haunt you, but I love you more than I can put into words and want you to forget this ever happened and be happy.

It's ok that you don't love me back, it's ok that I'm dead now, I died loving you and there is no other way I'd rather have died. If the price for feeling this deeply is death then you could say I chose to pay, even though I didn't. I know you wished it were you, but I was happy to pay.

If I coul"

Part of the unfinished sentence was covered by a dark stain, the rest was simply not written.

Larissa sobbed brokenly reading "I know you wished it were you," over and over, what she'd meant the night before was "I wish I was the one you love."

I listened to this while I wrote if you'd like to listen to some soft, nice music. As always, @alder-saan I hope you like it. Unless you don't want to read sad stuff which I completely understand

[fuck-customers]

I have been following you guys for awhile and have had so many fuck customers moments but last week I had the one that takes the cake because I thought I was about to die. I figured it was worth submitting.

For some backstory, I'm a graphic designer at a signs & awards shop. We do A LOT of different stuff for A LOT of different people/companies. (Including vehicle wraps, this is important for later.) I had been working with a set of customers (3 guys, also important) with a design for a while and they were being difficult. Nitpicking everything, wanting me to use copyrighted images, not understanding that I am not a magician and cant just poof exactly what they want into existence. I need TIME to do things and they aren't my only customers. They also don't have emails so all proofs were done by them coming into the shop.

So last Thursday I woke up with a terrible sore throat after going to bed feeling like garbage the night before. I'm super prone to strep throats so I scheduled an appointment at 8:30 am to get a test done. I could have scheduled earlier but I knew the customers were coming by at 8:00 am to see the designs and I wanted to be there.

I clock in at 7:45 am and have everything ready for them. By 8:20 am they have still not shown up and I can't wait any longer to head to my appointment. Thankfully I tested negative and when I got back to work by boss told me they were in at 9:30 and wanted to talk to me about the design and would come back by at 3:00 pm. I said cool and went about my day.

At 2:00 pm I get a call from my husband saying he was injured at work. He is a PE teacher at a school for kids with behavior issues so it's not unusual that he has an injury however this was a head injury and the on site nurse is going to take a look and make sure it doesn't need stitches and stops bleeding. Cause you know head wounds.

At 3:15 pm, my guys still haven't shown up. My husband is cleared as not needing anything immediately but is calling the company's workman's comp to get stuff sorted. He can't drive so he has a coworker drop him off at my job. He's chilling with me while I keep working and he takes care of the calls. Around 3:45 he realizes the head wound is still bleeding some and he needs to go to the walk in. I head out at 4:00 pm and my boss says he will take care of the guys if they bother to show up. My husband ended up needing two staples and is doing fine.

The next morning, I get to work around 7:45 am. There is a white truck, our company truck and a couple of my coworkers cars in the parking lot. Because we do a lot of vehicle wraps its not unusual for there to be vehicles dropped off overnight so I think nothing of the white truck. But as I am approaching the door and pulling my keys out I hear some doors slam and a male voice say "Not getting away from us this time!"

Guys, I thought I was about to die! Who says that to a woman alone in a parking lot? I spin around prepared to chuck my coffee and run when I realize it's the customers. I glare at them before turning back around and heading in the door. After I clocked in I had my boss wait on them. I also handed the order off to one of my male coworkers because I am not messing with them anymore. You can't blame me for not being there when you consistently miss appointments and then scare the shit out of me before I am even clocked in.

Posted by admin Rodney

[writingbyshiloh]

Cautious yet Optimistic and Graceful Part 2

Part 1 & Part 3

CW: Morally gray reader, F!Reader, John Wick-type universe (ie, killing, the reader thinks about past injuries from fights. training not descriptive). Not smut but suggestive thinking from both Vincent and the reader, mutual pinning, and worldbuilding but no description of the reader. Smoking, a nonsexual cigarette burn on the reader, brief drinking. MAYBE OCs (Fictional staff for the fictional hotel). NO BETA

Summary: The Marquis de Gramont still annoys you. But he needs help from you(r hotel). Like a good manager, you help. 

AN: PART 2 everyone!!! Thank u for the likes/comments/reblogs! This takes place a few months after part 1. IDEK if this is ooc the man had like 30 minutes of screen time overall and I’ve been writing this for a week. I read it a few times for spelling but something got messed up copy and pasting and a para or 2 got dropped. Part 3 will be out ???? soon(ish)

Something about today had his words bouncing around in your head. Out of all the ways to describe someone, he narrowed it down to three (well technically he used six). 

Cautious. Sure, you can see that. Out of a love of being alive, you tried not to take any unnecessary risks in your fighting days. You also tried to avoid having a marker whenever you could. There was one in existence with your blood on it. A favour for someone you thought was a friend. You held up your end, the bloody fingerprint stored in the New York Continental as proof. 

Optimistic. That also makes sense. You actually enjoy what you do, loving being part of the criminal underworld before and now. You haven't been the manager for too long but would already die for this hotel. 

The part that was throwing you was graceful. You didn't think you were that graceful physically. You have scars to prove that you've taken a hit, slash, or burn many times. Did he mean gracefully with people? Camille did so much for the hotel, you just deal with regular hotel things (like getting Monument Historique status for a collection of French weapons, take that, Vincent). The other part was implanting rules from the high table. Maybe just being graceful and polite when you were resisting the urge to claw your eyes out. 

It could also be flirting. You felt he wasn't the type to hit on someone out of the blue. Sure he was smart and confident, but it seemed like too big a risk for him to take. Unless he is just a playboy, which is something you find yourself tempted to google twice a day. 

You would rather die than admit it, but you almost like when he called you Mademoiselle. Almost. It was like a nickname, plus it brought out his accent more. When you found yourself enjoying.

To make things worse Camielle caught on to your crush immediately. While embarrassing, it did show how clever she was and you were glad she was the concierge. Her knowing also gave you an excuse to just tell Vincent your direct number, so Camille would stop reminding you how frequently he called.

You love the bar in the hotel. It is beautiful, decorated in an Art Nouveau style, with large windows allowing for the sun to filter in during the day. You were almost pleased that Vincent asked to meet you there, allowing you to subtly show off your business. 

Finding him at the bar wasn’t hard, no one else was wearing a dark green three-piece suit, complete with a complexly tied tie and their coat of arms pin. He looks good but tense, one long leg crossed over the other. Plus, you could see Chidi and another guard in their gray suits keeping an eye. You were thankful that you took extra time this morning on your outfit. 

You slid into the chair next to him, after shaking a few hands with other big names down in the bar for a late-night drink. 

“I hear you have a problem.” You say, while not knowing the full details, just that he wanted to meet you in the bar and something was wrong. It kicked your heartbeat up, even if you only told yourself it was the stress of him being here. 

“Correct.”. 

“I’m sure you know because of your love of rules, but I can only help those who are using the hotel services.” 

You didn't care that much, and would absolutely bend the rules to do him a favour, but couldn't resist a chance to get a dig in.

The Marquis pulls out two gold coins and slides them across to the bartender. He orders a top-shelf spirit before his eyes cut to you. Now he's buying you a drink in your own hotel. You would want him to buy you a drink in a different situation but at least he didn't order for you. That may cause you to actually kill him.  

Clearing your throat you order your usual, quietly thanking the bartender when the drink was placed in front of you. 

The bar wasn't loud, but he dropped his head towards you so you could hear him better and to give the conversation some privacy. 

“You have a cartographer here, no?”

You nodded. The cartographer is excellent. He had blueprints for buildings past and present, as well as the catacombs. He also had knowledge and keys to abandoned buildings if something had to be desponded and not be found. 

“How soon do you need him?” While one of the best, he was away for his daughter's wedding

“Tonight.” 

You took a small sip of your drink. You could probably get the information he was looking but you wouldn't be as efficient. 

“While we do have a cartographer, he's gone to a family event. If your plans are that urgent I can try my best to fill in.” 

Content with your answers, Vincent leaned back into his seat taking a swig of his drink. You took the finishing sip of yours before pushing out of your chair. 

“I have spare keys in my office. I’ll meet you back here in five.” 

For how commanding and prideful he is, you never expected him to need the services from your hotel.

The maps room was fairly boring. Three out of the four walls were filled with lockboxes to various maps. Blueprints, and documents for France and even some other countries nearby. 

“Are these your beloved catacombs?” The Marquis asks, studying the paper taped to the wall. You asked the map maker for more information and for ideas on what you could do with them. 

You hum in agreement, deep down thrilled that he remembered such a small part of your conversation ages ago. 

Your eyes jump over the numbered lock boxes in front of you, trying to find the one he needs. 

You half expected him to help you pull out maps and building plans, a blend of chivalry, showing off his height, and getting under your skin. He didn’t, letting you struggle with the lock instead. 

Vincent knew he should help you, but the way your back was arched as you tried to open one of the lockboxes out of the dozens was more interesting. His gaze moved over your legs, before looking at your ass in your skirt. 

Feeling the lock give a turn to the side, you peek inside the box to make sure the plans were there. Hand sliding in, you pulled the thin tube out, double-checking the label on the front to make sure it is the one you need. Leaving the box unlocked you turn to face Vincent, a triumphant grin on your face.

Maybe your grin and pride in getting the correct documents were a bit unprofessional but he didn't care. Not since the small room amplified the smell of your perfume and how the spent the better part of the last five minutes checking out your legs. 

Uncapping the tube, you pulled out the blueprints and spread them on the backlist glass table in front of you.

“Here are your prints,” you state awkwardly. You're not sure why he needs them, and why he personally came here. Chidi is keeping guard outside the map room, despite you repeating the hotel policy of no business. 

The Marquis nods in response already focusing on the table. You flatten a small map from the tube in case he needs context on the area. Not likely since he already knows what to look for, proven by his notebook and the constant sound of his pen against the paper taking notes. 

Watching him study the map may have been alright at first, but three hours later you are tired. There are only so many times you can look at his hair and wonder if he would get mad if you run your hands through, or gently tug it. Or what his hands would feel like, especially with his signet ring. 

The grandfather clock tells you that it's only 2:36 am but you feel like it's later. Even Vincent looks slightly less than perfect, hair falling out of place from where he had gelled it that morning.

He is a guest of your hotel so you're going to keep helping him no matter how long he stays. Just with a bit less optimism. 

“Mademoiselle?” Your eyes snap to his face at the sound of his voice, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“You look tired. You should go to bed,” he comments. 

Wow. Thanks, you think. 

“I’m okay. I’m happy to stay here as long as you need,” you say while hoping he leaves soon. “How are the plans going? The cartographer can help you with the finer details when he gets back.” 

“That is not necessary. I have all I need here.” He slowly stretches and starts to stand. You never considered it but being hunched over the table must have been hell on his back given his above-average height. Finally seeing your chance to go to bed, you quickly make it over to the door, opening it for him. 

“Merci, again.” He thanks you as if this is not your job. 

“Do you want me to walk you to the main door?” You have all your floor plans memorized. 

“We are fine.” He replies. 

He looks at you and you can't read his expression. He's less tense, obviously getting what he needed from the plans. 

“The high table did a good job making you the manager.” 

You feel pride swell in your chest, despite the exhaustion you feel behind your eyes. 

“Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle” 

“Bonne nuit. Bon matin.” You quietly wish him as he leaves, wasting no time putting the plans away and locking the map room door. 

You let out another exhaust of bitter smoke, watching it curl away on the cool night air. You didn't start smoking in Paris, but dropped and picked the habit a few times.

“Fumes-tu, Mademoiselle?” a voice behind you makes you flinch. You didn’t tell anyone that you have a secret smoking place, let alone that you went out to smoke. 

You spin around before relaxing at the sight of the Marquis, clad in a dark suit, his signature pin on the lapel reflecting the light. 

You nod, before realizing he probably can't see you well under the lights in the alcove. He is by your side quickly, long legs carrying him the short distance. 

You tip your head to the small table, where your rolling papers, tobacco and other smoking paraphernalia sit in a silent offer. Vincent looks at the table before facing you again. Guess he's too fancy to smoke you assume while taking a drag.

You turn your head to blow out more smoke, careful not to blow it in this direction, a hard feat considering he was extremely close to you. The smell of his cologne drifted under the smell of smoke. 

You move your cigarette down and out to the side, fully ready to see why the Marquis interrupted you. Watching his face, his eyes dipped down to your lips and then back to your eyes almost a silent asking. The smooth and sophisticated era was still there but there was uncertainty under it. 

You slowly leaned closer, not wanting to make the first move, but you want this to happen. He hand-cupped your face, the cool metal of the ring nice as he shifted closer, leaving a small gap for you to make the final push to kiss him. Just a few more inches and then -

Pain. A sharp burning pain on your pinky finger. 

You jerk back, trying to examine what happened. Your cigarette slipped while you were distracted and the glowing embers of the end dropped only to land on your pinky. 

“Shit. Sorry,” you apologize, letting out a nervous huff of a laugh while holding up your burn. The Marquis was unreadable, hand withdrawn. Does he think you rejected him? 

He reaches for your wrist and you let him take it. Slowly he brings your hand up to the outdoor lamp to inspect your burn. The stinging has subsided but you are sure the flesh is a bit swollen. 

With his free hand, he takes the offending cigarette and brings it to his lips. You can't help but stare, cigarette burns long forgotten as you watch him take a deep inhale, before exhaling over your head, so no smoke blows in your face. Part of you regret not making the final push to kiss him, while another hopes he takes another puff. 

Vincent brings your cigarette down to examine it in better lighting before placing it back in your hand, still firmly in his grasp. 

“It is not a well-rolled cigarette. It is too tight.”

There it is you think. The classic Vincent snark. But you secretly hope he rolls one so you can watch his hands and watch him smoke it. 

“You don’t have to smoke it.” 

“I just wanted to give you this.” He reaches into his suitcoat pocket, retrieving a white envelope. His hands brush yours while you grab it. 

You know his handwriting from the time with him in the map room, and you could easily tell he wrote your name on the front. 

“Thank you?” you weren't sure what was inside but you were being all the things he described you as. 

“I will go, and let you read it.” 

You watch him leave, thoughts racing too fast to try and save the situation.

Do you call out after him? Does he think you rejected him? Maybe not because he still gave you the envelope. 

You ash your cigarette before collecting your things and going back to your office. Maybe things would make more sense there.

Taglist: @heartrot666

[jaozendry]

"Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.”

Pairing: GN!Reader x Bucky Barnes

WARNINGS: mentions of self-harm

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Type: Angst

Summary: Bucky picks you up from school after you call him on the verge of self-harming. The two of you have to explain to the school staff that he's your boyfriend.

______________________________________________________________

"Hey, what's up? Aren't you at school right now? Bucky says after picking up his phone anxiously. You weren't feeling well when he dropped you off this morning and he was worried something might happen. Thankfully, nothing happened, at least, not yet.

"Hey, uh, are you busy?" you ask over the phone, your voice shaking. You're currently sitting in a bathroom stall, the period started over 10 minutes ago, but you couldn't bring yourself to walk out and go to class. You felt... hopeless.

"No, why? What happened? Bucky asks, concerned. Do you want me to pick you up?"

You sigh loudly, banging your head against the door softly, holding back tears.

"I want to do it. I'm in the school bathroom, I didn't do it yet but it's in my pocket-"

Bucky cuts you off immediately.

"Alright, I'm coming. Just don't do anything, got it? Bucky orders you while putting on his jacket. I'm coming, please, just... don't do it."

You thank him as he hangs up and cry silently while Bucky closes the door to your apartment to pick your pitiful self up from school.

______________________________________________________________

You still hide in the bathroom, washing your red eyes from all the crying when you receive a text from Bucky saying he's 2 minutes away. From the text, you finally gain the courage to walk out of the bathroom. You get ready and head for the main office.

Unsurprisingly, you see Bucky greeting the woman at the front desk. You run to your boyfriend and hug him with all of your might in front of the lady. Bucky smiles and reaches for his pocket.

"See, Y/N has a doctor's appointment in about 30 minutes. I'm sorry I didn't advise the school earlier."

The woman takes the paper and examines it.

"Unfortunately, I can't let you leave if I don't have proof you're their father."

Bucky reaches once again in his pocket and pulls out a fake ID. This is extremely convinient, as you haven't seen your father in years. The school hasn't registered his name in the system, so you are quite literally fatherless.

"It seems you aren't registered in the system, but we can do it now and you'll be free to go, she explains taping on her keyboard. It will take only a few minutes."

______________________________________________________________

After completing Bucky's registration, you two head for the car while holding hands.

"Thanks, you say softly while closing the door. I needed it."

You look at him and he holds your hand.

"I'm always here for you."

You look at his fake doctor's appointment tment and his fake ID.

"Richard Y/L/N?" you ask, giggling.

"There's that smile I was looking for, he says, caressing your cheek. Show me your arms."

You pull out your sleeves to reveal that it hasn't been cut at all. Bucky smiles proudly. He immediatly reaches for your right pocket to confiscate your pocket knife from you. You act offended, but deep down, you thank him. You lean your hand on his shoulder while he starts to car and whisper in his ear.

"Thanks, daddy."

[stories-poetry4all]

Do I have your undivided attention, Ms. Goodacre?"

I snap my focus back to my boss, Ivan Stepanov, who's giving me that trademark look of his—not that I've messed up, but because that's just his default setting.

Truly, he's the living proof of the cautionary tale parents tell their children about the risk of a face freezing in a permanent scowl if they're not careful.

I suppose his annoyance is somewhat justified. Not that he knows it.

He just caught me in the middle of a vivid daydream, where I'm wielding a magical remote with the power to silence his endless chatter at the press of a button. My fantasy escalates to the point where I hit the fast-forward button, zipping him through his lavish office's panoramic windows and into a comedic dive into the bustling streets of Manhattan.

It's hard to fault my daydream; the day has stretched my patience to its limits, and I can feel my stomach growling.

I am thoroughly DONE with jumping through hoops for him today.

I've been at Stepanov Holdings since an ungodly hour this morning, after leaving the office last night at 10:00 P.M. For goodness' sake, I even missed the Season Finale of the Bachelor.

I haven't had a moment's peace today, and now, without having had my lunch at 3:00 P.M., I'm just about ready to call it quits on this devil in an Armani suit.

Without my trusty sidekick—aka four shots of espresso—I'd be a goner for sure.

Yet, even fueled by caffeine, I'm a hot mess express.

I'm mentally face-palming for convincing myself that buying these ultra-skinny work trousers on sale was a savvy decision.

Right now, my legs are on the brink of rebellion, decidedly unhappy about being crammed into what I thought was a steal of a deal. I had to wear an extra long dress shirt to mask my camel toe.

Ivan, meanwhile, is the picture of unbothered elegance.

It's actually unfair how he manages to look like he's stepped out of a magazine, despite being on the go as much as he is.

His suit, his stubble, those piercing eyes—nothing's out of place.

"Ms. Goodacre, you haven't answered my question."

"Oh, right," I manage to say. "Yes, you have my full attention." My eyes dart to my notebook. "The financial report is due to be reviewed by Mr. Thompson in Compliance first thing. Also, new ergonomic chairs for the executive conference room have been ordered, and I'll follow up on the delivery. Your 10:00 A.M. tomorrow is now at 11:30, the 11:30 has moved to 2:15. And for next Thursday's meeting, I've left a note saying—they can, um, 'get lost.' Did I miss anything?"

Ivan raises an eyebrow, a gesture that could mean anything from ‘I’m impressed’ to ‘you're on thin ice.’

"Is there a hint of sarcasm I detect?"

Keeping my expression as blank as possible, I reply, "Not at all, sir. After the incident with the incorrect financial forecast last month, you wanted 'zero sass'. I remember."

"Hm."

That sound, coming from Ivan Stepanov, the enigmatic CEO of Stepanov Holdings, is enough to send shivers down the spine of anyone. I've seen it—a supplier once came in to negotiate a contract and left looking like they needed a stretcher, all because of a single "Hm" from Ivan.

He's not just formidable to outsiders; even I've been on the verge of tears more times than I can count since starting here. And yet, here I am, plotting his remote control demise as a form of twisted self-therapy. What has my life come to?

"And the email I asked for?"

I hand a printed email to the corporate lion.

He looks at me, his gaze as penetrating as a laser.

"I asked for this to be emailed, Miss Goodacre," he says with a voice smoother than a whiskey on the rocks.

"Oh, it’s been sent," I retort, sprinkling just the right amount of sass into my words. "But given its vanishing act last time, I thought a hard copy might stick around longer."

He raises his eyebrow again. I’d bet a million dollars he popped out of the womb with that exact same intimidating expression.

Intimidating and sexy.

It's in fleeting moments like this I find myself admiring just how unforgivably handsome he is. Despite my best efforts. The tall, dark, and brooding thing really works for him. If only his personality matched the exterior.

Wishful thinking.

With the elegance of a maestro, Ivan navigates to his inbox, spots the email, and dives into a reply. All business, no pleasantries.

Then, without missing a beat, he's onto his next demand. "I’ll be having a late lunch from that Mediterranean place on 5th. They're always swamped, just so you know. Please tend to the paperwork on your desk when you return."

Being an assistant to a man who thinks the world revolves around his wants requires a particular brand of insanity.

If I didn’t need this job so badly, I might just have the courage to tell him where to shove his five-star meal.

"Thank you, Miss Goodacre."

Clearly, my time's up.

As I make my way to Medina, the city's rhythm pulsates through the streets, a symphony of honking taxis, chattering pedestrians, and the ever-present tune of sirens in the distance.

Navigating Manhattan's Financial District is akin to playing a real-life game of Tetris, where I dart and weave through an obstacle course of tourists mesmerized by skyscrapers stopping to snap a photo of literally everything.

It’s a dance of waiting, smiling politely, and gently nudging the staff with a reminder that I am there to pick up an urgent business lunch for Stepanov Holdings to get the order expedited.

Upon securing the culinary treasure, I return to Stepanov Holdings Headquarters. The building, much like Ivan, stands tall, imposing, and unapologetically opulent.

By the time I return, holding Ivan's gourmet lunch and my modest salad, he's vanished.

Typical.

As I settle down to tackle the mountain of paperwork he's generously left behind, my desk phone starts ringing off the hook.

My phone becomes a hot potato, passing from one crisis to another with the skill of a seasoned diplomat promising that Mr. Stepanov will indeed return all calls, knowing fully well he won't.

Between bites of my salad and sips of coffee that's already gone cold, I navigate the treacherous waters of high finance by soothing egos and making promises I can only hope Ivan will keep.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

A smidgen of recognition from Ivan wouldn’t hurt.

Some acknowledgment of the tireless effort behind making his life run as smoothly as a well-oiled machine.

As I glance at his untouched lunch, a part of me wants so badly to dump it on over his head. I’ll have to save that vision for my next daydream.

Ivan sweeps back into the office like a stormfront.

"The paperwork, Miss Goodacre," he says, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

My eyes dart between the semi-conquered paper mountain and him. "I didn't forget." I start, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. "Your clients have been calling nonstop, and I’ve been doing my best to keep them from losing their cool."

He fixes me with a look that could freeze lava. “Ten minutes."

I open my mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops me—the unyielding demand, the expectation of perfection.

In his world, there's no room for excuses, no space for the human element.

He leans in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I hired you because I thought you could handle the pressure. Don't prove me wrong."

With that parting shot, he strides away, leaving me feeling about two inches tall.

It's moments like these that I question my life choices.

Anger and frustration bubble up inside me like a shaken soda bottle, threatening to explode. But I refuse to cry, refuse to show any weakness in this high-stakes game of corporate chess.

Instead, I channel all that emotion into finishing the paperwork, my fingers flying over the keyboard like a pianist in the midst of a frenzied solo.

Feeling like I could blow up any minute.

Finally, with the printouts in hand, I march to Ivan's office.

I drop the papers onto his desk with a deliberate thump, watching them scatter forcefully.

He looks up, his expression unreadable as the papers flutter across his desk.

"That’s everything you asked for," I announce, my voice quivering with a storm of suppressed fury. "Now if you don’t mind, I’m clocking out for the rest of the day." The words hang between us, a bold line drawn after a day where every ounce of my patience was tested.

For a moment, Ivan only watches me, his dark eyes giving nothing away.

It's infuriating, like shouting into a void and waiting for an echo that never comes.

Ivan finally breaks the tense silence, his voice as steady and composed as ever, betraying no sign of irritation or amusement. "Miss Goodacre, you’re free to leave," he says, his tone embodying the very essence of professional detachment he has practically made as his signature.

I quietly leave his office, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.

I gather my things, pretending to be calm, my hands shaking as I shove my laptop into my bag.

I could totally be fired tomorrow.

I don't look back as I leave, the doors closing behind me with a finality that feels oddly satisfying.

The cool air hits my face, and I take a deep breath, trying to let go of the anger and the frustration.

As I walk, my mind keeps replaying the scene in Ivan's office.

That unreadable look in his eyes, was it indifference or something else?

"The chemistry is off the charts and the characters work well together.

[midnightdevotion]

Party of Three

Request: Reader is maverick's sister and is dating iceman, finds out she's pregnant.

@sebastianstangirl01

Pairing: Iceman x Reader (afab)

Tag list is open!

Requests are open!

Warnings: Some angst, some fluff, one punch. ( i did not proof read, bc it's midnight )

a/n: In true gen-z fashion I cannot write a fic without the use of cell phones so, were going with it. Everything else is pretty cannon i think.

You've been feeling off for almost three weeks before you realize you haven't had your period for 2 months. Your heart hasn't stopped racing since you came the realization of what that probably means.

Rushing to the store at a prompt 8:46 this morning to get pregnancy tests. You haven't been able to work up the nerve to actually take said tests. Anxiously biting your lips, even though they are already tender and you taste the tang of blood.

Sighing you look at the clock, and seeing it is 4:00 and you've wasted the entire day looking at the damn tests on your coffee table you stand. Finally grabbing the box you march to the bathroom in what you hope is confidence but you know is really just fear and mental exhaustion.

You've spent all day running through every possible situation that could come from this. No matter what your older brother is going to be pissed. You groan as you think about what he's going to say to you. Not ready for the onslaught of being told you are irresponsible and how could you be so reckless.

Opening the boxes to gather the tests out you have shaky hands and almost drop the pregnancy tests. It takes another ten minutes to actually build up the courage to sit down to take the tests.

Within a minute you have three tests sitting on the counter. You turn on your phone timer to 5 minutes, and god you'd rather plank for five minutes straight than wait for this. You sit on the ground, back to the cabinets that are holding your entire future on top of it.

Your leg is shaking as you anxiously wait for the results. Glancing down at your phone every 3 seconds feeling like it's been 30. When the timer finally does go off, you've never stood up so fast. Legs feeling like jello, and your palms are sweaty.

Swallowing hard you pick up the first test. Looking down to see a plus sign your heart stops. Quickly glancing at the other two you see they are also plus signs.

You can't take it anymore and your nerves are shot. Rushing to the toilet you let out all the contents from the sandwich you forced yourself to eat earlier.

Hearing your phone buzz on the counter you stand, leaning against the counter as you read the message.

My love: Hey sweetheart, we're all gonna go to the bar tonight, want me to swing by and pick you up.

It takes you a solid two minutes to come up with a halfway decent reply, hoping it sounds like you in any way.

You: I'm actually not feeling too hot, just a headache so don't worry about me go have fun :)

It doesn't take him more than 10 seconds to call.

"Do you need anything?" He doesn't even bother with a hello when he hears you pick up the phone. You try to control the shaky in your voice when you answer.

"No-no that's okay, I'm just gonna take some tylenol and try and sleep." You can picture him furrowing his brow, because usually you love cuddles when you aren't feeling well and you never say no to take out and icecream when you have a headache either.

"Babe are you sure? I can go to your favorite Chinese food and grab some ben and jerry's?"

"yea I'm sure, I just really feel tired, So go enjoy your time with the boys" You feel so bad lying to him, knowing he's got that confused look in his eyes and he's probably running a hand through his blond hair. Almost like if he does it enough he will solve whatever problem is wracking his brain.

"alright... but you'll call if you need anything right?" You hate yourself for the sad tone to his voice.

"Of course babe" you cringe because you know this whole conversation is a train wreck attempt at acting normal. You quickly say your goodbyes and love you's before hanging up. You call the only other person you know you can trust with this.

"Mav... I need you"

And thank god for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell, because he's outside of your place in less than 30 minutes. You do feel bad because he picks up your favorite Chinese food on his way over. An offer you just ignored from the man you swear is the love of your life.

"Oh mini Mitchell, what's got you all out of wack" is the first thing your brother says to you. The look on your face must say it all, because he is wrapping you in a hug without you even saying a word.

You called Mav for a reason, knowing he would give you the time you needed to get whatever is on your mind sorted before speaking. He's making idle chit chat about his day, knowing both of you aren't here to hear or talk about Mav and his dare devil ways. However, he does know that you aren't ready to tell him why you called him over so he's dishing out the food and distracting his sister the best way he knows how.

It takes two and a half hours before you blurt out your thoughts. Anxiety running rampant in your mind and seeping into your tone.

"Mav...I'm Pregnant" It can't be more than a whisper but you know he hears you because he freezes mid reach for popcorn. It feels like a lifetime could go by in the time you are waiting for maverick to reply. "mav... please say something" You're desperate, needing to know that maverick will support you in this.

"I don't know what to say" You can tell his answer is honest, and you can't really fault him for being shocked and stumped for words, because if you're being honest so are you.

"Please just be here for me...I can't do this on my own"

"you will never do anything alone" his blue eyes pierce into you as he says this, and you are so thankful to have a brother as loyal as maverick.

With the small weight of maverick knowing and knowing you won't be in this alone, no matter what Tom says, you feel like you can breathe slightly lighter now. Your brother is a man of few words in this moment though, and you let him, because you don't really have anything else to add either.

He reaches over and hugs you, and it's then you feel the exhaustion of such an emotionally grueling day hit you. You don't have it in you to stay up to face Tom when he gets home, knowing he prefers to sleep here instead of on base on weekends.

______

Maverick might not have said it to you, but boy oh boy was he pissed. First Kazansky had the nerve to date his little sister, now he's gotten you pregnant?!

After he made sure you had everything you needed and went to bed, he headed directly to the bar he was counting on Iceman being at. He keeps rehearing the phrase "I can't do this on my own" in your scared voice bounce around his head. Clenching his jaw, rage runs through him at the thought of Tom thinking he could just get you pregnant and leave you out to dry.

He whips his bike into a parking stall, seeing none other than Ice's car parked in the third stall over. He's seeing nothing but red as he makes his way into the crowded bar. Eyes searching for one person only.

Goose see's maverick walk in, brow furrowing as the brunette brushes right past him, anger radiating off of him in thick waves.

"KAZANSKY" is shouted as soon as Maverick lands eyes on him. It takes not two seconds for him to be within grasp and Maverick doesn't hesitate to send a brutal punch to the blond pilots eye.

"Maverick what the hell!" Tom reaches for his eye, confused as to why he's standing in searing pain when sure he and Mav have always had somewhat of a turbulent friendship but things had been sailing smoothly for a while now, since he started dating you.

"DON'T WHAT THE HELL ME, YOU THINK YOU CAN GET MY SISTER PREGNANT AND BAIL AND I WONT KICK YOUR ASS" and has never been more confused because... well what the fuck?

"Maverick what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Don't fucking play dumb with me!" and goose the level headed one-- an odd thing to say about the usual goofball, steps between the two.

"Mav... can you explain what's going on" and if it were anyone other than goose who was asking they probably would have been punched too.

"This fucking asshole got my little sister pregnant, now she's sitting at home terrified because he left her to do it alone!" and goose has to physically hold maverick to keep him for going in for another strike.

"She's pregnant?" and it's like a bucket of ice cold water gets dumped over the trio. Tom's head is spinning. Why didn't you tell him? He's gonna be a dad? Wait why did you think you were going to do it alone? Man his eye still hurts.

Maverick has immediate guilt wash over him, he didn't know you hadn't told tom yet, and maybe he shouldn't have punched the guy and caused and scene out in public before he knew the whole story. Maverick has always been an act first think later sort of person and usually it works out, but this time his gut is telling him he's not gonna be so lucky.

"You-you didn't know" and it's not a question, it's a statement. Iceman just shakes his head, shouldering his way out of the bar. Easy to ignore the throbbing of his eye when his heart feels like it might shatter.

_____

You wake up the next morning feeling slightly better about the situation than you did yesterday. Finding it weird when you don't see tom in bed next to you. Yawning you figure maybe he got too tipsy at the bar last night and had to get a ride with someone else, leading him to stay on base.

You slowly make your way into the living room, scanning the mess on the coffee table from your's and Mavericks movie escapades. Telling yourself you'll clean that up later you walk into the kitchen. Gasping at what you see, or rather who you see at the kitchen island.

"Honey what happened to your face!" you reach out to touch his cheek and feel a stinging in your chest when he moves away.

"Were you going to tell me" Your heart freezes at his words.

"t-tell you what" and you hate the stutter to your voice, feeling like you might explode from fear.

"You know what" is his cold reply.

"How did you find out" your voice is so quiet, and you can feel a tear leave the corner of your eye. He won't even look at you. This is exactly what you were afraid of, you two had never talked about kids, and god if he were anything like your brother then he didn't want them.

"Your brother told me, gave me this shiner too" and there's such a dead tone to his voice that it has you scared. He never sounds this monotone to you, so much like he just doesn't care.

"I-I...." and your voice catches on sobs in your throat.

"I'm sorry" it finally makes it's way out of your mouth, combined with an ugly sob. He finally looks up at you, and you see his swollen eye for all it's glory.

"For what exactly, sending your brother after me or--" and you cut him off.

"for getting pregnant... I know you don't want this, so it's okay if you go..." and you are whispering, any louder and you might break in half. You can't bear the thought of losing the one man you've ever really loved, but you don't want him to feel trapped to you and this baby.

You see his brow furrow, and you think here we go, he's trying to figure out how to tell you he doesn't want you or this baby, and to leave him alone.

"what makes you think I don't want this" You don't even have to think about your response.

"because you're a pilot, you don't want to be held back"

"I am not Maverick." You glance up at him, to see him now standing in front of you, just out of arms reach.

"Darling, all I've ever wanted was a future with you, and here you are carrying ours and thinking I don't want it?" Your breath hitches at his words, speechless as he moves closer, resting his hand on your non existent bump.

"I'm gonna be a dad" it's nothing but a whisper and maybe you aren't even supposed to hear it, but it makes you cry harder. All the anxiety of him not wanting this washes away in an instant.

He looks up, quickly bringing his hands to your face, wiping your tears off your face as best he can with how quick they are leaving your eyes. Softly he places his lips against yours, it's every bit reassuring as any words he's going to say to you.

"Sweetheart, I hate that you didn't trust me to come to me with this, but I'm not going anywhere, You are carrying our baby and you're my future wife. There's nothing that could keep me away from you" It sends fresh tears down your cheeks and you can't help but laugh.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you first, and I'm so sorry maverick gave you that awful black eye. I was just- I was so scared that you wouldn't want us." He glances down at your stomach, full smile on his face.

"I'd take a black eye for you any day love, just give me a chance next time please?"

_____

You two spend the next three hours discussing plans, calling a doctor and him pulling you out of your anxious thoughts of 'will I be a good mom?'

"This little bean is going to make us a party of three tom!" You have anxiety pouring out of you.

"Can't wait to make it a party of four" comes his suggestive reply and wink. You throw a pillow at him.

"Can't you let me deal with this pregnancy first" you grumble, a happy smile on your face.

"Only if you let me marry you" and when you turn back around you see tom kneeling, ring out.

"this isn't really how i planned on doing this, but you're carrying my baby and I just don't want to wait any longer to have my ring on your finger" He lets out a nervous laugh, as you tear up again. If any one asks you're going to say it's pregnancy hormones.

"Oh my god yes!!" you can't help but to tackle the gorgeous aviator to the ground in excitement.

"we're waiting till after the baby though, no way I'm walking down the aisle with a baby belly" You add as an afterthought. Unable to stop yourself from joining Tom's laughter at your comment.

"God I can't wait for your baby belly... but whatever you want for our wedding honey" you both can't help but grin at those words. Our wedding.

Yeah maybe you had nothing to worry about in the first place but you'd live through it ten times over if it meant marrying the love of your life and having his kids.

Taglist: @alanadetigy

[nergaltheopossum]

Better to have loved and lost...

This post is overdue.. by approximately a week.

My name is Damien, the caretaker, adoptive father, and best friend to Nergal the Opossum.

As much as it hurts my very being to put these words in stone..

After a very short, struggle with serious illness, Nergal has passed away.

I apologise for this coming so late, but my grief had been far too strong for me to even look at social media and I don't think confronting it sooner would've weighed well on my depression.

His passing came as a shocking surprise for everyone in our household.

His sickness came on very swiftly and over the course of 3 to 4 days.

He became lethargic and a bit annoyed on the 1st day and had no interest in food or water.

Day 2 was the same, he slept most, if not all of the day. I reverted him to liquid food formula to ensure he received some nutrition. He was a bit more bitey, but I was able to coax him into drinking small amounts of formula and water.

Day 3 was much of the same, but I actually believed he was getting better, he'd roam just a bit, then would go back to sleep. He still lacked a want for food or water. Later that night, I gave him a warm bath, made sure he was nice and dry before bed. I placed him in his bed, but he kept coming to me, to snuggle up. After the second time I let him stay, I pet him until he fell asleep.

Early morning Day 4 I woke up, around maybe 1 or 2 AM. I happened to brush against him and he was completely cold to touch... I knew I had woken up far too late to do anything.. if anything could've been done.

Why did this happen?

I am still at a loss for the cause of illness, and sadly when it comes to indigenous animals it's hard to find care for them, a veterinarian won't see them because they're technically wild animals and a Rehabilitation specialist won't see them because they're technically not wild if you're housing them. Before I met Nergal, I did an ample amount of research, I wanted to assure I could overcome any obstacle, except for actual surgery. This was blindsiding for me, it came out of nowhere.. it was fast.. and I made the misjudgement of assuming it wasn't deadly. I have a few hypothesise for the cause of sickness, from a bad genetic trait to just being exposed to a really bad germ. I've been mentally examining and reexamining his diet, but I couldn't find fault in the contents or the proportions. I began to assume that life began to feel I was too happy and sought to undo my happiness.

What was this blog about and how my experience with Nergal came to be:

My interest in Opossums started with sad story as well, in April 2015 I happened to be on the local train headed to work early that morning and unfortunately became a part of this news story, http://www.bnd.com/news/local/article21488958.html

It was.. horrible.. no, not that someone would give their life for an animal.. but the judgement she received for giving her life for one. "Why give your life for a dirty pest?" Is among some of the rhetoric I heard in the aftermath of the incident. This was the spark, so I went to work.. researching as much as I could about Opossums. I wanted the truth for myself. "Are they really that much of a unkindly sight to society?" I began crafting the answer to that with physical proof. Sadly, the passing of the only person who had insight into Opossums was the sacrifice for this inspiration and ironically she was probably the only one who could've helped me save my boy within nearly a hundred miles.

Nergal wasn't just a Opossum, he was my child. From day one when I held him in my hand, he was my child before anything else. I loved him and cared about him and when I was away from him I felt empty, and when I was with him I was always happy and interaction with him was my therapy.

You can take one animal away from the harsh realities of the wilderness, and make them happy and pamper them. But I never felt like I was doing him a favor.. I felt like he had did one for me.

I wanted to share what I felt with the world. Nergal then became a social experiment, I wanted to see if I could adjust the way people see these North American Marsupials. Most everyday persons will associated Opossums with mean creatures, who are unclean, ugly and a danger to them. Vermin, pests, etc.

What the results of this "social experiment" was.

It was incomplete. But, while incomplete, it was positive. I've met and introduced countless people to Nergal in the few months we had together.

If I could put a estimate of people that have had a chance to physically interact with him, I'd put that number over 120 people, but definitely shy of 200 people.

Out of those 120ish people, 60% of them had never seen a opossum up close. 30% of those people had negative views of them due to experiences with wild Opossums. The remaining 10% were persons who took time to educate themselves on Opossums and usually were the first to approach me to greet him or pet him.

I can easily say that out of these 120ish people, the 108 people that made up that 90%. Through interaction with Nergal, majority came to a definite change of opinion on possums. It was really amazing too.. In my town of 42,000 people, I felt like positive traction was starting. There was one extremely nice woman who I ran into multiple times across these few months and every time she needed a new picture of him, because she was enjoying seeing him grow. On warm nights I'd bring him with me to my local pub and sit with him on my shoulder on the patio, a family would come along every so often and the children would be so enamored with him and asking me questions about him. On occasions the parents would buy me a drink or two just so I would stick around longer.

People would invite me into their stores and they'd be bright eyed and curious. They'd field me questions about his diet and "Why a opposum?"

I loved it, I loved the interest. There was a share of ignorance out there, but the sheer love was overwhelming. Just like it is here on Tumblr.

I just wish it could've continued..

What next?

The short answer to that, for this blog specifically..

Nothing.

My son is gone, and I think I kept this blog so well updated, I only have a couple handfuls of pictures that haven't been seen here.

Now that this has come to light, I feel that posting more would just be a cause for others to mourn him more than he already will be.

Nergals story has ended, sooner than we all expected, but it's still an end. There's nothing more to write, but there's still plenty here to be shared amongst people who haven't heard his story.

I won't delete this blog, I wouldn't even be able to bring myself to do such a thing.

I want to leave as much motivation as possible out there for people to show love to even the most uncommon animal.

What's next for me.

Studying and preparing. Alot of it. This isn't the end of Opossums for me, in fact I think it's a companionship I can't live without anymore. I do need time though, time to better myself and put together all the things I learned about Nergal to ensure that the next time I get my chance at being a father to such a kind creature, I can ensure that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, they will live a complete and happy life... And we can all grow a bit older together.

I thank you all so much for your kindness and love. Maybe I'll see you all again in the future.

~Damien

Rest in peace my child

Nergal Trashcaticus

July 2017 - December 2017

"The goodiest boy of all."