#im not crying ur crying...... no i lied i am cryin......... ]

[properbastard]

WRITE ABOUT ANTONIA AND SHARPE and sharpe just holding her in her arms and her being outside the walls for the first time and keeping her warm and safe and close and being so excited to show her the world and hes so happy his girls are safe and okay and together and he loves antonia so much. shes everything he couldve hoped for and he just doesnt want to let Antonia out of his arms!!!!!! AHHHH GIVE ME ALL THE FLUFF

     It was hell, all around him. The explosions of the canons blinded him, the smoke choked him–he could hardly breathe, and he saw the swarm of blue coats coming towards him, the glint of bayonets in the flash of the powder.

     He would die here, he would–

     His head dropped from his hand and he woke with a start, knees jerking up to hit the table. Heart pounding, Sharpe looked down, his mind slow with sleep clumsily putting the pieces back together; he was in his tent, he was safe, the siege was over. He had fallen asleep finishing his paperwork–the candle was still burning, the quill in his hand.

     With a heavy sigh, he shoved his work away and rubbed at his face, grimacing as he felt the rough stubble on his chin. He hated nights like this… full of nightmares and snatches of restless sleep. Badajoz was haunting him, the images of it’s high, high walls lit with flame and littered with bodies burned into his mind. Some part of him had known, from the moment he entered Cuidad Rodrigo, that he would never forget Badajoz.

     Sharpe ran his hands through his hair, shoving the memory of blood and death from his mind, and turned in his seat to look at the cot. Teresa was asleep, on her stomach, her face buried in his pillow. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he wanted to crawl in beside her and forget the terrors of his dreams, and find comfort in her arms. He could feel his eyes drooping, body aching to find comfort in the thin mattress and woven blanket just inches away, to tangle his fingers in his lover’s–no, his wife’s–soft, dark curls. He guessed that it was late, and he would only get a few hours of sleep in before dawn, but a few hours were better than none, he had learned.

     But just as he rose from the chair, he discovered that he was not the only one awake.

     Antonia shifted and whimpered from her place in the make-shift cradle the men had put together for her, made from a large woven basket found in Badajoz and hastily carved legs. Sharpe hesitated, wondering if she’d called out in her sleep and would settle again, but her fussing grew louder, and he slipped out of his chair and crept over, rescuing her from the confines of her blankets.

     “Hey, hey,” his voice was soft, still thick with sleep, and he yawned. He was too tired to feel embarrassed, as he had felt lately, when picking up his daughter. He had little experience with babies, and there was a small hitch in his chest at remembering the tragedies that had denied him this before–personal failures, in his eyes, that he did not speak of, yet took hard.

     So he tried to hold her as he saw Teresa do, with the baby on her hip, tucked close to her body, and to his relief, Antonia settled into his arms easily. Her little hands clutched at the collar of his jacket, and her father quietly shushed her pitiful fussing.

     “It’s alrigh’,” he whispered, offering her a tired smile. “I’ve go’ ye.”

     He wondered if she was hungry? It was late at night, and he knew by now that she woke often at night to be fed, and changed, and rocked back to sleep, and from the moment he had held his child, he wanted to help. Teresa had showed him, and after his first horrified encounter with diapers, he was sure never to complain of latrine duty again.

     Though after a moment, he slowly began to think that she wasn’t hungry; Antonia had, to Teresa’s great amusement, shown that she had not yet discovered the difference between her mother’s bosom and her father’s chest, much to the latter’s dismay and embarrassment. Teresa had laughed at him, and took Antonia from him, insisting that he had two choices; get his thin wife fat, or fatten himself up until their daughter learned to tell apart the two slim, fit bodies of her parents.

     But now he was sure that Antonia was not hungry, and he was relieved that he didn’t have to wake his sleeping wife. And he checked, and his daughter did not need changed either.

     So what had woken her?

     Richard shifted her in his arms, watching those tiny little fingers grip the worn, distressed velvet of his jacket; a pink, rosy-cheeked treasure resting against his chest, and his tired smile grew softer and fonder.

     “Did you have a bad dream too?”

     He pressed his lips to her forehead, and it seemed like he’d gotten it right–she’d either woken from her own bad dream, maybe even her own recollection of the siege, or she had heard her father jolt awake from his nightmare. Either way, she snuggled closer to him, whimpering against his neck, and he glanced back at Teresa’s sleeping frame. He wouldn’t wake her–he’d lull their daughter back to sleep himself.

     The cold night air bit at his nose as he slipped out of the tent, Antonia bundled tightly in the blankets from her bed, her soft little bonnet, and tucked snuggly into her father’s arms. Sharpe had thrown on his greatcoat, thankful for the thick, soft wool and the warmth it provided both of them, and tugged on the knit fingerless gloves with his teeth.

     It was a brisk night, as crisp and clear as water in a stream. Winter was ending, and spring beginning, and Sharpe watched his breath fog up in front of him. The cold was not quite done with them yet, lingering here in the dim light from the tents and dwindling campfires. A horse nickered, shifting in its sleep, and somewhere to his left, he heard a sentry pick up a song. It was as quiet as army life could get, and if he did not know any better, he would have believed this to be peace.

     But it wasn’t the peace he was used to. He’d stood out here countless times, or lay on his back on the road, head resting on his pack, but it had never felt like this. A husband and a father, not just a soldier; he felt like his heart had changed, swollen in size, and felt it shiver in his chest. He had a family, at last, a family–

     –a wife sleeping soundly in his bed, and a daughter tugging at the buttons of his jacket.

     He looked down, a smile tugging at his lips, and he watched Antonia pluck at the pewter buttons. She was fascinated with anything and everything that shone, her little brow furrowing into a concentrated scowl that could only have come from him as she investigated each button. But he knew her little fingers were stronger than they seemed, and he shifted her in his arms to keep her from plucking his uniform apart.

     She reached up with those tenacious little hands, babbling to him quietly, and grabbed the end of his nose while he laughed. For a moment, it was just them, in this world; the cold biting at their noses, soft giggling in the calm of night, and the bad dreams that had taken them from their beds forgotten.

     And then he looked up, and his smile widened.

     “Antonia.” He shifted her to his hip, freeing one hand, and he pointed up, watching her dark eyes follow the line of his arm, up past his finger, and up, up into the starry sky above them. “Look.”

     His own gaze followed, his arm coming down to hold her again as she stared, transfixed, up at the stars. She had grown up, so far, in a fortress–a place of constant noise, constant light. But out here, in an army camp, with the fires burning low at this time of night… the stars shone brighter than they ever did elsewhere.

     “Look at the stars, love.”

     He wondered, if, at her age, he had ever stared up at the heavens like this. He remembered the orphanage, the workhouse, and on the days when they rose before the sun, when they plucked oakum in the dark, he would look up at the fading stars, and hope that there was something better than this.

     A wane smile tugged at his lips, and as Antonia gasped and spoke to him in sounds and babble he didn’t understand, he told her a story. He didn’t really know the beginning of it, nor the end. But he told her the story of a young man, an orphan with no home, no family, who had laid on his back in India, looking up at the stars, and had believed that the answers to all of life’s mysteries were in them, and he could try but never truly reach them.

     And at some point, he turned his head away from the sky, from what he always thought looked like thousands of thousands of tiny cook fires burning in the dark, and found his daughter sound asleep against his shoulder, her fingers gripping the shiny pewter buttons of his jacket.

     “Antonia.” His child. His daughter. His little girl. A family, at last, a family.

     There was a time that this was only a dream, something he could never wish to have, the dream of a boy who grew up alone, with no one in the world to claim him. But those thoughts were far away now, as far away as the red sands of India, and tonight he was with his family, his daughter lulled to sleep by a story about the stars.

     One day, he promised, this war will be over. And we’ll be together, always. But until then…

     Until then, he would look up at the stars when he was away, and think of her, of the rosy-cheeked treasure that had become his entire world. Until then he would look up at the stars, lying on his back in the wilderness of Spain, and know that he may never reach those heavens, but he could get close.

     Close was waking up the next morning, bleary-eyed and warm, with his wife’s arm draped across him, and his daughter lying on his chest, patting at his face and drooling on his chest.

                      Close was here, in the one place he found he belonged.

[hcrris]

can ….. i come in ????? have been watching unbreakable kimmy schmidt for 3 hours pretending time isnt passing , life isnt real and in fact.. i am dreaming (-: lajdfksl hey <3 im jay im 21 and i love those instagram profiles of hamsters in little clothes ( when they got little purses? ???? dont talk to me im cryin. ) below u will find info about jane harris aka literally the vine of the little kid scribbling hard like his life depended on it. shes a mess ?? but a semi enjoyable mess. a mess with good intentions. if u want to establish some connections, LIKE THIS and i will come annoy u <3 alternatively u can ease my social anxiety and msg me here or through my discord sencha tea#4035 (و ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و♡

( lily collins, cis female, she/her. ) — jane harris has been a medina complex resident for three years, now. they’re twenty-three years old, and they tend to avoid making eye contact. sometimes when i walk by B06, i hear cherry-coloured funk by cocteau twins playing. lately, i’d say they’re pretty effervescent, but sometimes that’s overwhelmed by the fact that they’re neurotic. i mean, they usually pay their rent on time, though, and that’s most important fact here.

repeatedly fixing the apartment number on the door when it swings down to a nine, a split moment of shadow after the radiance of laughter, carl sagan’s pale blue dot, a life of frequent minor accidents, constant hunger for balance overshadowed by emotional turbulence.

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TW ALCOHOLISM EMOTIONAL ABUSE DEPRESSION & ANXIETY !!!!! ok moving on

her parents met in art school in paris.. her mom is french and studied art history while her dad was an exchange student from california with a skewed artist mentality. it was that saccharine, toxic sort of love. her mom always felt like she needed to be the guardian angel in the relationship who would always hold him up when he was feeling down and he was feeling down….. a lot. because she was putting all that energy to save her relationship, she was drowning too but never enough to walk away. there was a lot of love there but it was twisted and uncomfortable at times

when they found out jane was on the way, it felt like they needed to suddenly grow up. her mom was ready to make changes, adapt to the new lifestyle. her dad, on the other hand, urged they rethink if this is what they want but he didn’t push for abortion.. he understood it was jane’s mothers choice to make and reassured that he would be there for the both of them no. matter. what. 

but ??? the reality was he felt trapped by the idea of a child and he struggled to acknowledge and accept how quickly his life was flipping upside down and how he lost all control of it. he wanted to travel around europe ???? soak in nature, daydream and make art . but jane’s mom wanted to settle. instead of embarking on adventures after graduating, they decided to move to california. 

things just seemed to fall apart like domino from then on. janes mom was lead astray.. thinking that what california would bring them was stability but instead, it was all chaos. they rushed to get married .. turned out janes father wasnt on good terms with his parents. he was irresponsible financially, put both his parents in huge debt, was blinded by his ego to ever realise his mistakes. lied constantly .. convincing janes mom that there’s light going forward. that once he finds a sponsor for his art .... once he sells his first piece ... once they see in him what he always saw in himself , he was going to make it right. and he reassured he would make it right for jane.

janes mom was so pathetically in love that she pushed through .. living in a sort of imagined world, believing that things were better than they actually were. and her dad was good at persuading that narrative. he would come home with a pocketful of cash and the bills paid. oftentimes, it was all an act. his art wasn’t selling and a lot of what he bragged about was borrowed or stolen. behind the curtain, he was absent and unmotivated. he would come home in the evening claiming that the whisky breath was celebratory but in reality, he was complaining to the barman two blocks away about how his life feels monotone .. like a french black and white movie.  

the day of jane’s birth was a whole mess. her father decided to drive her mother to the hospital, knowing he had one too many. they were caught for speeding and while janes dad spent the night at a nearby station for driving under influence, her mom was at the back of a cop car, crying for one too many reasons .. jane decided to hang on for a little while longer and was born at 3am the following night. cradled in her mothers arms and her dads voice humming on the line

jane would only ever hear the romanticised version of this story from her mother. this ??? fucked up sense of security that no matter what, love conquers all. that love means supporting each other, loving each other extra when everything else falls apart. but truth is.. her mother was forced to give up her own dreams, lost all connections to her past, worked days and nights at a nursing home to support her family and pitch in to her husbands alcoholism while she’s at it. making excuses that jane was too young to contradict. all while the only source of happiness for her father was the haziness of his evenings, when he felt like floating and he could barely hold onto to his paintbrush. he was a stranger living in their basement .. more than he was ever a father 

growing up, jane watched her mother mask her depression. carry empty bottles out from the basement, trying to hide it from jane .. it brought her shame. she was doing the same thing to jane that he was doing to her for all these years .. consistently expressing a certain attitude, this unwavering satisfaction for the life they are living and so ... it hardens. you start to believe it. except unlike her mother, jane was observant.. she had other lives around her to compare to her own, voices of reason that pierced through the skewed perception her mother drilled into her skull. when jane grew into her skin, she felt so ... disgusted and angry. she tried to pull her mother out of her fantasy but nothing worked. 

through her high school years, she felt helpless .. her home life was a nightmare and she made every possible attempt to stay out of it for as long as possible. she took on jobs and extracurriculars .. stayed at her friends’ house until she couldn’t. and she would think.. think so hard, she would start crying. pushing her own problems away .. in her head, she would imagine herself in a different skin, a different place. it was the only way she could calm her breathing. only to have to battle the same thoughts the following morning

after graduating high school, jane went to community college for product management got a job offering after her placement at a big company and moved out shortly after ( and MOVED IN to medina... can i get a yee yee ) .. she got insurance for the first time in her life and eats too many of free pizza slices at work to save up on groceries every week <3

she doesn’t visit her parents bc she no longer feels like her mother is on her team. she’s lived a maddening and terribly draining life and living alone has brought her deserving peace.. although she’d rather keep contact with her mother to a minimum, its obvious that jane is her mothers anchor. if she feels as though her daughter is not fighting for her, she breaks down.. as much as jane wants to run away from her past, it always seems to catch up 

if ur still reading literally who are u lafjdkl. ill be done schoon ..... oof 

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if they are friends ... jane. will. talk. ur. ear. off. but probably not for the right reasons lol .. she has never been assessed by a professional, isn’t taking any treatment but she definitely needs it :( shes a chronic overthinker.. the voice in her head keeps chattering away most of the time which gets a little nauseating. she hates silence and feels like she needs to fill it with words. she often says the wrong things .. to the wrong people ... at the WRONG time and she is very aware of it. its the culprit for her self doubt and struggle to open up emotionally to the people shes close to. shes very critical towards herself, she micro analyses everything from the way she acts, the way she looks and what she says. shes also not a fan of confrontation !!!!!!!BUT!!!!!!!!!!!

 she is a FIREBALL when she stands up for others. i dont know how she hasnt gotten into a physical fight yet. she would literally rip ur side mirror off ur car if u didnt wait for an old lady to cross the street. is intense in every possible way. if shes angry, shes angry and impulsive and out of control, when she is in love, she feels it in her bones and simultaneously wants to rip her hair out, when she’s passionate about something, she is persistent until she isn’t and when she loses motivation, everything feels bleak .. theres never any emotional balance, even though she fights so hard for it every day 

likes sci fi movies .. literally when they are Floating in space ???? SIGN! JANE! THE! FUCK! UP! letterboxd is probably her favorite app. sometimes she will post a review, read it over and over, find something wrong with what she said and then delete it. shes very neurotic. she either has good days where she can comfortably be herself or bad days, when it feels like everyone is judging her every move when in reality. ... it is always .. all in her head. 

and she is mostly in her head. she creates fantasies of her life, relationships platonic and romantic and as a result, nothing ever seems to measure up. she feels secure in her fantasies but oftentimes when it hits her that they are just that, fantasies, she ... feels really alone. 

will trip over her own feet . has like 5 bruises from washing the dishes </3

she works as a part of a product design team in a big company.. probably has the knowledge to move up the tier but does not have the courage to stand up for herself . she doesnt believe in herself and is kind of a pessimist .......  

got high one night and decided she wants to start an uber ....... only for women. but doesnt think its a good ide a (its a good idea. id like to think in 10 years time ... bitch made it) 

really weird. likes eating broad beans and frozen strawberries .. will literally eat a lemon. 

she will have different interests every week but never seems to be any good at anything ???????????? makes her sad. 

claims tidying up with marie kondo changed her life LAKJDSKLDJ

*draws curtains* anybody else tired? 

[1stoopidfaka]

I'm sry lovey..

I needs 2 teo u dat im sry for causing u all diz pain..I put u in a position dat has no gain..I'm sry I get mad n I make u cry but I hope u could see dat I did try.. honestly lovey I have no reason 2 act da way I do maybe it's bkuz I truly am afraid of ur love..soo pure n tru wid not 1 flaw..i need u 2 noe dat my love for u is raw pure..I hope u belive me bkuz its da honest truth widout a doubt..I hope 1 day u kan fogive me fo all rong I've done bkuz its u I need in my life 2 ste strong..but I'm afraid ur gona see juz how much I really truly lack..

I'm sry for da hurtful words I have sed n my actions dat hurt ur feelings..,it wasn't really ment 2 hurt u..my fxked up ways tend 2 gett da best of me..I apologize 4rm da bottom of my broken heart..i was juz in 1 of my moods dat ended up costing me my world..I hurt u Soo bad I noe I did..plz fogive me fo it all..soon I will dead..if dea is nekind of fairness in da afta life,I'll probably b in hell gettin roasted..I noe dats wea I'll b stio loving u..

I hurt u Soo bad juz tinkn bout it makes me sad..u have always been such a great wife inspite of all da hurt n pain I've caused,u was stio dea doin ur best 2 make me smile..my eyes r full of tears n my heart regrets wid fear..but plz noe dat even I'm suffering..

I noe I have alot issues,way 2 many 2 try n even count. on my worst dayz I go 0-100 in a split second..I really dnt lyk myself,Neva did n at tymz I assume u dnt lyk me either..I have pushed u away n even drove u insane but I promise u diz much,nobody eva could love me da way u do..nobody kan or will neva b my person..

Lovey,I'm deeply sry u kant trust me n I noe u won't even let me bak in..I'm soo sry u dnt belive me n all dat I say..I'm truly sry I'm nowea near perfect,n I couldn't break dwn u fears..I'm sry for being a fxk up n causing all da tears..I'm deeply sry I kant fix my rongs n make u ste wid me foeva..I'm sry im not gud enuff,but trust now I will have 2 pay..baby I'm sry 4rm da bottom of my heart dat I doubted it n made u 2nd guess shyt,I'm sry I'm fxkn stoopid,n I'm sry I haven't showed u my best..fo all da tings I didn't do,all da mistakes I made n not loving u tru..all da tings I made u miss my selfish actions n all da tym not spent..da sorrow n sadness wid all da pain as I am 2 cryin in vain..

I noe it was hard on u,all da shyt I put u through..me not showing u all da small tings u asked me fo..how do I tell u juz how sry n torn I am..will a gesture say or maybe a special look,or how bout my soft sweet touch dats only ment fo u??I kant undastand y I neva realized juz how deep I truly hurt u..

Dez last days all I do is drown myself in my sorrow,layin dea juz crying myself 2 sleep..I'm in such pain eva since u sed gud-bye,every second I live juz feels lyk eternity..

I noe I've sed it soo many tymz but lovey I'm truly sry I distroyed u Soo many fxkn tymz..I wasted ur Tru love as it was dimes..4rm da bottom of my broken fxked up heart I'm sry for telling u all dem lies even tho I knew u could see it in my eyes..I regret all those tymz I didn't hear or see u cry, especially all da tymz I Neva paid attention 2 u..I should of juz sat dea wid u n talked shyt out but instead I stood dea juz yellin m screaming..yes it's honestly tru u dnt deserve me or sum1 lyk me wut u deserve is da total opposite of me..I kan say dat I realize wut I have lost n bkuz of diz lesson I'm sry for wut it has cost..I'm sry I dnt undastand da way u truly care for me,now I'm widout u n now life I'm truly fxkn sked..