#i found the pictures and they scream “them”

[xnalux]

astronaut!vi hcs

modern!au, engineer!reader, enemies!to!lovers

warnings: mention of claustrophobia and panic attack, fem!reader

pictures are from pinterest and they're not mine except the edit of astronaut!vi who screams ''graphic design is my passion''

author’s note: my christmas was the shittiest so i had to cope somehow and yesterday while i was watching the new ''alien'' this idea came to my mind. this turned out longer than i inteded it to be but i still hope you like it. also it would mean the world to me if you'd let me know what you think about it and if you want to be tagged when i post the part two.

-a kiss on the ass to all of u ♡

astronaut!vi: when she was a child, vander introduced violet and powder to the world of ''star wars'' and from then on it became their dream to go to space.

They used to hide themselves late at night under a big blanket on violet's bed, with the glow of a flashlight illuminating the pages to read comics about intergalactic adventures. That's how vander would found them most of nights.

Powder's breath hitched as the plot thickened, her small hand reaching out to clutch her sister's arm.

"What happens next, Vi?" she whispered, her voice filled with anticipation.

Violet smirked, her confidence unshakeable.

"Don't worry, pow pow. They're going to save the galaxy."

The two sisters were lost in the narrative, their hearts pounding in unison with the pulse of the story. The flashlight flickered slightly, casting dancing shadows on the walls, as if the spacecraft in their comic had somehow entered the room.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and the harsh light from the hallway spilled in. Vander, loomed in the doorway.

He had the look of a man who had been roused from a much-needed sleep by the sound of whispers and rustling pages. Despite his stern expression, there was a hint of fondness in his eyes.

"Girls," he began, his voice a gentle rumble. "It's way past your bedtime."

Violet froze, the flashlight beam quivering in her hand. She had been so lost in the story she hadn't heard his approach. Powder, yanked the blanket up over their heads, turning their sanctuary into a cocoon of darkness once more.

"We're almost done" Violet called out, her voice muffled by the fabric. "Just one more page."

Vander chuckled, his footsteps heavy but soft as he crossed the room. He knew this dance well—their secret nightly ritual. He bent down.

"Violet, you know the rules," he said, his voice a gentle scold.

Violet sighed dramatically. "Yes, sir,"

she replied, emerging from the blanket with a sheepish grin.

"But you know how it is with Captain Nova. She never knows when to quit."

Powder poked her head out, her cheeks flushed with excitement and a hint of guilt. "We'll go to bed right after this, promise," she chimed in, her eyes pleading.

Vander sighed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Fine," he relented. "But this is the last time, you two. You've got school tomorrow, and you need your rest."

With a nod of understanding, Violet and Powder tucked themselves back under the blanket, the flashlight beam once again illuminating their faces. They shared a conspiratorial smile before Violet resumed her tale.

astronaut!vi: her and powder room when they were kids was a sanctuary for their shared dreams and ambitions.

The walls were a soft shade of midnight blue, filled with glow-in-the-dark stars that they had meticulously applied. It was their own personal galaxy that they would gaze upon each night before drifting off to sleep, dreaming of the adventures they would one day embark upon together.

On one side, Violet's bed was neatly made, her sheets adorned with images of rockets and planets, the pillows arranged with military precision. Above her bed was a bookshelf filled with well-worn copies of astronomy textbooks, science fiction novels, science magazines. Above the bookshelf shelf, a poster of a fiery comet streaking across the sky served as a daily reminder of the thrill and beauty of space exploration.

Powder's space, on the other hand, was a bit more chaotic but no less enchanting. Her bed was covered in a blanket that looked as if it had been plucked straight from the surface of Mars, with swirls of red and orange hues that whispered of alien landscapes. Scattered across her side of the room were models of various spacecraft, each in a state of half-assembly. Her desk was a treasure trove of sketches and doodles, depicting her own imaginative interpretations of the universe. These drawings were taped to the walls, creating a mural of stars, planets and aliens.

The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden telescope that their Vander had built for them and the floor around it was often littered with astronomy magazines and star maps, evidence of the countless hours they had spent poring over them, plotting their future adventures.

Above their beds, suspended from the ceiling, were twin planets, crafted from papier-mâché and painted with meticulous care.

astronaut!vi: her lesbian awakening was ellen ripley from alien.

After watching it with powder for the first time she became obsessed by it. saved up her money to buy all king of merchandise that revolved around it.

At first she just brushed it off as just being fashinated by a very fucking great movie thus “the aliens were freaking cool” but after the tenth time she rewatched it she started to notice how her gaze lingered on the curves of the astronaut's body, how her heart did a little twirl in her chest whenever the woman was on the screen.

It was the kind of revelation that changes a person, that makes you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. But it was also thrilling, a secret she kept close to her chest, a bud of self-discovery ready to bloom.

at some point even powder noticed it and started teasing her about it.

One day, while the two were window shopping in a comics store, Powder pulled out from a shelf a magazine with an image of Sigourney Weaver as Ripley on the cover.

She held it up to Violet with a smirk, saying,

"Look who it is, your girlfriend."

Violet's cheeks turned bright pink ''shut up'' she snatched the magazine, feigning annoyance. But deep down, she knew her sister was onto something.

From that moment on, Powder took every opportunity to tease her big sis about her newfound infatuation.

It started with playful nudges and knowing looks, escalating to whispering "Ripley" every time she caught her off guard. Violet would roll her eyes and swat her away, but the truth was, it didn't bother her as much as she let on. In fact, it was almost like Powder was giving her permission to explore this new aspect of herself, to embrace it without shame.

astronaut!vi: who had a mental breakdown when she found out, late in her middle school years, that she was dyslexic thinking it would get in the way of achieving her dream of entering the astronaut academy.

it felt as though the universe had suddenly turned against her. The diagnosis didn't just shake her world,it fractured it.

For a week, she retreated into her room, refusing to come out or engage with the world that had so cruelly deceived her. Her books, once her solace and companions, were now her enemies, each page a silent testament to her perceived limitations.

Powder, tried everything in her arsenal to lift her spirits, silly jokes, spend all her saved up coins to buy her the new action figure of alien, even her infamous "World's Best Sister" cinnamon toast, but nothing could penetrate the thick fog of despair that had enveloped Violet.

One evening, as the sun began to set, painting the sky with a palette of fiery oranges and purples, Vander knocked gently on Violet's door. "Kiddo" he called out softly, "can I come in?"

Violet's voice was small, "Yeah, sure."

He entered, his eyes immediately going to her desk where her schoolbooks lay scattered like the ruins of a defeated army. He took a deep breath before speaking,

"you know I don't say much, but when I do, I hope you listen." he continued looking down at vi "I know it's been tough, but you can't let this get to you."

Violet looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears,

"How can you say that? Everything I've ever worked for…it's all gone!"

Vander took a seat beside her, his face a picture of calm determination, "It's not gone, not even close. Being dyslexic doesn't define you, it's just a part of who you are."

He took her hand in his,

"Do you know how many great minds were dyslexic? Einstein, for one, couldn't read until he was seven. He went on to change the way we understand the universe. Or take Edison, he failed over a thousand times before inventing the lightbulb. And what about Walt Disney? He had to overcome dyslexia to create an empire of imagination."

Violet listened, her spirit slowly rising like a phoenix from the ashes of doubt, "But, the Astronaut Academy…"

"Violet" Vander said with a gentle smile, "if you want to reach the stars, you will. There's no rulebook that says you can't get there because your brain processes information differently.''

He leaned in, "You're, capable, and smarter than anyone I know. You've always found a way to conquer challenges, and this is just another one. You're going to prove to everyone that you can do it, that you can be the best of the best."

His words resonated within her, a spark igniting in her chest. Vander had always been her rock. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could still make it happen.

With a sniffle, she nodded, "You're right. I'll figure it out."

Vander's smile grew, "I know you will. And remember, you're not alone in this. We're a team, you and me and powder…''

As soon as the name of the younger girl fell out of vander lips the door flew open and a little ball of energy bounced inside, blue hair glinting in the dim light of the room as powder quickly jumped on vi's lap.

''the dyslexic team'' she exclaimed dripping with enthusiasm and innocence.

Violet couldn't help but burst in laughter ''that's not how it works pow pow'' powder jutted slightly her lip pouting

''but i want to be as cool as you''

violet just ruffled her blue hair ''you're already the coolest squirt''

astronaut!vi: who from then on worked her ass off and graduated at the top of her middle and high school classes all the while training her physics hitting the gym, running marathons, or practicing kickboxing. she pushed herself to the edge and beyond, sculpting a body that could keep up with the demands of her curious mind.

astronaut!vi: who has a double STEM degree in computer and pshysical science and in the end get accepted in the astronaut academy. when it was time for her to move in to the academy powder cried even tho she still denies it.

Violet was focused intently on the task at hand, zipping up her duffel bag.

Vander appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat, his calloused hands gripping the doorframe as he assessed the situation.

“You all set, kiddo?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that echoed the pride he felt for her.

Violet nodded, not looking up from her task. "Yeah, just about."

Powder was sit on the edge of her bed trying to mantain a stoic face but her blue eyes glimmered with unsheaded tears.

vander stepped closer, his hand resting on vi's shoulder in a firm, comforting squeeze.

"Remember, you can do this," he said, his voice low and steady. "You've worked hard, and you're going to be amazing out there."

violet fondly rolled her eyes ''you're getting soft old man'' she tried to lighten up the mood even tho she could feel a lumpforming in her throat.

As soon as vander had left the two girls alone telling violet he was gonna wait for her in the car, a silence filled the room.

vi stood with her arms outstreched her gaze set on powder who was still looking at the point of her colorful boots.

''what? aren't you gonna say bye?''

violet voice was soft, trembling slightly due to the multiple different emotions she was feeling. Powder looked up and suddendly she surged forward throwing herself on the chest of her sister.

violet felt the warmth of Powder's embrace and the weight of her younger sister's head against her chest.

She wrapped her arms around her, her own eyes misting over.

"Hey, squirt" she murmured, stroking powder's back.

"It's just a couple of years, okay? You'll be up there with me before you know it."

"You better send me some cool nasa stuff" powder sniffed, her voice huffled due to her face squished agaist vi's chest.

Violet chuckled, her eyes shining with love and a touch of mischief. "You know I will" she said, ruffling her sister's braids, something she always did to annoy powder "And don't you dare get into any trouble while I'm gone."

As they pulled away, Powder managed a teary smile ''no promises''

the blue haired girl held out a small, folded piece of paper. ''I got you something" she said, her lips curling in a mischievous smile.

"A little… inspiration for when you get lonely at the academy''

violet took the paper, her curiosity piqued. As she unfolded it, she couldn't help but laugh. It was a photocard of none other than Ellen Ripley.

"You little…" Violet said, smiling and shaking her head, her cheeks a bit flushed.

"remember to always kick some asses" Powder said with a firm nod. "And hey, maybe you'll find your own space girl there."

Violet rolled her eyes playfully. "Powder…"

"What? It could happen!"

Their laughter filled the room as Violet tucked the photocard into her pocket.

She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, taking one last look around her room. It had been her sanctuary for so long, but now it was time to move on to greater things.

"Alright, let's go" she said, her voice steady.

astronaut!vi: who becomes a girl crush at the astronaut academy.

During the physical exams at the atronaut academy she shines. Whether it's the zero-gravity maneuvers, the endurance tests, or the high-pressure simulations, violet excels.

Her peers watch in awe as she glides through the obstacle course, her muscles rippling beneath her sleek spacesuit.

The whispers started in the locker room, where the other female cadets couldn't help but steal glances at her broad shoulders and the way her uniform fitted just right.

They talked about her in the mess hall, trading stories of her latest feats of strength or the time she figured out a solution to a physics problem that had stumped everyone else.

The crushes were subtle, the glances lingering, but the admiration was clear.

astronaut!vi: who is actually fucking oblivious and never get the hint when girls actually flirst with her.

one day, as the academy's cafeteria buzzed with the usual mix of recounted training sessions and space trivia debates, a fellow girl cadet, approached Violet's lunch table.

She approached Violet with a tray of food and set her tray down gently next to Violet's.

"Hey, Vi, how'd you manage to nail the zero-g obstacle course today?" she asked, her voice a little softer than the usual. "I mean you are always so strong and capable."

Violet, her mouth full of food, looked up with a cheeky grin. "Just a bit of luck and a whole lot of practice"

she said, shrugging off the compliment.

the fellow girl cadet leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling like distant stars. "Maybe we could practice together some time?" she suggested, her voice a delicate balance between casual and hopeful.

But Violet, lost in her own little world of space-induced euphoria, took her words at face value. "Sure, I could use the company," she said, patting the seat next to her. "We can go through the simulations again tonight if you want."

that's how violet usually accidentally friendzoned girls. In the end it would always ekko, Violet's best friend and a fellow cadet who was as sharp as a tack, who made her notice what she was so oblivious to notice.

''you are aware she was hitting on you right?''

Violet's eyes widened, and she choked on her drink. "what?!" she sputtered, coughing. "she just wanted to train more!"

Ekko smirked, slapping her on the back. "geez, you're fucking hopless" he teased her ''at this rate you will land on mars before even losing your virginity''

violet's cheeks turned a delightful shade of red, and she playfully shoved Ekko.

"Shut up"

astronaut!vi: who absolutely couldn't stand you, you were a cadet at the academy with a STEM in engineering but who lacked a bit on the physical strenght and practical thinking or as she liked to call you ''a smartass know it all who wouldn't last one second if she actually got to space''. You two always ended up bickering during simulation training.

like when during an intense space shuttle emergency drill simulation, you and violet were tasked with navigating a simulated crisis together. The lights were flashing, alarms were blaring, and the stress levels were through the roof. you had to work as a team to save your hypothetical spacecraft and its virtual crew.

She started commanding you around as you began to suggest alternative procedures based on some engineering manual you had read and even though some of them deserved merit she wasn't listening to you leaving you feeling frustrated.

''if you just stopped for a second and listened to me'' you bursted out clenching your fists to the side

She rolled her eyes and shot back.

"This isn't the time for your textbook theories, we're following the protocol!"

but you didn't falter and your suggestions grew more frequent, and she had had enough. She grabbed the intercom and announced

"Mission control, we have an uncontrollable know-it-all on board. Requesting immediate evacuation."

The room burst into laughter, even the instructors couldn't help themselves.

But Violet's message was clear: she didn't trust you to follow through in a real crisis and this infuriated you.

astronaut!vi: who actually couldn't shut up about you. she never lose the chance to bring u up in the conversation to rant about something infuriating you did that day to powder when they videocall at night in her room until one night powder had had enough.

Violet, sat in the dimly lit confines of her dorm room at the astronaut academy, her laptop screen casting a bluish hue on her face. She was dressed in her tank top with the academy's logo emblazoned on the chest, and navy blue sweatpants that hugged her muscular thighs. Her hair pulled back into a tight bun, revealing the contours of her sharp jawline and the small scar above her right eyebrow.

on the screen was powder, with a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, powder leaned into the camera, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So, what'd she do this time?" she drawled, a knowing look in her eyes noticing the sour mood violet was in.

"You wouldn't believe it"

Violet began falling right in the trap of the blue haired sister, and with her voice filled with a mix of exasperation and incredulity she dived in a rant about something you did that rubbed her in the wrong way during training.

powder's smirk grew wider as she leaned back in her chair.

"what a surprise sis, talking about the infamous smartass again" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What's her name again?"

"Doesn't matter" Violet replied, waving a dismissive hand. "what matters she's always questioning my methods, always assuming she knows better when she probably couldn't even find her way out of a paper bag if she didn't have a GPS.''

"you know" Powder suggested, her voice playful. "for someone who affirm to not stand her you surely mention her a shit-ton of times"

Violet rolled her eyes crossing her arms over her chest. "what's that even supposed to mean"

"oh, come on" Powder teased, her eyes glinting. "Admit it. you've got a crush on her and your pining is getting pathetic sis"

The room grew silent as the words hung in the air.

Violet's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, and she sputtered, "What? No! That's ridiculous. I can't stand her!"

Powder leaned in closer, her smirk morphing into a full-blown grin. "But why do you talk about her so much, then?''

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Her mind raced back to the times she'd found herself stealing glances at the you.

"You know what, Powder?" she finally said, her voice tight. "You're out of your mind.''

Powder's grin became even bigger and she sing songed "you want to scissor with her in space so bad''

Violet almost choked on her own spit as she let out an horrified high pitched sound.

''what the fuck pow''

astronaut!vi: who from that night on from that moment on, Violet couldn't function around you the way she used to. Her usual sharpness was blunted by an awkwardness that was unexpected. whenever you entered a room, she would stumble over her words, her sentences trailing off into nothingness. Her eyes, which once bore into you with a look that could cut through the vacuum of space, now darted away, unable to hold your gaze due to her mind conceiving image of you two in compromising situation always ending up cursing herself under her breath ''get a fucking grip''.

during training sessions, she'd stumble when you offered a solution to a problem, her mind racing with thoughts she hadn't allowed herself to entertain before. In the weightlessness of the zero-G chamber, she'd fumble with the equipment, and when you'd gracefully glide over to assist, she'd snap at you, her voice cracking under the weight of her own denial.

After all she was an hormonal young woman who suddendly became hyper aware of how attractive you were even tho you still got under her skin like no other.

you, on your end, noticed the shift in her demeanour and the how the tension between you two had shifted to something different but you were too convinced she hated you to actually understand what was right in front of you.

astronaut!vi: who one day kisses you.

It was during a routine simulation, one that you'd both done a hundred times before, that things took an unexpected turn. You were supposed to be running through the emergency protocols for a spacewalk gone wrong.

You were in the simulator, the walls closing in around you, the artificial gravity playing tricks with your inner ear.

Suddenly, the room grew smaller, the air thicker, and your heart began to race. You had never told anyone about your claustrophobia, not even the academy psychologists. It was your secret, your weakness, and you had hoped it would never come to light.

Violet was in the control room, watching the monitors as you fumbled with the virtual equipment. She had her usual smirk on her face, ready to make a snide remark about how you'd probably trip over your own feet in zero gravity.

But then she noticed something off about your movements, something she hadn't seen before. Your hands were shaking, and your eyes were darting around the tiny space like a trapped animal's.

"Come on, you've got this" she said over the intercom, expecting you to snap back with a clever retort. But instead, there was only silence, broken by your rapid, shallow breathing.

Panic was setting in, and you were unable to respond, let alone move.

Her smirk faded, replaced with a frown of concern. "What's wrong?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Why aren't you responding?"

You tried to speak, to explain, but the words wouldn't come out. Your mouth was dry, and your chest felt tight. You could see her getting frustrated, tapping her fingers impatiently on the control panel.

"This isn't the time for games" she said, her voice tight. "You need to focus."

But it was no use. your mind was racing, and you couldn't control the fear that was overwhelming you.

It was then that she saw it: the sheen of sweat on your forehead, the way you were clutching at the console. And she realized it wasn't you being a know-it-all who was incapable of action. It was something else entirely.

Her expression softened, and she stepped away from the controls. "Hey, it's okay" she said gently. "Just breathe. In… out… in… out…"

Your eyes found hers through the small window of the simulator, and you tried to follow her instructions, but the panic was like a beast that had you in its grip.

violet made a split-second decision. She knew you were in trouble, and she couldn't just stand there and watch. She hit the emergency override, and the simulator popped open, revealing you, gasping for air.

without a moment's hesitation, she climbed into the simulator with you, ignoring the safety protocols. Her strong arms gripped your shoulders, shaking you slightly trying to get you out of your mind.

"You're okay" she murmured. "You're okay. It's just a simulation."

But the words weren't enough. You could feel your heart racing, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

''I c-can't'' you choked out, your own hands shoot up grabbing at vi's gear.

violet's eyes searched yours, the blue of them piercing through the fog of your panic. She saw the desperation in your gaze, the silent plea for help.

Her hands moved to cradle your face, and she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. "Look at me'' she whispered firmly, her voice a soothing balm to the chaos in your head. "Breathe with me."

your eyes remained wide, but you managed a nod, focusing on her face. Her thumbs brushed away the beads of sweat from your forehead, a tender gesture that somehow grounded you.

"In" she instructed, drawing in a deep breath, "and out." Her exhale was slow and deliberate, and you tried to mimic it, but your breaths were still ragged.

"Violet, I… I can't" you stammered, your voice trembling.

her grip tightened, and she leaned in even closer, her eyes never leaving yours. "You can" she insisted, her voice a gentle command. "You're strong, smartass"

but the panic was a raging storm, and her words alone couldn't calm it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched you struggle, and she remembered something stupid she once read somewhere.

Without giving it another thought, she leaned in and pressed her lips to yours. It was a soft, brief kiss, but it was enough. Your eyes widened in shock, and for a second, the panic took a backseat.

as Violet's lips met yours, the world outside the simulation faded away. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, there was only the feeling of her breath mingling with yours, the warmth of her touch, and the sudden, inexplicable calm that flooded through your body. The claustrophobic walls of the simulator no longer seemed so daunting.

Her kiss was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the tough exterior she usually presented. It was like a lifeline thrown into the abyss of fear that had consumed you. Your breathing slowed, the hyperventilation subsiding, as the warmth of her embrace began to replace the cold grip of panic.

When she pulled away, you remained still, your eyes locked with hers, trying to understand what had just happened. You felt a strange mix of relief and confusion. The room around you was the same, the cold metal and the artificial lights, but something within you had shifted.

Violet's cheeks were flushed, and she looked surprised at her own actions. "I… I read somewhere that a kiss can help stop a panic attack" she said clearing her throat, her hand scratching awkwardly her nape and her usual confidence momentarily forgotten. "It's… it's supposed to help ground you, I guess."

the air between you crackled with an awkward tension as you stared at each other. Your chest was still heaving, but the fear was slowly subsiding.

the instructor's voice through the intercome pulled you both back to reality "Cadets, report status."

Violet cleared her throat and responded, "We're… we're okay. Continue with the simulation."

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

P.S. I Love You.

Summary: You suddenly receive letters that re open the wounds of grief. But they turn out for the better.

Warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, FLASHBACK

The call you hadn’t expected to receive came through your cell phone one hot, summer day in Charlotte. It changed the trajectory of your life from then on. A horrifying scream pierced the air, causing your mother to drop her coffee mug while sitting out in the yard, the ceramic glass shattering against cobblestone. When she’d found you in the kitchen, you were in the fetal position, body trembling as you wailed. She rushed to your aid, down on her knees with frantic eyes and a continuous chant of ‘what happened’ spilling from her lips.

“TERRY! HE’S GONE!”

The words didn’t seem real. When the tears came, hot and endless, you ached from the pain entering your world without the decency to knock first. Your mother’s words couldn’t be heard over your despair.

You cried as if your brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of your every pore. From your mouth came a cry so raw that even the eyes of your mother’s were suddenly wet with tears. You grabbed onto your mother, your violent shaking almost causing her to to fall flat and from your eyes came a thicker flow of tears the more you begin to understand.

Not Terry. It didn’t make sense for him to die. He was strong, the pinnacle of a man who in your eyes was unstoppable. No. This was a nightmare. You had to wake up from the nightmare. On that kitchen floor you questioned God. Your mother’s cries didn’t help calm you down. The whole world had vanished for you, now there was only pain enough to break you, pain enough to change you beyond recognition.

“No, no, no, no—”

Mike and Terry were killed in Shelby Springs, Louisiana. You refused to hear the details. Terry had a thing for saving his cousin from whatever he’d get himself involved in. You developed resentment against Mike and how he called on Terry to come to the rescue because he knew that he wouldn’t say no. Something in your gut told you that this time, he really shouldn’t leave.

Dried tears made your face feel tight and your eyes were blurry. Your chest burned and a nauseating sensation settled into your belly. You had your head in your mother’s lap on the sofa as the sun set. Across from you were your aunties and cousins, all silent and attempting to comfort you with soothing rubs and kisses to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…”

“Everything will be okay…”

“I can’t believe this…”

“I wish this never happened to you.”

You’d forgotten what it felt like to speak.

Going back to your shared apartment would only reopen the fresh wounds.

His pictures.

His smell.

His clothes.

His side of the bed.

What’s worse is his parents wanted you to join them in traveling to Shelby Springs to bring his body back home. You were his fiancé. As terrified as you were, you knew it was the right thing to do. Your mother joined you on the journey and her support gave you the strength to walk into that morgue and see him. It was cold and eerie. The silence unnerving. As you enter with his parents, your eyes fall to a stainless steel table with a body covered in a sheet.

Your knees buckle and you stop suddenly, too weak and afraid to carry on. Everything was happening so fast. You’d gotten the call about Terry two days ago, and now you were here barely standing in a room for corpses. Your mother had her arms wrapped around you as you take slow steps towards the table. Heart hammering in your chest, you watch as the sheet lowered to reveal his face.

You’d lost the ability to stand.

He’d suffered. Haunting images of his battered face and chest littered with bullet holes frightened and angered you. Nothing can prepare you for something like this. He didn’t look like himself. Death changed him in ways you weren’t prepared to see.

Pale. Bruised. Lifeless. Still.

It was something you couldn’t even force yourself to see even during his funeral. And neither could his parents. After what felt like hours, you all were on your way back home with Terry, making arrangements for him to be cremated. After all, it was Terry’s wish. Intrusive thoughts flooded your mind the days leading to his memorial service.

Clearly, he suffered, but what was his last words? What was the last thing on his mind? Did he think of you? What had he eaten that morning?

The morning of his memorial service a few days later, you sat within your bedroom, burying your nose in his clothes and sniffing his cologne. You wanted his belongings, but it was evidence back in Shelby Springs. They were building a case on the corupt police there and if found guilty, a multi–million dollar paycheck would be given. For Mike and Terry. The teardrop diamond engagement ring on your finger twinkled in the sun as you sat surrounded by family and friends.

Behind your black shades, your puffy eyes stared at a photo of Michael and Terry. All smiles and laughter. Terry’s deep voice and adorable smile flooded your mind and it shook you to the core. His big arms circling your waist made you wrap your arms around yourself to mimick that feeling. The smell of his beard whenever you’d nuzzle your face against his neck.

His urn sat on a podium and when you’d gotten up to deliver a speech, you touched it. You’d pressed your lips against it. Taking a deep breath, you opened a folded piece of notebook paper to read from, but soon, you found that you couldn’t speak without your voice quivering. The distant sound of sniffles and encouragement was static noise.

Fuck this.

Your fingers began ripping the paper into shreds. Fuck a proper speech. Your person was stripped of life at the tender age of thirty two. He was a good man.

You part your lips to speak, “Terry Richmond is the love of my life…and I don’t know how I’m gonna live without him. This all feels like I’m being punished. How could god take someone like him away from me?”

You spoke those words truthfully. Yes, you were questioning God. Why him? Why Terry? Why not the ones who did this to him? Why not ANYONE who’s ever wronged him? Why did his cousin call him to help? Why did Terry go instead of staying with you?

Fuck the many stages of grief. You were filled with rage and sadness so powerful. There was no way you’d come to accept this. While others moved on, you would have a constant reminder that your soulmate was stripped from your life. A part of you wanted to join him. Wherever he was.

That’s how you felt for a long while, but as time progressed, because that’s what happens with life, Terry’s absence didn’t hurt as much. Of course, during special occasions it would trigger the grief, but you’d taken the time to speak to a therapist and talk about how his death affected you. That was a year ago.

Everything is recycled, or so that is what you see with your eyes. The atoms of one thing become those of another. The energy from one place becomes energy in another. So while you have no idea where he is, or what God asked him to become next, you’re looking forward to being with him again and you feel his love so strongly in the ether. So, call it reincarnation or recycling, you’re okay with whatever. Terry’s still somewhere, and that's what matters to you.

——

“Morning!”

You walked with a pep in your step towards your mailbox after your Pilates class. Something you’d always wanted to do but never had the courage to before. It’s expensive, but you loved it. Opening the mailbox, you don’t have much but credit card bills and junk mail. As you grab your mail, you notice a thick, distressed, stationary envelope fall to the floor within the lobby of your apartment building.

Your eyes follow the envelope facing downward. You crouch down to pick it up, the pain in your legs from Pilates causing you to groan. Once you were up, you lock your mailbox and head towards your elevators. On the ride up, you think about what you’d like to prepare for dinner. Maybe steak would be nice since you hadn’t eaten it in a while.

The doors slide open and you were out of the elevator and approaching your door. As you pushed it open, you were welcomed by your orange and white cat. The new decor courtesy of your cousin who is an interior designer gave an impression of something straight out of a catalog.

A promotion.

New Apartment.

New Car.

You were starting over. It felt good to do that. You still lived in Charlotte, but letting go of the things that triggered your grief was the best way for you to move forward.

You’d kicked off your running shoes and sat the mail down on the living room table to go through. As you flipped through, the envelope caught your eye. Fancy penmanship covered the front and as your eyes scanned, your body became rigid. Your heart sank to your stomach.

From: Terry

To: My Beautiful Fiance’

You blink twice to see if this was real and what you were actually reading.

How is this possible?

As you sat on your sofa, your eyes began to flood with tears. Was someone pulling a sick joke or did Terry actually write you a letter? So many questions and a lot of confusion. You could feel your tears trickling down your cheeks and over your lips the more you stared at the envelope.

So much for getting better. The fear you felt at that moment alone in your apartment is what stopped you from opening the letter. You place it down on the coffee table and wrap your arms around you. Your cat nudged you against your leg and as you look down, her yellow eyes stared back with a softness that helped to calm you.

Terry had gifted you this cat for your birthday a year ago.

Shortly before he’d left for Shelby Springs.

She nudged you again and you felt it was her way of telling you to open the envelope. With one shaky hand, you grab the envelope from the coffee table and use your almond-shaped finger nail to open it. Inside is a folded piece of paper. You retrieve it and open it slowly, heart racing. Black ink and cursive.

Hey, baby.

Surprise. I know this probably feels a little bit morbid... But I just hate the idea that I'm not gonna be there to see you freak out over turning 30. I mean, it kills me not to be there. Heh-heh. That's funny. Okay. No, it's not. You're gonna be so impressed. I have a plan, baby. Can you believe it? I've written you letters. Letters that will be coming to you all sorts of ways. I waited till your birthday. I figured you weren't stepping out of the house for a while. Letter number one will be arriving tomorrow. Now, you gotta do what I say, okay? Don't try to figure out how the letters are coming. It's too brilliant and it'll ruin my plan. Just go along with me on this. Because the thing is, I just can't say goodbye yet. So for starters. I want you to get dolled up, and just go out and celebrate tonight. Go out with your girls. I hereby free you from a party with your family, especially your mom. I’m Sorry, I couldn’t be there, baby. I’m a need you to get a little crazy. So have a slice of cake, put on my favorite dress and get out of the apartment. Y/N, make a plan. For me, okay? And know that wherever I am, I'm missing you. Happy birthday.

P.S

I love you.

You wept silently, your tears blotching the paper. You shut your eyes tight and allow yourself to cry with a bounce of your shoulders and an aching feeling of sorrow. As you read the letter, you could hear his deep vibrato. You pictured him sitting somewhere on a hammock writing to you. Surrounded by the wild and reminded of how it was his peace. ���

Bringing the paper to your nose, you smell the parchment and try your best to catch his scent. It only smelled of paper with its lignin aroma. Sniffling, you wipe away snot and tears before placing the paper on the coffee table, carefully folding it. Your birthday was indeed tomorrow and you had only planned to have dinner with your mom at her place. Just the two of you.

Your friends had suggested going out for drinks, but the thought of partying and being surrounded by so many people overstimulated you in the worst way. You couldn’t bring yourself to go out and enjoy life and what it has to offer when your forever person is six feet under. Trying your best to shake those thoughts from your mind, you meditate. Calming your breath and releasing the tension from your muscles. This was something you’d never stop doing.

Opening your eyes, you blink to adjust to the blurry view. Too emotional, you finally stand from the sofa because you were unable to read the letter again. After taking a long shower, you start on dinner with a vinyl record playing. While flipping your steak, the sensation of strong hands trapping your waist caused a shiver to slither down your spine. You drop the spatula and touch where you’d felt it, body seizing up in fear. Sharp breaths escaped your mouth.

Your mind was most definitely playing tricks on you. Terry loved to creep up behind you while you were cooking to touch on you and kiss you neck. He’d whisper in your ear because he knew that his voice drove you crazy no matter ther octave. That ghostly sensation triggered nostalgic memories of what it felt to be wrapped up within the embrace of Terry Richmond.

“SHIT—”

You rush to the stove to check on your steak. The hot grease popped your arm painfully, causing you to groan. You finish your steak and plate it with your broccolini and mashed potatoes. Some wine sounded great. You open your drink cabinet and soon realize how high up the wine is. On your tip toes, you reach up, struggling to grab a bottle of red wine. Fingertips touching the cork, you strain, one knee on the counter now.

“Nah…whatchu doing, baby?”

Terry plucked the bottle from the top shelf with ease because of his towering height compared to yours. You give him a dirty look, snatching the wine from his hand. Terry gave you a lazy smirk with low eyes. He looked oh so delectable in his white T-shirt and bootcut jeans.

“That’s how you do me when I come to the rescue, munchkin?”

“I could have gotten it, T,” you roll your eyes.

“When I’m around you know I get everything in the high places, Y/N. Fix your face,” Terry pecks your forehead, “C’mon so we can eat this good steak. I’m tryna see you model that new lingerie.”

Terry backed away with a bite of his bottom lip and a wink. Instantly, your frustration melted away and you couldn’t fight the urge to smile…

Blinking, you bring your attention back to the present. Of course, you have a step stool in the pantry. You retrieve it and place it on the floor. Stepping up, you succeed in grabbing a bottle of red wine. You scan the label before sitting it on the kitchen counter to pour yourself a heaping glass. Sitting on the bar stool, you eat your food and try your best to forget that sudden recollection.

It was so hard to forget. Everything about him was so hard to put away forever. Goosebumps on your skin, vivid memories of how he’d undressed you, talked you through it, admired you, professed how much he’d loved you. Over and over. You take a sip of your wine, fingers trembling around the stem.

That letter triggered everything.

——

The morning of your birthday was uneventful. You woke up later than you’d expected, phone buzzing on its wireless charger with texts wishing you happy birthday. Wiping the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your belly, snatching up your phone. Friends and family flooded your inbox and created social media posts.

You’re thirty.

You’d think it would feel so odd saying that. Honestly, it didn’t feel any different. Sitting up in bed now, you reply to everyone before climbing out of bed. After your usual morning routine, you make yourself a quick breakfast before heading to your mom’s house. You planned to cook dinner with her and catch up.

The drive over took about forty minutes. You spotted your mother grabbing mail from the mailbox in her robe and slippers. She waved to you happily while standing on the porch. You pull behind her SUV and put the car in park. Stepping out, you give your mother a big, toothy grin before rushing over to embrace her.

“My baby! Happy Birthday!”

You squeeze her tightly, the smell of her scented lotion comforting you.

“I’m glad you’re here. I still have some hot breakfast on the stove.”

“Mama, I ate already.” You reply with a smile.

“You may get hungry again, come on.”

You enter your childhood home to the smell of grits, biscuits, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, your stomach starts rumbling. Maybe you’ll have a small plate.

“I just had to run out and check the mail—”

You paused your curiosity at the cake your mother baked you when a gasp could be heard. You turn and spot your mother with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide.

“Mama, what is it?”

“Wha–there’s a letter here–from Terry—”

You rush over, taking it from your mother’s hands. She tried to snatch it back but you had your back turned.

“Y/N—”

Hey, Mama.

It’s Terry. Make sure my baby has a good time. Make sure you do everything you wanna do, whenever you wanna do it. And make sure my baby does things. I want you to take her to all the places she’d wanted to go. And be sure to give her a big kiss for me. She’s my special girl.

Love you.

“What does it say?”

Your mother lingered behind you with caution. You read the words a final time before turning, holding out the paper for her. She gripped the edge carefully and it slipped from your grasp. You could feel your knees getting weak, so you flop down into a dining chair. Your mother read the words allowed, her voice trembling.

“I wonder who sent this?” Sniffling, your mother turned the paper over, “it’s been a year.”

“I got a letter in the mail yesterday.” You revealed.

Your mother took a seat across from you. She placed the letter on the table, pressing out the folded line to make it straighter.

“It’s his handwriting for sure,” Your mother stroked the penmanship, “This is so eerie…”

“He’d planned this. Maybe he had a feeling that his days were numbered when he’d left for Louisiana…”

You stand, pacing back and forth. Your mother folded her hands against the table as she watched you.

“Even so, why would he leave? Why would he leave if he had a feeling—”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Your mother said.

“No, the way he worded these letters…it’s as if he’s speaking like he knew he was going to die—”

Your mother put up a hand, “Okay, that’s enough—”

“It’s never going to be enough! It’s never going to be the same!”

You feel your eyes welling up with tears. You release a shuddering breath and try your best to calm your nerves.

“It’s your special day, baby. Please don’t get yourself worked up. Terry wouldn’t want that.”

It didn’t matter what he’d want anyway. He’s gone.

“I need a second.”

You turn on your heels, making your way towards your old bedroom. Inside, you shut the door and settle into your old bed. Kicking off your shoes, you gather the sheets over your body and hide yourself from view. Tears rolled over your nose as you stare at the floral patterns stitched into your comforter.

Your mother is right, this is supposed to be your special day. You’re supposed to be happy and celebrating. Not crying and sad. Not that it wasn’t okay to be sad, but Terry wrote two letters expressing how he’d wanted you to enjoy turning thirty and make the most of it.

Uncovering yourself, you slip from the bed and walk over to your dresser. Opening the top, right drawer, you retrieve a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Your emergency stash…

“Come on..”

You opened your bedroom door, darkness awaiting you ahead. Distant chatter and laughter from your relatives became muffled when your boyfriend, Terry slipped in behind you before shutting the door. You stumble your way towards the lamp on your end table, flicking it on and igniting the room with a low ambiance. Terry stood with his back pressed against the door, a wrinkled white dress shirt on with black slacks. You had on a navy blue summer dress.

Everyone gathered at your mom’s place after a funeral service for your great aunt May. You didn’t like the woman much. She’d always been hard on you and favored your cousins. Terry walked around your room, eyeing old photographs from your high school days. The sound of your drawer opening caught his attention and he made his way over toward you. With a finger pressed to your lips, you pull out a bottle of tequila that you’d snagged from your parents liquor cabinet.

You were of age to drink, but after being around your family, you needed to sneak a little something. Terry chuckled and shook his head before accepting a shot glass that you’d gotten from a trip to Canun. You pour some in each one before clinking glasses, some of the tequila spilling over the rim and causing both of you to laugh.

You knock back the drink and while your face scrunched at the taste, Terry simple smiled at you.

“Burns, doesn’t it?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I don’t really like this one.”

“Don’t let me find out you can’t handle alcohol.”

“Shut up.”

Terry approached you. Your smile wavered, eyes blinking up at him slowly. The smell of his cologne lingered in your nose. He eyed you down before taking the bottle from your hand.

“I think we should get outta here before your mama comes looking for us,” Terry said.

“Afraid to be alone with me in my room, TJ?” You tease.

Terry chuckled, bringing his face closer to yours.

“I’m afraid of what I might do to you if I stay in here any longer. We both know how loud you can get…”

Standing in your room with that shot glass from Cancun in your hand, you recall that night. You hadn’t washed the glass afterwards, just put it away. You fill it and toast to being thirty before drinking it down in one motion. You were reminded of how bad it tasted but it was worth it.

You put it away before fixing yourself back up to join your mother. She was in the kitchen prepping for dinner when you walked out. She’d heard your footsteps and paused cleaning the collards to look at you.

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” You apologized.

Your mother gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re better.”

You walk into her arms and she wrapped them around you.

“It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry.”

“I know,” you shut your eyes, “We had so many plans for my birthday.”

“I know,” your mother held your face as she looked at you, “And you can keep that memory and enjoy yourself. Surround yourself with the people that love you. Go out and have a good time tonight. Shake some tail and get drunk!”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

You can almost feel the hangover in the morning.

——

“HE DON’T WANNA BE SAVED DON’T SAVE HIM! THAT IS NOT MY NIGGA DON’T CLAIM HIM!”

You rap to the lyrics, the trap beat driving you to shake ass and get low. Birthday sash over your body like a pageant girl and birthday crown on your head, you make the most of your thirtieth birthday at the lounge with your girls as they hype you up.

“GO Y/N! GO Y/N! GO Y/N!”

You felt sexy in your red dress with a plunging neckline that hugged your curves. Strappy stilettos dawned your pretty feet and you’d done a full makeup look. You felt good and looked good, turning heads and drawing attention. Another shot made its way into your hand and you drank it down as your girls cheered you on.

“Woah woah, birthday girl!” Your girlfriend, Candace had to help you because you would have face planted the table covered in drinks, “Take a seat, Princess!”

“I’m too hype to sit! This music is fire!” You drunkenly shout.

“And too pretty and valuable to end up in the ER!” Another friend by the name of Marsha yelled over the music.

You wave them off but sit anyway. A bottle of water was thrust into your hands and you accept it, drinking down half.

It felt good to get out and have a good time. Two years is a long time. Being surrounded by loyal friends warmed your heart. The drunkenness was going to make you cry but you refused to ruin your makeup. They’d been there to protect and support you through it all. You look at each one of them, a big smile on your face.

“What is it?!” A friend named Nancy asked.

“I JUST LOVE YOU GUYSSSSSS!!!!”

You open your arms with a pout of your lip and they all get up to hug you.

“I needed this!” You dab your eyes with a napkin, careful not to ruin your eye makeup, “After everything with Terry, I didn’t know what it felt like to have fun and let loose.”

“IM GLAD YOU DECIDED TO STEP OUT! TERRY WOULDV’E WANTED THAT!”

Curious, you lean into Marsha to speak to her closely.

“Did you ever…receive a letter from Terry?”

Marsha’s eyes grew wide. Your other girls came in close to see what was going on.

“You did, didn’t you?” You asked.

“…I—yes. We all did. We…we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want trigger anything—”

“Please don’t be upset!” Nancy begged, “We didn’t want to make you sad.”

Candace sat in silence staring at you.

“I’m not upset! It’s okay!”

“You sure?” Candace questioned, grabbing your hands.

“Totally! What did it say?”

They each shared a look.

“It sad something along the lines of making sure we look after you and that he wants you to make the most of your birthday and life and have fun and not worry about him. He said that he loved us and appreciated us for always being there for you.” Marsha revealed.

Candace and Nancy nodded their heads in agreement.

“Wow,” you give your friends a drunken smile, “He wrote you guys too. I miss him so much…”

Marsha strokes your back while Nancy fanned your face to cool you down. You release a meditating breath before laughing.

“Terry always had a trick up his sleeve! How he managed to pull this all off is amazing to me!”

When they realized you weren’t sad, they joined in on the laughter.

“He was always a man on a mission! You remember how he got you, right?” Candace said.

“Had that man showing up to your job with flowers! Took you on fifty first dates like your favorite movie!” Nancy recalled.

“He knew what he wanted and he didn’t hesitate! That’s a man right there! God created only one Terry Richmond for a reason! That shit can’t be replicated!”

“I know that’s right!” Marsha shouted.

“Let’s toast to Terry and his forever love for our girl!”

With new shots, you all raise a glass and look towards the ceiling before tapping it against the table and drinking it down.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. You were dropped off to your apartment and tucked in. Your alarm went off, waking you up with a raging headache and a dry mouth. Your makeup stained your pillow and the smell of bacon wafted your nose. You sit up abruptly, looking around with crusty eyes.

“TERRY?!”

Your loud voice alerted whoever was in your apartment and several footsteps could be heard outside your door. Marsha, Candace, and Nancy came in wearing t-shirts and panties with spatulas in their hands.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Candace asked with a worried look.

“I…”

You look around, swallowing spit with difficulty.

“What’s wrong?” Candace placed a hand on your knee.

“I must of been having a nightmare.”

You scratch your head and plaster on a smile.

“I’m okay. I smell bacon!”

Candace stood up to let you out of bed. You skip towards your bathroom to brush your teeth.

“We’ll be out in the kitchen, Y/N!”

“Okay!”

The door shut behind them and you stare at your reflection, the running water filling your ears. You were used to waking up to the smell of bacon whenever Terry cooked you breakfast. You brush your teeth and clean your face, putting your hair up into a bun before exiting your room.

As you make your way into the living room, your eyes light up when you notice a large bouquet of red roses dusted with glitter. Your friends enter the living room, filling you in on the surprise being left at your door. You admire and smell the roses before retrieving a card that was attached to the vase.

Taking a seat, you open it, staring down at a pretty birthday card. Opening the card, two plane tickets fall out and there are written words on the inside.

Dear Y/N,

You know I had to get you red roses! Remember how we always talked about visiting Jamaica? Well, here’s two tickets. I have family there and I want you to stay with them and make the most of a good time. Take your mother with you. I know that would make you happy. When you get there, you’ll be able to visit all my favorite places. Happy Birthday my special angel.

P.S,

I Love You.

You were so drawn into the card that you hadn’t realized your friends were reading too. They wiped away tears and admired your pretty roses. You smiled, the tickets in your lap. They each hug you tight, causing you to cry. For once, they were tears of joy. You couldn’t wait to surprise your mother with the ticket. She’d always wanted to go to Jamaica.

——

Soft white sand beneath your toes.

Turquoise water stretching out for miles.

Palm trees swaying from the warm breeze.

Red, green, and yellow dress wrapped around your body snugly.

Your faux locs brushed across your back, the hair charms tickling your skin. You turn to pick up your coconut, bringing the straw to your lips and sucking down the delicious water.

The smell of ackee and saltfish wafted your nose. The spices traveling from the open patio doors that led into the compound. Bob Marley serenaded you as you sway in your spot.

Terry had cousins in Montego Bay that welcomed your mother and you with open arms. An entire compound surrounded by the beach. They cooked tasty Caribbean dishes everyday and you got a good tan whenever you could. There were jeeps on the compound and your mother and you would drive out to town to shop and do tourist activities.

Being surrounded by Terry’s relatives brought out a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while. You’d see his parents from time to time, spoke with them everyday, but his mother brought out a sadness in you that you tried to avoid. In Jamaica, you were filled with laughter. They showed you photos of Terry in his youth. Big ears, goofy smile, deep tan, and a surfboard in his hands.

You had a letter waiting for you.

This is where I sat thinking about you after the very first time we met. You didn't look real to me at first. I never saw so many colors on one girl before... But you looked like you belonged out there, all right. You and all your colors. Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? ("I'm lost.") Oh, you didn't look lost, not to me. At first, the no-talking thing didn't last. Before long, I couldn't get you to shut up. But you were so cute, trying to impress me with all your grand plans. I had no idea what you were talking about... I didn't have a clue, actually. I loved you right then and there. Life had changed as I knew it. And now it's changed again, love. See, I don't worry about you remembering me... It's that girl on the road you keep forgetting. "My business is to create. It doesn't even matter what you do." You told me that, remember?

P.S.

So go home. Go find it. Find that thing that makes you like nobody else. You’re unique.

“Y/N! You hungry?”

You turn, shielding your eyes from the sun rays. Your mother stood on the patio with a drink in her hand. Your stomach rumbled as you pushed yourself up from the sand, brushing the grains from your dress. You jog over, trying to avoid your feet from reacting to the hot sand. Slipping on your sandals, you climb and take a seat on a patio chair. The table was covered with all the foods you’d grown to love on your trip. You help yourself to a few pieces of plantain first.

Around your neck is one of Terry’s necklaces from his child hood. A handcrafted, wooden, beaded necklace with the colors of the Jamaican flag. Your mother sat next to you and made your plate for you. Terry’s great aunt, uncle, and cousins joined you. This was your last day in Jamaica and tonight there would be a farewell ceremony.

“Dig in!” Terry’s Aunt Chandice said. She had carob skin that glistened like onyx stone in the sun with thick locs that almost touched her ankles. His uncle Sean reminded you of Terry with his green eyes and striking features. He too had long locs that he wore in a bun.

His cousins were older than you but only by a few years. Two boys and a girl. Chris, Tarone, and Raeni.

You learned that the two boys and Terry used to compete in surf competitions. Raeni was into music and dance. During your trip she’d taught you how to move your hips and she even dragged you to a club or two where you let loose with her friends.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Aunt Chandice asked while they cleared the table.

“Of course!”

You loved it there. You didn’t want to leave.

After lunch, you took a long nap and afterwards you went for a swim. The hours ticked on and soon it was ceremony time. All of you dressed in all white as you stood on the beach, torches lit beneath the sunset. You brought out a small tightly sealed canister filled with some of Terry’s ashes. Handing it over to Uncle Sean, you stand back and watch them have their own traditional memorial ceremony to honor Terry.

Fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks while Aunt Chandice, Raeni, and your mom comforted you. Uncle Sean soon asked you to step forward with the others, each of you taking turns to pour his ashes into the sea. A piece of Terry sprinkled in places that he’d loved. You danced and laughed, twirling around and picturing Terry’s soul watching you from the clouds with a proud smile.

After many cups of rum, you retreat to your room, falling in bed and staring out at the moon. Sleep overcame you and as you drifted off, you dreamed of being in a boat, slowly floating under the moon. Strong arms circled you and the smell of sea spray tickled your nose. You open your eyes and look up, a pair of eyes that reminded you of the Caribbean Sea staring back at you.

“Terry Richmond.” You whisper.

“Y/N.” 

He’s shirtless with white linen pants on.

“What do you love most about Jamaica?”

“It’s a part of you…it’s a home away from home.”

Terry hummed, stroking your arm.

“Are you happy?”

Terry peered down at you. He sat up on his elbow, hovering above you, the moonlight creating a glow that surrounded him. You reach up to stroke his sculpted cheek.

“I am. More now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s not easy,” Your eyes shine with tears, “I’m going to miss you forever.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Terry gave you a reassuring smile, “I’ll always miss you.”

Terry closed the distance between you two and his soft lips that tasted of mangoes and saltwater molded into yours perfectly. You stroke his broad back with your fingertips, electricity sparking your heart. The kiss went from patient to fervent, Terry’s hands in your hair, stroking the pattering of your butterfly locs. His tongue flicked yours and he sucked on your lips hungrily.

“Baby, baby,” Terry spoke against your lips, forehead against yours, “I have to go…I love you.”

“No…don’t leave me…”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him more. Terry grunted into your mouth. You stroke his tanned skin, squeezing his muscles and molding your hands against his body to feel as much of him as you could before it was too late.

It was already too late. But this felt so real.

It felt as if you were grabbing air.

“Terry…no…please.”

“I love you, Y/N…”

Shooting up from the bed, you feel around, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. You look around, the reality of where you were settling over you like a weighted blanket. You clutch your chest, sweaty skin beneath your palm. With your other hand, you touch your lips. Shutting your eyes, you see the last images of Terry before they faded away.

It was him. It had to be him.

He visited you in your dreams. He’s happy. He’s in heaven. You smile as tears roll down your cheeks.

Acceptance.

——

Dear Y/N,

I don't know how much time I’ll have left with you in this world. I don't mean literally, I mean you're out buying ice cream and you'll be home soon. But I have a feeling this is the last letter, because there is only one thing left to tell you. It isn't to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp, you can take care of yourself without any help from me. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you changed me. You made me a man, by loving me Y/N. And for that, I am eternally grateful... Literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my fiancé. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, baby. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends.

P.S.

I will always love you.

All of his letters.

You sat on your living room floor with a glass of wine on his birthday. This letter you hadn’t opened months prior, wanting to save it for his special day. He would have been thrity–three. You stare at a framed photo of Terry in his MCMAP attire surrounded by recruits with a big smile and a sweaty face. You’d cut your hair and got a couple tattoos honoring him. One of which was on your butt. That made you giggle. Maybe you would fall in love again someday. Maybe not.

There’s only one Terry Richmond.

Grabbing a pen, you open a notebook and start writing your own letter. It was more so for closure. When you think of Terry now, you smile and reminisce on what it felt like to be with him. You cherish the memories and created new ones.

Dear Terry,

you said you wanted me to fall in love again... And maybe one day I will, but there are all kinds of love out there. This is my one and only life... And it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing... And none of us come out of it alive. I don't have a plan except that it's time my mom laughed again. She's never seen the world. She's never seen The Botanical Garden, so I'm taking her there to where we started. Maybe now she'll understand. I don't know how you did it, but you brought me back from the dead. I'll write to you again soon.

P.S.

Guess what.

The End

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter r @dashhoney25

[revelboo]

im 110% gonna take pictures of lego beebs once i build him nstuff BUT. BUTT. i found out the tfa constructicons just full on have plumbers cracks; the allspark almanac is full of all sorts of weird little gems gdshgjkmdsg- wanted to share since their idw counterparts got their moment to shine

Oh, no. Yikes, they’re- just, no 😂 thanks, I hate it

Drive Pt 2

Constructicons x Reader

• “What do you think the boss meant? About fragging humans?” Long Haul asks, looking from Hook to Scrapper. Because one of them must know. “Cause it sounded like somebody is.” Which makes no sense whatsoever. Sure, it’s fun enough to chase and terrorize them, but they’re not really sturdy enough for that. And far too small. Leaning over the berth where Hook had laid their human, he nudges you with a servo, fascinated despite himself with how soft you are.

• Aware of the speculative way Mixmaster, Long Haul, and Scavenger are studying you, Hook vents. “No one’s fragging humans.” Probably. But who knew? With the things he’s seen in Medbay, it honestly wouldn’t surprise him one bit. It’s not like it was that long ago that Wildrider was dragged into into Medbay by two of the other Stunticons with his spike wedged in a section of oversized concrete pipe and a lot of attitude about it. Most of it angry and sullen. And they look down on them. At least they don’t try scrap like that.

• Everything hurts as you shift, aware that you’re lying on something hard. Whimpering when something hard bumps you and rolls you onto your back. Eyes squinting open, your heart stutters in your chest as three vibrantly green monsters loom over you. “It’s awake,” one of them says, a giant servo still outstretched. Screaming, you roll and go sprawling when you try to lunge to your hands and knees. “And loud,” the same one growls with a laugh as your eyes water at the throbbing in your ankle. Broken? Sprained? Trying to crawl away only to have one grab you by that leg and drag you back as you scream.

• “Leave it,” Scrapper growls, venting as Long Haul keeps rolling you onto your back as you panic before pinning you flat under his hand. And you’re screaming again. “What did I just say? Leave it alone.” Glowering until Long Haul huffs and lets you go and then Scrapper has to pin you on your belly when you try to scramble away, noticing you’re pretty much dragging one leg. And he almost feels bad. Almost. “Pet’s broken, Hook.”

• Pet? “I’m not a pet,” you whisper, eyes watering as you’re gently pinned flat, the pressure enough to make it hard to breathe but not crush you. And then a new one is running his big servos over you, ignoring when you fight his examination. Hearing him venting as he touches your ankle and you cry out. “Stop!” He ignores that too, carefully manipulating your foot as you sob.

• “Don’t be so dramatic.” You’re leaking as Hook checks your ankle, but really? He has no idea what to look for. If it’s broken or not. Knows next to nothing about humans. “Be still,” he snarls as you struggle, leaning over you and smacking his other fist against the berth and you finally stop, eyes wide and heart beating frantically against his servos. “Maybe broken from the fall,” he tells Scrapper with a shrug. “I don’t fix humans.” A warm, little hand lands on his servo, trying to push him away in vain. Those terrified eyes overflowing and pained.

• “Can I play with it?” Scavenger asks, leaning his arms on the berth you’d been placed on. Aware of his brothers crowding around to see. As soon as Hook removes his servo, you curl up on your side, arms over your head and legs pulled tight to your body and his amusement fades. Because you’re even smaller up close, with tiny breakable bones and soft flesh. That’s discolored in places from their handling and the fall. And the sound you’re making? That hitching, broken sound of fear as you shake violently? He hates the way it makes his spark twist and ache and looking up at his brothers, he sees their uncertainty on how to deal with this. That it’s not fun anymore. Hesitant, he reaches out to run his servo against your spine. Sees Mixmaster touch your hair and Long Haul stroke an arm as you cringe into a tighter ball. Bonecrusher brushes against him, reaching to touch your hip while Scrapper and Hook watch and exchange a look.

Previous

[spookyteeth]

hey so what the flip

Look at their eyes. See how big they are? It's because they're looking at God

[valkyrieromanoff]

Santa's photo: Sam Monroe x GN!reader

synopsis: you drag Sam to take a picture with Santa Claus.

a/n: hello there, just a drabble of what a trip to the mall with Sam would be like, just because my mom wanted to get in line after Christmas to get a picture. Anyway, I hope you like it :)

Sam trudged alongside you, his pale skin glistening with a sheen of sweat under the harsh mall lights. The cacophony of holiday cheer grated on his frayed nerves, the garish decorations assaulting his sensibilities. He tugged at the hem of his black t-shirt, uncomfortable in the crowded space filled with eager and giggling children.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Sam muttered, blue eyes narrowing at the ever-growing line snaking towards Santa's armchair. The scent of gingerbread and cinnamon hung heavy in the air, churning his stomach. 

Your gentle smile didn't waver as you squeezed his hand, guiding him forward with soft insistence. "It'll be fun, Sam. I promise."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Fun. Right. Because nothing screams cool teenager like sitting on the lap of a creepy old man in a fake beard." Sam crossed his arms, jutting out his chin in a petulant pout. 

You just laughed, your melodic voice cutting through the din of the mall. "It's Santa, Sam. There's magic involved." Your eyes sparkled with childlike wonder as you gazed at the twinkling lights and festive trimmings adorning every surface.

Sam snorted, his lip curling in disdain. "Magic. Yeah, I'm sure the mall's idea of magic is the same as mine." Despite his biting words, he allowed himself to be tugged closer, the line inching forward with agonizing slowness.

Lord, just get me out of here, he thought bitterly, the teen's mood souring by the second as you crept ever nearer to the red-suited figure. But for you, he would endure this torture, no matter how much it annoys him.

After what felt like an interminable wait, the line finally dwindled, and it was your turn. You grasped Sam's hand tightly, pulling him forward as he trudged along beside you, his black boots scuffing against the scuffed mall floor.

The teen's shoulders slumped as he allowed himself to be led to stand before the garishly decorated chair, the red velvet fabric glaringly bright under the harsh fluorescent lights. Santa's eyes twinkled merrily as he beckoned them closer, bushy beard bobbing with each jovial chuckle.

Sam's nose wrinkled, catching the whiff of stale whiskey and cigarettes that emanated from the christmas' figure. He fought the urge to gag, instead settling for a surly scowl darkening his delicate features.

But then, from the corner of his eye, Sam caught sight of you. Your face was alight with pure, unadulterated joy, eyes sparkling brighter than any tinsel adorning the mall's ceiling. The corners of your mouth curled into a radiant smile, a vision of warmth and mirth that cut through the teen's foul mood like the first rays of dawn.

Feeling a sudden, inexplicable urge to see that smile broaden, Sam found his own lips twitching, a reluctant grin tugging at the silver piercing nestled in his chin. He quickly hid it behind a well-practiced sneer, hunching his shoulders as if to shield himself from the relentless cheer.

But still, as he sat gingerly on the edge of Santa's chair, his lean form a stark contrast to the soft and older man beside him, Sam couldn't fully stifle the small, genuine smile that crept onto his face. For you, he would endure this. For your happiness, he would play along, no matter how much it grated on his rebellious soul.

[bobbin-buckley]

Jinx and Isha Headcanons

Older Sister Jinx x Little Sister Isha

Summary: Headcanons and short oneshots of what they could have been

Warnings: Platonic Jinx x Isha ofc, Mentions of violence, No Reader in this, basically if Jayce wasn’t a dumbass, Arcane 2 Spoilers, some of my own thoughts

✫彡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ミ★

-Ever since Isha had fell on top of Jinx, they both found something in each other that made them see a different picture in life

-Isha was like Powder to Jinx. The little version of herself that supposedly fell down a well.

-Jinx didn’t understand why the younger girl decided to follow her around. Was it because she was her fan like other Zaunties? Was she looking for remorse? Or did the young girl find a motherly or sisterly figure in Jinx

-Isha probably had some kind of guardian or parental figure before but they may have died, so when Isha saw Jinx she looked up to her as a guardian or parental figure of sorts

-Jinx would have put up barriers in her room to make sure Isha wouldn’t fall

-Isha draws on Jinx’s face when she sleeps, and they both do this to Sevika when she sleeps

-Making up fun games to play or being artsy together

-Jinx teaching Isha how to make guns and bombs, but also keeping a close eye on her

-Playing hide and seek and tag def

-^^Convincing Sevika to play with them

-They’d both love slime and playing Minecraft together in modern au

-Both would definitely prank Pilties

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so, this is mainly going to be my opinions that me and @jybyls have came up with and talked together about that Isha is probably deaf or nerve deaf.

For a bit I thought maybe she was mute but with more hints in the show of her being deaf I think I’m leaning more towards her being deaf

Yes she screams a few times in the show but Mute people are either unable to speak or they choose not to speak.

But I’m my opinion I think she’s deaf, and I’ll explain why

After Jinx dyes Isha’s hair blue, and is talking to her about her being similar to younger Jinx (Powder) and what not. Isha isn’t replying or reacting to Jinx’s words because her back is faced to Jinx and isn’t lip reading or hearing her

Also, a couple of times you can see Isha looking at peoples lips when they are talking, a good example is when Jinx and Isha first meet

Now, I’ve seen where someone has said she could also be nerve deaf. Nerve deaf is when someone is barely able to hear, a nerve deaf person can only hear super loud or close sounds but not quiet or far sounds.

I think this because when Sevika gets her knee arm and the music plays, Jinx is doing a little dance and you can see Isha looking at her kinda confused. Well it’s because Isha can’t hear the music because Sevika is a bit far from them (credits to rexx____9 on TikTok for this theory)

Also another one is when Vi is talking to Jinx and Victor about (idk) and Isha doesn’t react to any of it BECAUSE VI’S BACK IS TO HER

Annnnnnd thanks to @jybyls for this, she found that Isha did a little bit of sign language to Jinx when they were playing their little bug game:

This means ‘rematch’ in American Sign Language

I’m not saying this is canon for anything but I like to think that Isha is deaf or nerve deaf

These are some headcanons and opinions for now but I can make more!

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

— EYES ALWAYS SEEKING. (Vlad x Cătălina)

pictures from Pinterest // text written by Lin.

[passionatelyxlust]

This was already starting to become too much for Lust to bare, but that did not matter when he wasn't the one who lived through the torment. He pondered how a meeting between himself and Azriel's parents will play out if the opportunity arose where they came face-to-face with the demon Prince who proved their son isn't the abomination those religious fanatics thought he was. Well, if they expected a witch to become a monster, then Lust will be the only one showing them what a real monster looked like. A true Prince of Hell who did not tolerate such travesties against anybody he cared about. Perhaps, slicing them to pieces with his dagger would have sufficed, including the priest who performed the exorcism never hurting the cause, but Lust wouldn't rid the world of their hateful kind unless given the word. Families were complicated and despite what the Delacroix's did, he cannot blame Azriel for still loving them in some way. "Everyone, no matter how pure and kind-hearted one claims they are, are still capable of evil when the conditions are right. You don't expect that kind of thing from family, Az, but that kind of violence is always enacted by your own loved ones from my understanding of humans." Lust dragged his attention away from the male and glanced around him in wonderment, almost as if the scene could not decide where the memory wanted or needed to land in order to play the next horror show he knew was coming. Flashes of various images floated in and out, however unlike the previous memories, the fact it was as if someone turned the knob of the sound's volume practically to mute spelled a clear message that Az blocked out the sounds of his own screams. Lust knew hearing any of it or the begging would have broken him right then and there, more than he already was in the moment. He was still angry, still accepting to spill blood if needed when his eyes found Az's parents tying him to the bed with binds that were far too tight, but his melancholy for Azriel replaced the hate briefly. "I will never understand how anybody can place a child who they once claimed to care for more than anything under physical torture based on their beliefs that they can change what they think is wrong with you." Lust reached out a hand and brushed his fingers against Azriel's before it completely encapsulated the witch's, silently conveying that Az did not deserve the treatment nor did he himself believe his Prince was a demon in witch's clothing. "Your parents do not deserve any thought you have ever spared on them and they don't deserve any tears you've shed." Picture after picture flickered, representing the priest spitting nonsense, Az's mother and father physically holding down a young boy and ignoring his pleading, Lust imagining the feeling of those ropes clinging tighter and tighter as if they were wrapped around his own wrists. "I'm sorry, Az, I just-...I can't imagine..."

This was heartbreak at its finest, Lust could feel something within himself shatter the moment his eyes found the spot where Azriel's arm was now missing, taken from him just as his younger brother had been. The younger Azriel awoke once again, changing the scenery with it, before Lust's attention fell upon a brunette young woman that he swore he knew tending to the injured male. it wasn't until the witch beside him confirmed the identity did it really click for the demon prince. Of course. Isabel's training as the coven healer, why was not Lust surprised? "That's my sister for you." Lust finally released the other's hand and fully turned toward him, nodding in total understanding. Glancing over Azriel with a clarity like he was seeing the real him for the first time. Beautifully tragic, beautiful in every way, needing to grant him every scrap of happiness that he was so deprived of. "I understand now the protectiveness you and your siblings have for each other. Losing them is losing Asa all over again. It reminds me of me and Gluttony." God, how he missed his brother, a yearning pang he knew the other would sense through the bond, but Lust knew this wasn't about himself. "I promise, you will never be alone the way you were back then."

Azriel came to terms with his past years ago. Did it hurt any less when he thought about it all? About Asa perishing, or how his parents tossed him to the side just because they didn't understand what he was... not really, and he remembered it all. It stung less over the years, and the witch finally understood that they wouldn't want him no matter what he did. The only people who wanted him for him were his siblings and now Lust, a literal Prince of Hell. It was a thought that he knew also ran through the Prince's mind that maybe his father had placed some sort of manifest destiny onto Azriel's shoulders with the slander of 'demon' thrown at him. It was ironic. The witch crossed over to stand beside the Prince as everything dawned on the demon. Az's gaze flicked to Lust at the sudden intense emotions that seemed to move between their bond like it was his own before his eyes moved back to the scenery before them. "If humanity wasn't capable of the worst evils conceivable, we wouldn't be able to be swayed by the devil. I just... never expected it to be them that would show me how bad humanity could get," Azriel muttered in agreement quietly as the scenery flickered around them like an old television trying to find a station. His memories were solid, always clear– an eidetic memory except for when he was under duress with pain so intense that it could cause holes in his memory, and the exorcism moments were a majority of them. The memory was quiet for once; after all these years, the witch was still unable to bear the sound of his pleadings and screams as the priest rattled on and on. His own father picked him up, aided by his mother, and tied each limb to the four posters of his bed before it began; the sobs of his mother were visible, but no sound met his ears. "This went on for a whole week," Azriel spat out, feeling the tinges of anger that brimmed under the surface at the thought of his torture– no use in candy-coating what it was. "No food, no water, hardly any sleep when the Priest wasn't prattling Latin at me while I begged. I knew I wasn't a demon, but towards the end of it... I began to think that I was, or at least someone deserving of such treatment. I prayed to God to release me, to step in and help me, but no one came. I lost my family and my faith in one fell swoop." Azriel couldn't put into words the turmoil of his emotions the memories elicited, couldn't label them, but it was a perk of letting someone into his head. He didn't have to. The memories began to grow hazy as he sifted through the memories that led them through the exorcism. Popping around to various pictures of him alone, him with the priest tossing holy water onto him in an attempt to expel the demon in his blood, to his parents holding his limbs down on one of the occasions he tried to pull himself free in a rage. "The ropes were tied too tight, and with how much I pulled against them... I'm lucky I didn't lose more than my arm."

It was later in the week of Hell he'd endured when the memories resurfaced with clarity once more as the younger version gained consciousness, his bleary eyes wandering over to his arm that he couldn't feel much anymore– held at an awkward angle and tinged blue... almost black on the tips of his fingers. He shed a single tear before blacking out again. The scenery changed, gaining clarity like his earlier memories, showing a place he'd grown to know intimately, especially with his work as an enforcer. The younger version of himself lay under crisp white sheets, bandages covering his rope burns and the amputated nub where his arm formerly was. "I don't know how I was taken from my home. Knowing the coven, they were always watching and intervened before they could lose an asset. All I know is that I woke up in the coven's clinic with no arm, learning that I'm a witch, and then foisted into the Foxwood's arms," Az muttered, pointing to the young witch fussing over his prone form. A witch that both he and Lust knew well, a younger Isabel around his age at the time. "She was the only one before Kai and Gianna that didn't treat me as an outsider... I didn't make it easy for her, either. For any of them."

[adventures-in-teyvat]

can i just say im so fucking happy that they added otters who are around all the time and dont just exist for the purpose of a chest and then disappear. like they are just always there. and i can die happy now

THEY DONT FUCKING DISAPPEAR IM GONNA CRY I CAN LITERALLY NAME THEM NOW I NAMED THIS ONE BY THE WINDOW PONCHO

[crescentfool]

earlier today i showed my mom the new persona nuis and i asked her what she thought of them. i told her i got the ryoji one, pointed at him, and she said that "he looks like minato's evil twin. his eyes look unsettling." and i just. looked at her like... "how did you get that..."

[amaraudermind]

I just know Duke loves celebrating the Ides of March

[elenadoeslife]

💔

[thehecklingmouse]

do you guys ever think about how kaveh probably doesn't remember his fathers face anymore

[something-of-a-hermit]

Why is O Superman (Laurie Anderson) so incredibly comforting but also I’m sobbing my eyes out at 12am over the line “and when force is gone, there’s always Mom (hi, mom!)”?

[ataraxiaspainting]

360-Degree Vision.

Yan Silas x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, non-con, oral (male receiving), forced infantilization, Silas calls himself Mommy because he's a weirdo, and "force feeding".

Word Count: 700.

OC and art pictured above belongs to amazingly talented @meo-eiru!! i really love her art, so be sure to check her out!! <333

*~*~*~*

Silas only allows autumn leaves and snow to fall where your feet don’t touch but your eyes can still see.

It’s an odd sort of shape, the barrier he has around his tree. It reminds him of those little sketches you do he puts by his bedside table. He read from a book that human mothers do that whenever their children give them drawings, though you never gave yours to him per se. More likely than not you were waiting for a more special occasion, but he found them in your toy box whilst he was tidying up from another long day of taking care of you. 

What a unique art style you have – he read in the same book that human children’s little doodles can be nearly unrecognizable from what they are supposed to be most of the time, so he doesn’t question how the circles you drew kept going around and around and leading to nowhere.

A snail’s shell, perhaps? 

The spirals seemed too large and too filled… 

He’ll give you points for creativity. 

Positive reinforcement was key with these kinds of things, or so he’s been told – if you ever ask for a pet snail, he’ll get one for you in little to no time at all.

*~*~*~*

“Baby,” Silas’ smile is smaller because of the concern he has for you right now. “You have to finish your dinner. It’s good for you. When you finish we can go see little mushrooms and squirrels, okay? Only for a little bit though,” His right hand is still above your head, squishing you down when your body seems to want to get up too soon. “Mommy doesn’t want you to get sick again…”

Despite Silas sitting down, he was still more than half your height – your knees sink further into the mattress both of you are on.

They are shivering so much but he doesn’t notice.

No, it’s not that he doesn’t care – he’s too busy flaunting his length and chest to you to pay attention to how you actually feel, wanting you to pick your poison once again; seeing this as necessary to your development.

Last time for yesterday’s meals you chose his cock – the day before that you chose his breasts.

The more you suck from him, the more you’re given treats after. Something resembling those colorful markers you used to get at the local dollar store, containers of blueberry yogurt you hope came from his village’s cows or some similar type of animal, a new dress he had sewn himself or had customized and bought from a nearby elf tailor.

“I’ll even bring some paper and those pencils you like drawing with, hm?” Silas continues as he scoots closer to you – he holds your hair so gently now, but whenever he cries tears of pure happiness the grip will tighten quickly. “Maybe you can see a snail up close for those little spirals you like doing.”

…

No matter how much you rebel and kick and scream, the elf wouldn’t move back from you – if anything it gives him more of a reason to come closer, so you can have more of his ‘love’. After only a little bit of time, you learned how to let the frustration out in a way that didn’t have Silas doting over you so suffocatingly – drawing spirals. You were told once by a friend they can be therapeutic in times of stress. You most likely will never see her again but you would want to hug her because it works. 

You hid them amongst the dolls and building blocks you were given in times you were alone – staring at them made you feel less lonely, made you feel like you had more of a choice in how you spent your waking hours.

You didn’t expect Silas to find them. He never checks your toy box because you tidy it up so often.

You don’t know how to explain your drawings in a way Silas will understand. Not that he understands a lot of things that come out of your mouth.

You just nod. Maybe drawing a snail’s body below those spirals can help you too.

“Good girl! Listening so well!” His smile widens and you can see his eyes getting watery already.

[gghostwriter]

Wanted: A Gentleman

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 || Future take Summary: Your lovely group of friends, Penelope, JJ, and Emily, set you up with your perfect match Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.3k a/n: Back at it again with something miss Sabrina Carpenter inspired. The fluff idea has finally struck and I love how this ended up, even without any editing! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“I’m serious!” You clarified, wiggling to get comfy on Penelope’s sofa. “It was the worst date I’ve ever been on!”

All the three girls laughed. It was Friday night, girl’s night, and you found yourself surrounded by the baddest girls Virginia could ever offer. The Powerpuff girls of the BAU as you once jokingly dubbed them—JJ being Blossom, Penelope being Bubbles, and Emily being Buttercup. Witty thinking on your part, if you say so yourself. 

Having just moved into the state just a few months ago, you were grateful for the ray of sunshine that Penelope was for taking you under her wing and introducing you to a great set of girlfriends.

“It can’t be that bad—” JJ giggled as she took a sip of her newly refilled glass wine. “Can it?”

Bringing out your phone, you swiped to the screenshot Bumble profile of your date the night before. He wasn’t bad looking, not at all. He was cute in a very American boy next door type of way but then again, his profile being filled with gym pictures should have clued you in.

“We had dinner at that newly opened restaurant, Palm & Pine, which is a great place by the way, but all he ever did was talk about himself—”

Emily nodded along. “Typical macho male behavior.”

“—that wasn’t even the worst part! He brought out a scale, a portable weighing scale, to log his macro calories in a fitness app!”

Penelope chose the wrong time to take a sip of her drink causing her cough violently while the two remaining girls threw back their heads and laughed hysterically. All you could hear were gasps of weighing scale and calories between them.

“I’m all for being healthy but really? On a first date?” You crossed your arms to your chest. “At this point, I might as well get a cat or two to keep me company.”

Penelope snatched your phone and clicked to open the dating app. “Oh no no, sweetheart. You’re too beautiful and nice to end up alone. We can find you a perfect man to love and take home with!”

“Yeah, we’re profilers. Trust us to pick for you,” Emily slyly added as she peeked behind Garcia’s shoulder.

Reaching out for the opened bottle of alcohol, you sighed in defeat and let the girls do their thing. “I’m going to need copious amounts of alcohol in my system for this.”

———

It was bad. Based on all their comments and numerous swipes to the left, the dating pool was atrocious, hell on earth. 

“He looks cute—” Penelope continue to scroll on his profile before making a face. “Never mind, look at that horrible grammar.”

JJ leaned in and read the poor man’s bio. “Theirs a million reasons why I’m your future boyfriend—Jesus, it’s really hard out there, huh?”

“I’d take any man who’s nice and breathes,” you laugh in despair. 

Emily’s eyes twinkle from a sudden idea. Everyone had been drinking continuously and the filter had been turned off by the time the third bottle was opened. Any thought made beyond just screamed bad idea. “You know, we could just set you up with Reid.”

“Reid?” you tilted your head to the side. What kind of a name is that? Its very…unique. “You have a co-worker named Reid? As in that’s his first name?”

“No, no, no. His name is Spencer, Reid is just his last name,” JJ clarified, leaning forward with a sweet smile on her face. Oh no, you knew that look. She was very much into this.

Penelope slides your phone to you and promptly claps her hands in glee. “You’re so right! Why didn’t I think of that!”

“Right,” Emily turned to face the other two. “They’d be great for each other. Now we just have to get him to agree. JJ—” the blonde raised her eyebrows. “—can you talk to Reid about it?”

She shrugged. “I could but you know how stubborn he is.”

“I’ll blackmail him if I have to,” Penelope interjected. “Boy genius needs to meet our own girl genius. They’ll be perfect for each other, he just doesn’t know it.”

Your eyes volleyed in between the three. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

Emily tsk’ed as she turned her inquisitive dark eyes on you. “I’ll cash in on that prize I won last time.”

“No,” you breathed out, remembering how you badly lost last poker night and vowed to do any dare the winner would tell you to do.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes,” her smile growing wider and wider with each denial. 

Your shoulders slumped forward. “Fine but he better be the love of my life or you owe me big time.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. He will be,” Penelope laughed, pouring more wine in all of the glasses. “Cheers!”

———

It took three weeks before the girls were finally able to wear the mysterious Dr. Spencer Reid down and in the midst of waiting (and stubbornly hoping that he would never give in), you learned more about the boy genius than you ever wished for. How he has an IQ of 187, graduated high school at the age of 12, has 3 PhDs under his belt, and an avid reader—like yourself. 

You begrudgingly admitted that he spiked your interest and having someone to talk to about books would be lovely but beyond that, you were slightly intimidated by his background which made yours, a literature degree graduate and publishing editor, seem insignificant. Penelope tried to squash that negative thought once you aired it out in the open by saying that Spencer wasn’t the type to judge anyone based on their societal standing. If anything, he’d find you interesting, she urged.

But there was one information you weren’t privy to, how he looks like. The girls didn’t want to show any photos, stating it’s best to see him face to face rather than through an image, which in turn made you imagine the worst. 

You looked around, standing on the second step of the museum as you try to spot any curly, hazel haired man walking your way. He wasn’t late, you were just too anxious to be fashionably late. 

Someone stopped in front of you at the bottom of the steps. 

“Are you—” the doe eyed stranger cleared his throat. “Y/N? Penelope’s friend?”

Oh damn. He was beautiful.

“Yes, are you Dr. Spencer Reid?” You squeaked. 

He smiled, stunning you into even more into awe. “Hi, yes. Yes, Spencer is fine.”

“Should we go inside?” You breathed out as you watched his cheeks reddened, no doubt matching the color of your own.

He nodded before slightly touching your arm to stop you in place and bending down like he was some kind of knight and shining armor and for all you knew, he could be. “Your shoelace is undone. Did you know that there’s more than 1,000 cases related to loss of footing each year and 67% of these falls were attribute to untied shoelaces?”

“We wouldn’t want to contribute to that, do we?” You quipped back as you studied how the sunlight hit his wavy locks, turning some into gold, and his doe expressive eyes with specs of green in them. Your favorite color as of today.

He laughed, his high pitched chuckle further capturing your heart. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” 

Your thoughts thanking the three women for setting you up with what seemed to be a perfect gentleman. 

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