#it took me a few years to turn the devastation into anger that i used to fuel me

[allylikethecat]

omg??? the teacher thing thats so mean 😭 good to know you took it as a champ and the fact you kept it AND printed it is so funny

She was actually the worst person I ever met omfg it's been twelve years and I'm still bitter about it 😂 I am never getting rid of that email. Sometimes I pull it out and am like "maybe I was exaggerating" but nope, it really says all that in black and white text sent to my gmail in 2012. It's so crazy to me that a TEACHER would put something like that in writing. She also said I was beyond help, like gee thanks. Way to you know, teach. I am SO OPEN to CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM and feedback that I can use to better myself, but telling me you've given up on me isn't exactly helpful. She was also the sole reason I wasn't allowed to take AP English in high school, she refused to sign the form to let me enroll.

One time, she took points off of my The Great Gatsby reading quiz because one of the questions was "What color is Gatsby's car" and I said yellow and she marked me wrong and said it was BEIGE because it was supposed to represent A PENIS and MASCULINITY so my happy ass went and FOUND THE PASSAGE IN THE BOOK where it EXPLICITLY SAYS Gatsby's car is YELLOW and SHOWED HER and she then told me I was being disrespectful for questioning her... Nothing fuels a person like spite does and I dream of one day publishing something and then mailing her a copy 🤣

I hope you are having a wonderful Tuesday and that you have a great rest of your week!

❤️Ally

[pullupinarari]

The house feels haunted [LH]

author’s note: it took me 6 days to write the biggest angst this blog has ever seen. i’m sorry if it turns out to be shit, but this made me feel miserable so I hope yall enjoy it 😭

warnings: there are mentions of cheating and a miscarriage happens in this fic. it’s nothing too specific but there’s mentions of blood. it’s devastating, heartbreaking, and it has a sad ending. if you don’t want to read it, don’t feel the need to announce it. read at your own risk‼️

• masterlist

wc: 13 673 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

You were never a fan of storms. You never really enjoyed hearing the sound of the thunder hitting the ground at a forceful speed, with a power that seemed as if it was fed by anger, making you shake in your sleep as if you didn’t feel safe inside your own house. 

The way the lightning would appear like a flash inside the four walls of your bedroom, making goosebumps appear on your skin as your brain would let you know: it’s hitting. It can hit anywhere near you right now, and it can set everything in to a fury of flames around you, burning you alive if you’re not lucky enough to survive, to make it out alive. 

Usually during those nights, your boyfriend Lewis would hug you tighter, kissing the top of your head nonstop while your body would tremble in his arms. He would softly hum a lullaby to you, his fingers playing with your hair gently, letting you know that everything is fine, that you don’t need to be afraid: and if anything happens, he would be by your side to protect you. 

In the middle of waking up and falling asleep a countless amount of times during the night, you could always find the warm comfort of his frame, faithfully glued to yours, ready to embrace your figure a little closer if needed. 

For the past few days, it seems as if your life is being chased by a storm though. After Lewis came back home from being away in a work meeting abroad, your boyfriend seemed distant. His eyes wouldn’t shine as bright as they used to when he looked at you, he was quiet most of the time when he was near you, as if he wasn’t happy to see you again. The intrusive thoughts in your mind were quick to come up with a thousand different scenarios of everything that could be happening for him to be acting so weird lately. 

“Maybe he is preparing a surprise?” , “but it’s not my birthday, nor our anniversary”, “OH, maybe he is going to propose? Maybe he is nervous because he has been thinking about it?”, your mind asks and answers at the same time, your fingers playing with the promise ring on your finger. 

A few weeks before leaving for his work trip, your boyfriend mentioned a couple of times how he would like to “take the next step” with you, how gorgeous you look when wearing white, displaying a teasing wink on his features while the most charming smile would show on his lips. So maybe, he kept thinking about it while being away, missing his girlfriend to the point of wanting to fly you out to his hotel room. 

The anxiety of the unknown would carve on your stomach, trying to read his mind, until he figured out that he needed to be honest with you. 

Ironically, it happened on a rainy day. The drops of water hitting the windows would announce the bad omen surrounding the four walls of the house you have been sharing with Lewis for three years now. 

- I need some space, Y/N. I can’t keep doing it like this. I need time for myself, I need to live my life on my own for a while. I just need to be alone. - he said to you, his words careful to leave his mouth, as if they had been thought and rethought a thousand times, until Lewis found the best way to let them out. With a soft tone, his voice barely above a whisper, it almost felt like he wasn’t breaking your heart in half. 

But he was. It took you a second to process the message he was passing you, but once your brain received it, your instinct was to hold the man’s face in your hands, your fingers caressing his cheeks as your tear-filled eyes would look inside his chocolate ones, trying to read him again, to see through him, to try and understand why this is happening. 

- Lew? No, no, baby please! Why do you want a break from me, from us? Was it something I did? I can do better, I promise, I will try not to be so clingy if that’s the problem, I’ll try to- 

Cutting you off, Lewis’ hands gently grabs your wrists, removing your fingers from his face, distancing your bodies a bit as you got closer to him while trying to find a way to save your relationship. 

- This is on me, Y/N. You did nothing wrong, I swear you didn’t. I just need space for myself, I need to dedicate some time to my mind as well, and I need to do it on my own. - his voice is growing hoarse as he records all the tears swelling in your eyes, falling on the skin of your rosy cheeks, growing redder due to the fire collapsing inside of your body.

You weren’t expecting it. Never, in a million years, were you ready to hear your boyfriend saying that he wants to move on with his life, without having you by his side. Maybe you were wrong, maybe all those nights where you would feed your thoughts with illusions of him proposing to you, deceiving yourself so you can keep your mind busy, denying all the negative possibilities that could happen, maybe that’s what brought you here.

You still don’t know why he wants to be alone, now. Maybe you were always way too busy in your own fantasy to see the signals that might have been there all along, only to be ignored by you. But as he distances himself more and more from you after those last words left his body, you knew that nothing would make him change his mind. 

Packing your clothes with your eyes full of tears was the most hurtful thing that you have ever done. Having to leave the only place that has felt like home for so long, where you would feel safe, with the only person who was able to love you the way you are, with no judgments, no restrictions, no interruptions. 

With a simple bag over your shoulder, having no force in yourself to pack everything right now, you show up in the living room where Lewis was sitting, waiting for you to finish packing. 

His face is laced with coldness, as if it’s almost indifferent for him to watch you leave, to forget about the four years of his life that he has shared with you, three of them while sharing this place where you would call your shelter, the four walls that would protect the both of you, in the embrace of the other’s arms, feeling seen and understood by one another. 

Taking one last look at him, you could swear that you would grab his hand and take him with you to see the sea, through your eyes. The ones where the waves of emotion don’t stop crashing against your skin, leaving indentations along your features, staining your cheeks with their shape as the salty water keeps running until it reaches your chin. 

The deafening silence fills the room. Neither of you knows what to say, but neither of you feels the need to say anything. Just by looking at your face, Lewis can already feel his heart clenching in his chest, and the endless tears leaving your eyes are enough for him to discover how great the sadness of this world is. 

There’s no point in telling you that he is sorry, or how he wishes things could be different. He wouldn’t mean it, anyway. So without a word, he just sees you walking out the door, and out of his life - his brain still trying to figure out if it’s temporary or definitely.

You expected more from your life than to walk out of your ex-boyfriend’s house with just a bag in your hands, a tear stained face and a broken heart. You expected more than to find yourself muffling your cries on a pillow, lying your sore body on a cold bed, one that you don’t recognize, that definitely doesn’t feel like home, the way your sheets used to. 

Staying at a hotel room, all you can do is let it out now to the four walls that don’t know you yet, but are about to become your most truthful confidants. Right now, you don’t want to call your parents, your brother, you don’t want to talk to anyone about what happened. You grabbed your most important belongings from Lewis’ house, and you will go back to pack the rest of your things once you clear your mind and figure everything out. 

But now, it’s just you, the pillow you’re hugging close, and the raindrops hitting the window, your eyes watching them dancing in the glass, while your own drops of sadness leave your body as well. 

The sky doesn’t clear, it’s been heavily grey for some days now, the clouds occupying the entire space on the highness of the atmosphere, never indicating that they can disappear soon. When you look outside, it’s like you get a visual representation of your love life, of your feelings, a storm that’s slowly forming in the midst of your core, changing the promises of your happy future forever. 

And even as the days go by, the agonizing pain in your chest doesn’t cease. Crying yourself to sleep every night, struggling to focus on your work without crumbling down into a puddle of tears. 

You haven’t been eating much, always feeling drained to your core, exhausted all the time, not even feeling like getting out of bed. What’s the point in trying to take one day at a time, if your mind just continues to repeat the pain in your heart, relieving all the words that left Lewis’ mouth when he kicked you to the curb. 

Your body feels weird, weak, but you’re too heartbroken to care. You feel too lifeless to listen to the signs that something is happening with you, constantly ignoring the way your stomach feels off, how you often get nauseous just by looking at food, to the point of ignoring the fact that your period is late. But it’s okay, it’s just a consequence of all the stress and emotional turmoil that you have been going through, your body will - hopefully - go back to normal in a few weeks. 

But it doesn’t. And it’s not until your brother is handing you a pregnancy test - that he went to buy at a nearby pharmacy, after you told him everything that’s been happening to your body lately, that you acknowledge the symptoms. 

Two, bright, red lines. The result that swept you off your feet, changing your perspective of life forever. Your trembling hands hold the test, warm tears paint your eyes as you try to compose your breathing. 

For some minutes, your brain crashes, not understanding if this is good news or not. On one hand, you don’t feel ready to deal with a pregnancy right now, to raise a baby on your own, especially while feeling so hurt and heartbroken. But on the other hand, everything happens for a reason, right? You know how Lewis always dreamt of being a dad, so maybe this could be a sign: a sign of hope, telling you that there’s still something bright out there for you to look out for. Maybe, after breaking the news to him, Lewis might love you again, enamoured by the thought of creating a family by your side, like he used to mention so many times before. 

Some shy feelings of hope tingle in your stomach now, making you caress your belly mindlessly. There’s a baby growing inside of you, after all. A baby that was made out of love, the type of love that Lewis just needs to remind himself of again, to allow himself to feel it beating in his chest while looking deep into your eyes. 

That night, you go to sleep with a mix of emotions bubbling inside of you. The thought of becoming a mum makes an effortless smile appear in your features, happy tears appearing in the corners of your eyes as you imagine how your belly will grow in the next few months, how you are living the true miracle of life, your body sheltering your baby - everything you have ever wanted. 

But still, there’s a hint of unsureness, feeling hesitant to go back to Lewis’ place to tell him the news, to look at his face again after the cold gaze he shared with you last time. Nevertheless, this is his baby as well, and he has the right to know that a little one who is half of him, is on its way - and even if he decides not to be part of your child’s life, at least you did your part, and you can live the rest of your life with your kid without feeling anymore remorse or regrets. But right now, you can only go to sleep with the hope of a brighter tomorrow, of a day where the sun will finally show up, illuminating the most hidden corners of each street, helping to give you a good feeling about what you are going to do.

Surprisingly, you wake up to a heavy rain, the heaviest of the past couple of weeks. The skies are painted in a dark grey, making you furrow your eyebrows at the way the weather seems to match perfectly the way you feel. 

Taking a deep breath, you get ready to leave your hotel room, calling a taxi to take you to your ex-boyfriend’s house. While you’re on your way, you can’t help but notice that insecure feeling pooling in your chest again, how you feel anxious and unsure about knocking on his door again. 

He did ask you to give him some time, you don’t want to disturb him, you don't want him to think that you can’t leave him alone. This is not what this is about, this is about something bigger than just the two of you and the end of your relationship, this is important, way more important than anything else you two might feel or need right now. 

His car is parked outside, signaling that he is home. Trying to ignore the way your heart is pumping blood into your veins at a crazy speed, you take several deep breaths while standing in front of his door, not having the courage to ring the bell. You can feel the hot tears threatening to spill out of your eyes already, but you hold it together, composing yourself to act like an adult, like an independent woman who has a baby growing inside her right now. 

The rain hasn’t stopped and somehow, it keeps falling heavier and heavier as time passes by. Your clothes are wet, your hair is soaked from standing on the front of his house, but there’s a warm hand touching your stomach absently, caressing the little bean that seems to support you so much already. 

With one final deep breath, you finally ring the bell, the anxiety making you fidget, as if you can’t stay still, waiting for him to open the door. Some minutes pass by, and you can’t help but find it weird that he is taking so long to open the door. So, out of urgency, you ring the bell again. 

You decide to look to the road, watching some cars passing by as you try to distract yourself from the fact that you are waiting to see him again. You notice the shadow of a person coming to the door, your heart racing in your chest as you get ready to look into his chocolate eyes again. 

But, as the door finally opens, you find yourself unable to move. Your eyes widen at the sight, your mouth slightly agape, not believing what you’re seeing right now. 

- Who is it, Sophs? - you hear Lewis’ voice, directing your eyes to his frame that comes into sight a few seconds later. 

Sophia, one of your best friends, the one you shared all your life details with, looking back at you with the guiltiest look on her face. Her hair is a mess, she’s wearing one of Lewis’ t-shirts - your favourite one, the one you used to wear every night while he was away for work, the feeling of comfort by being wrapped in his scent always lulling you to sleep in his absence. 

The man grows silent as his eyes land on you as well, not knowing what to do or say in this situation, definitely not expecting to see you, to have you knocking on his door in the middle of a rainy afternoon, only to find him with your best friend. 

A simple towel, loosely wrapped around his waist is the only thing that’s covering his lower body, his bare chest in full display and your vision goes blurry by the amount of tears that soon start escaping your eyes. 

- Lewis… - a shocked, desperate, questioning whisper leaves your mouth, your hand holding your stomach tighter, as if your conscience is telling you that you have something to hold on to, so your knees don’t give out right now.

You take one last glance at both of them, mindlessly showing them a quiet nod, a hurt one, connecting all the dots in your mind before turning your back to the two people that you never want to see again in your entire life, the sight and scenarios running through your mind being unbearable. The screaming feeling in your chest is so loud that you bet everyone around you can hear it, destruction and desperation hitting you again as you run out of his place, using all your strength to escape this horror movie that you got into. 

Your sobs are loud in the middle of the street while your tears mix with the raindrops that find their place in your skin, walking on the rain - feeling so hopeless, on the verge of wishing life to end up right here, right now, because there’s nothing left for you after all this. 

The only man you truly loved, the only one that made you feel cared for, loved, understood, seen. The one you would do everything for. After all the times you cherished him, supported him through his career, holding everything down at home so he could feel free enough to fly high, to conquer the world, even after knowing how you hated to be alone, how you would wish for him to never leave your side. You still did it for him, and you would go through hell to make your relationship work, to see him happy, only for him to feel like the world was his. You knew that was what he had to do, and you would be happy for him as well. Still, you built all your dreams around him, only for him to break it down into ashes, right in front of you.

And now, he crushed your heart into pieces in a matter of weeks, destroying every beautiful memory that you two shared over the years, betraying you in such a cruel, raw way, treating you like you meant nothing to him now, like you never did, actually. 

And your best friend. Sophia, your fucking best friend, the one you’ve known since you were four years old, the friend you grew beside, the one who became your soulmate, the one you would take on every adventure through life, the one you trusted with your life. 

The two together, their bodies entangled in between the sheets, in an unimaginable moment for the three - neither of you wanting things to really happen this way. 

In one last leap of faith, you call your brother, crying to him on the phone, begging to pick you up, not trusting your body nor anyone around you anymore. 

Waking up with a tear-stained face, an exasperated sigh leaves your body. Exhaustion really took over you once you got to your brother’s house, realizing that your current condition doesn’t allow you to run like a madwoman in the rain anymore. 

There’s already a tray of food on the bedside table, waiting for you to wake up, making a groan leave your throat as you hide your face in the pillows. Your head hurts, your mind feels insufferable, your body feels weak. You are not hungry, the last thing you want to think about right now is food. But then, you force yourself to switch your chip. There’s a life inside of you, growing by the day, even if you feel like dying. And if you can’t find the strength to survive for your own well being, it is your duty to do it for your baby. 

And that’s how you try to look at life for the first days, after everything that happened. Forcing yourself to eat, to drink enough water through the day, to go for a walk, to get some fresh air and some bits of a shy sun that insists on showing up from time to time for only a couple of minutes. 

Your loyal support, your brother, never left your side through it all. He was the one scheduling your first doctor’s appointment ever since you found out you were pregnant, wanting to know if his niece or nephew was okay, not wanting your emotional state to cause any damage to the baby. 

Finding out that you are already seven weeks pregnant came as a surprise to you, not realizing how fast time is passing by while you just seem to be living in slow motion. With a numb mind and a sore heart, everything seems harder to process. But nothing could have prepared you for the moment when you would get to hear your baby’s heartbeat. 

The fast, rhythmic sound of your baby’s small heart, creating an orchestral music that changed the entire environment around you, immediately triggering new tears to leave your eyes. But as surprising as it seems, these aren’t sad, heartbroken tears. These are new ones, the kind that you haven’t felt in so long - the happy tears that seem to warm your insides as they slide through your cheeks. 

This is a turning point for you - you can feel it. It’s like the heartbeat of the small life that’s growing inside of you fills your veins with a sense of hope, of a type of love that you never felt, but the one you are needing now, more than never. It seems that the skies and all the gods got together to hear your prayers, your loud sobs and cries, gathering a solution to help mending your pain: your child, someone for you to take care of, to love, to cherish - a little one that will definitely put all of your pieces back together, helping you in ways that neither of you could ever understand.

And now, you realize how real this is. How you have a baby that’s part of you, that you will be able to hold in your arms if you are patient enough to wait eight more months - and brave enough to deal with all the changes that this period will bring to your life. 

Above it all, you understand that you can’t give up - on yourself, on life. You have a higher purpose, something that’s so much more important than just an ex-boyfriend, making every past event seem so small and unimportant when compared to how badly your baby needs you. 

You are its shelter, its home. You are the only thing your child has right now, and you can’t fail the most important role of your life, from now on. Looking at the little bean on the ultrasound’s screen, a gentle smile finally paints your features. There’s your future, your reason to hold on tight to life again, your reason to continue living, the small glimpse of hope that will help you find the beauty in everything again.

It’s with your head lifted and with an undimmed heart that you leave the doctor’s appointment. Feeling lighter than air, your fingers gently wipe the tears that last escaped from your eyes, letting out a sigh that seems to relieve all the weight that has been lying on your shoulders, lately. It amazes you how the little glimpse of life inside of you has the power to change your life in such profound ways. 

You’re willing to change, things really need to change. You can’t just continue to pretend that you’re living, while rotting in bed all day, silently crying to a pillow, allowing your body to immerse itself in these destructive feelings and thoughts. You need to be strong for your child, regardless of everything that happened. 

Lewis is a matter of the past, now. Anything that he might have done doesn't matter to you anymore, it’s not your business to keep him in your mind for hours on end, making you feel like you’re the worst person in this world. 

For the past few weeks, all you did was allow your mind to consume you, your brightness, your will to live. You felt like you were dying inside, but looking back now, you realize how crazy you were for even thinking that. You’re not dying inside, you’re rebirthing, literally creating a new life inside of your body, one that will step on this land and make every flower blossom again, allowing the sun to shine even brighter in your direction. 

With the determination to create a better future for yourself and your kid, you pack your bags, leaving your brother’s house. You thank him for everything he has done for you, and for all of the things that he will keep doing, holding you when you need it the most. But it’s time to start a new chapter of your life, after weeks of mourning the loss of something that was never really yours. 

Moving to a new place, in a new city just thirty minutes away from your family - not too far, but not too close to constantly remind you of your past, you prepare yourself for the new life you will have from now on.

Now, the rain doesn’t show up as much as it used to. Now, the sun comes out for longer, illuminating your desk at your new work, invading the curtains of your new house, playing with your features as it illuminates your eyes, shining in your hair, emphasizing the way your bump grows through the weeks. 

The changes are fast, your body preparing itself to all your baby’s needs. Excitement grows by the day, erupting through you the more you find out about your little savior. 

It’s a girl, you just recently found out, and her name just immediately resonated inside of your mind, of your chest: Hope. The one who came to your life to show you the light, to save you, to guide you through a different path, to mend your heart and shush away all your pain.

Even if there are days that feel as unreachable and lonely as the stars that hang tall on the dark sky of the night, making you sense that you are living only on a few mortal verses of your life, through the pages of the book on your lap, there’s always a calming, warm hand that travels through your baby bump, helping to ground yourself, to let you know that you are not alone, and you won’t even have to feel like you are anymore - you found yourself a life partner, one that will forever be by your side.

Now, you keep yourself busy by buying lots of pink and purple clothes, decorating your little girl’s nursery with soft tones, ones that symbolize peace and quiet, hope and renovation - the sensations she brings into your life. 

You created a photo album for little Hope, one that already has all the ultrasound pictures inside, the beginning of your princess’ life being something so important for you to keep safe inside the pages of the album already. 

Most of your clothes stopped fitting you already, reaching your fifth month of pregnancy. The dresses got looser, your bump developing in the most gracious way you have ever witnessed, like a baby bird, safely nestling itself on its mother’s wing. 

The kaleidoscope of butterflies that erupted through your entire being on the moment you first felt your girl moving inside of you, is indescribable. The proof that every day, you are one day closer to meeting your baby girl, now, finally becomes even more real as your fingers gently touch your belly to meet her soft kicks, meeting your soulmate even before she arrives in this world. 

Now, your smile appears more often on your lips, picking up some flowers from your garden as the sun warms your skin. Even if you don’t have an excuse for most of the goodbyes you had to say when you left your old house, the newfound feeling of peace and love growing inside of you by the second, make everything worth it. It’s just you and your baby girl, your parents and your brother that come and visit you often, and the expectation of a bright future.

Everything truly felt like a dream, until that fateful morning when you woke up with the sound of thunder hitting. It’s been a while since you’ve heard the sound that could make your insides shake with fear, making your heart race in your chest as you were startled by the storm. 

You have been feeling off the entire day, your body was sore, you felt light headed and weak, almost on the verge of passing out if you allowed your knees to collapse. For hours, you felt absolutely exhausted, even if you had just gotten out of bed after sleeping for an entire night. Your stomach felt weird, making you lose all your appetite, even if you would try and force some food inside your body, thinking about your little Hope’s well-being.

Throughout the day, some cramps occupy your lower stomach, igniting a sense of insecurity in your brain. The pain grows more intense as the time goes by, mixing your senses with the dizziness surrounding your head. You try not to think much about it, imagining it can be just a bad day, lack of rest or just something that you ate that wasn’t good for you. But the spots of blood on your pyjama shorts are what caught your attention.

Panic immediately washes over you, sensing now that something might be really wrong, and your reflex kicks in, dialing 911 to get yourself an ambulance, not wanting to wait any longer, before something terrible happens. 

It all happened so fast, it felt like a blur to you, from the moment the paramedics got to your house, to the emptiness inside of you while lying on the hospital bed: surrounded by nurses, IV tubes, different machines connected to your body, you slowly open your eyes, feeling like you have just been sedated. 

Once you regain your consciousness, your hand reaches for one of the nurses’ arms. 

- Is my baby okay? What happened? Someone talk to me, please I need to know what happened. - you plead, only to be met with a sympathetic look on the nurse’s face.  - The doctor will be here soon to talk to you, ma’am, please just try to remain calm. - the lady holds your hand for some seconds before leaving your side. 

You’re in panic, your heart feels heavy and accelerated in your chest, trying to understand what happened, why no one is telling you anything, so your hand reaches for your source of love and comfort: your baby.

Your fingers gently caress your bump, grazing along your skin as you decide to touch your favorite spot, the one where your baby always touches back, meeting you through the barrier of your skin. After some attempts of touching the same place, your heart drops when you realize that your baby isn’t touching back, and you definitely don’t feel her moving in your belly anymore. And, as much as you try to keep calm, convincing yourself that maybe it’s just the effect of all the medication they are giving you, your maternal instinct can’t stop ringing inside of you, letting you know that something is definitely not right. 

There’s not a single detail about the doctor’s face that helps calming you down one bit, once he enters the room. The man has a closed facial expression, looking as if he has been thinking about what he has to tell you. And, deep down, you already knew. 

He takes a stool, using it to sit next to your bed, so he could be eye level with you. There’s a sigh escaping his body, a heavy one, one that doesn’t bring good news attached to it.

- How are you feeling, Y/N? - he asks, briefly checking your vitals on one of the screens beside you. 

You know he is trying to make small talk, trying to find a way to initiate the conversation, until he has the guts to touch the topic he is currently avoiding. 

- Doctor, I just want to know how my daughter is doing. Please, I have the right to know what’s going on. I need to know. - your voice is cracking already, some small tears are making their appearance on the corners of your eyes. Your heart already knows, you can’t keep denying it. At this point, you’re just begging for someone to burst the bubble for you.  - Y/N… There were some unexpected complications, and we did everything we could, but unfortunately we weren’t able to save her… I’m very sorry for your loss. - his words come off slowly, weighted while showing you an understanding look, breaking down the news of a reality that you don’t want to face.

Soon enough, your body is met with an empty, cold room again, the deafening silence filling your veins as you cry out every emotion in your being to the point of exhaustion. Your baby girl is gone. The light of your life, the company that would never leave your side, the reason why the sky would be filled with such bright, beautiful colors at the end of every day. 

What if you die with all of the colours? In the same way that the sky turns black after the sunset, following the clouds that dress the dark blue, turning it into a painful shade of dark grey, reaching black while the moon stands tall in the atmosphere, only to hide behind one of the clouds. In this moment, your life has lost all meaning, all color surrounding your days. After this, what’s the reason to keep going? 

After Hope, the flood in your eyes, pouring from your heart, is everything you have left. Now, you won’t get to see the color of her eyes once you would finally cradle her in your arms, you won’t get to smell her hair, to touch her small, soft hands. Right now, the only thing you have left of her are the thoughts and dreams of all the nights when you imagined what she would look like. But that's just a dream that won't come true anymore.

Even while being in your belly, your daughter was able to hold you, to put together all your missing pieces. She gave you the sleep and all the dreams you needed to survive, every time her small fingers touched yours through your bump, hugging you the way she could. 

Maybe that was the purpose of her short passage through this dimension of life: to teach you more about the purest love that lives inside of us, and not on anyone else. But right now, the only thing you can do is cry and scream, question God and life, wanting to know why this is happening to you. Why did they have to take your baby girl away from you? 

You were never a fan of storms, until you felt the thunder hitting inside of you, wrecking you apart, ripping you to shreds, destroying every good thing that was left of you. And as the rain outside grows heavier, your heart can’t help but see them as the tears of your little one. The drops falling outside, hitting your window, are the tears of the ones who left already, missing their loved ones who stayed in this world - that are missing them in the same way, especially the ones who left way too soon, like your little princess. 

He doesn’t really know why, but ever since that rainy afternoon when you ran away from his house with a tear-stained face, Lewis was left with a heavy heart, like the echo of thunder - one that hasn’t left him for the past five months, constantly pumping inside of his chest, not giving him any rest.

He regrets what he did to you, he truly does. There’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about you, and there’s nothing more that he wants than to talk to you, look into your eyes again, letting you know how sorry he is: for the woman who left his bed, for making love the way he saved for you inside his head. 

Lewis still dreams about you, every single night. And since you are no longer next to him, all he wants to do lately is lay down, so his mind can bring you closer to him again, making it seem like all his mistakes have been erased, holding your figure in his arms gently like he used to love so much. 

But, every night, he ends up being tortured by his own mind, his guilty conscience not letting him rest while he replays every single thing that happened on the last day he saw you. Every time he washes his body, he thinks about the way his limbs were entangled with another woman’s, in between the same bed he used to love you in. Looking back now, it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth losing you, over some stupid one night fantasy, trading the love of a lifetime for someone who he never wants to see again, after his mind captured the heartbreak in your eyes. 

When he lies in his bed, his mind wishes your scent would still be in his sheets, calming down his racing heart to sleep. And it could be, having him not decided to bring another woman over - losing every bit of your existence that still lingered in his place.

His heart shrinks in his chest every time he remembers every detail of your skin, the precious features he used to hold safely in his hands while his lips would shower you with love. It’s you: the one for him, the missing piece in his heart, the half of his being that seems to disappear and never come back again. Your silence destroys him, and even while being blocked on your phone, he still insists on dialing your number every morning, almost falling in love with your voicemail message that seems to never abandon him, repeating your voice over and over again, even when his mind threatens to forget about it. 

Deep down, he knows he lost you - for good. But, for some reason, inside his mind, it’s like you just said ‘be right back!’, like you would tell him across the living room, when you would go out to do some grocery shopping. 

And even if he knows that he lost you, and that you don’t even want to look at his face again after everything he did, his heart can’t help but force him to wait, patiently looking at the dry flowers that you used to water before you left, that ended up dying, like all the love you held for him - waiting for you to open the door again, flashing him your bright smile at the sight of the love of your life lying in bed, waiting to cuddle you, so the love between your bodies can blossom again, the house can feel as bright as before, the flowers can come back to life. 

It hurts him to realize that you said goodbye, even after not really being here. Not talking to him, not wanting to hear everything that he has to say to you after you caught him in the most shameful moment of his life. And just like a fallen fighter, lying on the ring, waiting for the empty room, Lewis still waits for your love, even if that’s the last thing he will do with his life. 

There’s still some loose notes that he found around his place, love notes that you used to write him before you left for work, so your boyfriend could wake up to some loving messages from you - that and that he makes sure to keep reading on a daily basis now, to remember how much you used to love him, and how he managed to lose the most precious thing that has ever appeared in his life. 

I have the name of a flower when you call me. But, when you touch me, I don't even know if I'm water, a girl or an entire field of flowers that has crossed through me. - another letter reads, making tears tingle in the man’s brown eyes as his soul feels emptier by the day, when you’re not by his side. 

It’s hard for Lewis to pull through every hour of every day, knowing that you’re not in his life anymore, the reason why his heart would beat faster, making everything seem so dull without your giggles as the soundtrack of every moment you two would share. 

But nothing could prepare Lewis for the instant he ran into your mother. It was supposed to be just a normal, quick trip to the nearest pharmacy, so he could buy some vitamins, feeling a cold starting to get to him. 

His eyes darted through the space while he waited for someone to call his number in line. And that’s when his eyes landed on your mum, the nice, sweet lady that always accepted him in her family, as if he was her own son. 

Her hands are full with different boxes of pills, and his eyebrows furrow - could she be sick? Her face doesn’t make it seem like the lady is sick, but instead, she looks rather down, and he can’t help but notice how she’s all dressed in black, almost as if she was mourning the loss of someone. 

His heart can’t help but hurt at the thought of something happening to you, but he doesn’t feel the courage in himself to reach for the woman, to try and ask what happened, not after all the damage that he caused his daughter. 

Even if he tries not to stare too much at her, your mother recognizes him when she’s getting ready to leave the pharmacy, and she’s the one approaching Lewis. He can’t help but feel himself growing afraid of what your mother is about to tell him, this being the first time he gets the chance to talk to someone from your family, after everything that happened. But, somehow, the woman’s sad eyes let him know that she’s not reaching out to berate him.

- Hi Lewis… I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s something that I think you should know. - your mum’s tone is serious, alongside her closed facial expression, and that’s enough to startle your ex-boyfriend even more, growing worried that something actually might have happened to you. 

Walking outside the pharmacy into a secluded corner of the parking lot - trying to escape the heavy rain that insists on falling from the sky, Lewis keeps noticing how your mum’s breathing sounds heavy, like she is carrying all the weight of the world on her shoulders, and his anxiety just continues growing in anticipation. 

- Is everything alright, Carol? - Lewis asks, trying not to pressure the woman to talk, but feeling his nerves boiling with concern. 

His ex-mother-in-law takes a deep sigh, looking him in the eyes. 

- You were an absolute prick for what you’ve done to Y/N, everybody knows that. But still, I think you have the right to know, since you were the father… - your mum speaks softly, but still with some bitterness evident in her tongue.

Lewis’ face immediately scrunched at the word ‘father’. He was the what? 

- Excuse me, what? - he can’t help but interrupt your mother’s train of thought, not understanding what she’s trying to tell him right now.

The thing is, your mother knew that Lewis’ didn’t know about the loss, but she thought he knew that you were pregnant. But no, he didn’t. He didn’t know anything. And it takes a second for her to realize it, but once she does, a deeper sigh escapes her lips. 

- Y/N was pregnant, Lewis… when all of that happened between you two… She was already carrying your child, she found out when she was six weeks pregnant. I thought she had told you. - the woman briefly explained, making Lewis’ eyes widen, his mouth hanging open, at a complete loss for words at what he is finding out, now. 

No, you didn’t tell him, and now he understands why. That morning, when you showed up at his place, you were going to tell him. But you ended up not doing it, due to the miserable picture that you met once the door opened. 

Lewis forcefully closes his eyes, wishing things could go back to normal once he opens them again, but they can’t. There’s a whirlwind of new information swirling around his brain, and he is struggling to keep up, to let it sink in, but he feels like all the air just got ripped out of his lungs. However, there’s still more to come. 

- No, I didn’t know, unfortunately. But, you said she ‘was’...? - These last words leave his mouth slowly, a whisper that he is scared to unravel if he speaks louder, not wanting to come to terms with a harsher reality. 

Carol just nods her head ‘yes’, visibly growing emotional as Lewis feels his entire world collapsing around him, now. 

- There were some unexpected complications… Y/N rushed to the hospital, she said she was in a lot of pain, the doctors admitted her immediately… But unfortunately, they couldn’t save the baby. Her name was Hope. Your daughter, my granddaughter. - your mum is now fully crying as the pain still feels fresh on her skin. The woman covers her eyes with her hands momentarily, while Lewis is just looking around in pure shock, feeling some tears showing up on his eyes as well. 

He feels a part of himself dying as well, just by knowing that he was going to be a dad, a girl dad, his biggest dream ever. The love of his life was expecting his baby, and not only was he dumb enough to waste everything you two had, but he also wasn’t by your side while you were going through the worst moment, the greatest loss of your entire life. 

And for some seconds, your mum and Lewis just silently share the tears escaping their eyes, the man not really knowing what to say after this bomb that just dropped in his chest. 

- Was there someone else with her? - he finally speaks up, not knowing if you decided to restart your life with someone else, or if your family was by your side through this hard time.  - She only told us about it once she left the hospital… We went to visit her after, but unfortunately she was there all alone when all that was happening, oh my poor baby girl. - the woman’s cries are the ones of a mother who couldn’t protect her daughter, be there for her when she needed it the most… just like the sobs leaving your body every night, because you were not able to save your princess. - But believe me, Lewis: that baby was a little fighter. Just like her mum. 

His hands rub his face, a sigh escaping his figure now as well, not really wanting to believe that all of this is real. 

- And how is she? -  Lewis asks, thinking about your state, how you must be feeling terribly, how badly you must need someone to be by your side, and how desperately he feels the need to reach for you, to mourn the loss of the angel that was half of you and half of him. - These are for her. - your mum shows him the meds she just bought. - Physically, she is still recovering, but emotionally, she is absolutely destroyed, Lewis. I am afraid that I lost my little girl forever, as well. She will never be the same again. - your mother can’t help but share a hug with Lewis, the man who loved you, who made your sparkle shine for so long, the one everyone thought would be your ‘forever’. And also the one who lost you as well, without any chance of getting you back.  - Anyway, my son will be visiting her tomorrow, so he can bring her this medication, and right now, the only thing we can do is give her time. It will take her a long while to recover from all this. - the woman says, wiping away her tears as she tries to compose herself. 

At her words, Lewis’ brain lights up with an idea. 

- Can I come with him? Please, I need to see her. I need to see her more than ever now. - he pleads, seeing the way your mum’s face closes again, her features so similar to yours, definitely not thinking it’s a good idea. - Please, Carol. You said it earlier, I have the right to know, I have the right to talk to her, at least one more time. It was my baby as well, and I didn’t even know anything about her! -  Lewis insists, trying to get the woman to give in to his begging.  - Well, we all know why you didn’t know a thing about your daughter, Lewis. - the words hit him like a ton of bricks, making him go silent for a minute, knowing that she is right. He didn’t know anything about his child, because he made the dumbest, worst mistake of his entire life. 

But, if there’s something that Lewis might be thankful for, is the soft spot in your mum’s heart for him. Deep down, she just wished everything could go back to normal, to the way things were before, so she could look into her daughter’s eyes and see the sunshine on them again, instead of having to deal with the pain of seeing you so miserable. Your mother doesn’t know how you are going to react to the sight of Lewis being in front of you again, but she can only hope that maybe it might help you in some way, softening your broken heart, as you share the pain of losing something so dear to both of you, that you never got to meet. So, sighing, she gives in. 

- Okay, maybe you can go with Simon. But if you mess this up one more time, I’m never looking at your face ever again, Lewis. You need to keep in mind that this is partially your fault, as well. You can’t just meet her and think that you will win my daughter over again, because that won’t happen. I’m warning you. - the woman says to him, before finally entering her car and driving away. 

Lewis walks inside his car as well, taking a deep breath as he leans his head on his seat. Finally, the tears fall free from his eyes as he allows himself to feel everything in his bones. Every information, every mental image of you pregnant, suffering alone, losing your baby.

And he wasn’t there. And he didn’t know about it. He wasn’t there to go with you to your doctor appointments, to hear his daughter’s heartbeat, to caress your belly, to rub your feet once they started swelling, to hold your hair back when your morning sickness got the best of you. He was the father of that baby. He should have been there all along, by your side. And he didn’t, because of one dumb, unreasonable decision that he randomly made on one night, just because he was feeling bored to spend the night alone. 

Now, everything makes sense. Your hand in your belly once he saw you at his door, the regret, pain, splattered all over your eyes as you took in the scene unfolding inside his house, the definition of another woman’s touch on his body. 

He feels sick to his stomach, grossed out by himself, not bearing to be inside his own body right now. The man punches the steering wheel one time after the other, sobs and screams leaving his frame as he feels an inexplicable anger growing inside of him. But he is not angry at you - he could never be. He is angry at himself, at his actions. 

What if he had chosen to run after you, on that rainy afternoon? What if he had decided to follow his gut, that was telling him to meet you, to not let you go. Maybe things would be different - or not. At least, maybe you could have told him about the pregnancy, maybe he could have been a bit more involved in your baby’s small existence. 

But instead, he decided to leave you alone, not wanting to put salt in your wounds even further. Little did he know that he was just starting a storm inside of you, leaving you to deal with the consequences of it all by yourself. 

The raindrops are loud when they hit his car windows, almost as if they’re trying to muffle the loud cries escaping the man’s body, so the world couldn’t hear how destroyed he is right now. 

When you needed him the most, he didn’t show up. He didn’t feel any urgency in coming to your place after promising you the future and ripping every shred of hope out of your soul, playing with your feelings, stringing you along and masking it as if it was nothing, seeing the desperation in your features, the hurt painted in your eyes, so devastatingly that it could send bullets straight to his chest.

The only thing he gave you was the discouragement of a broken heart, of a lonely soul who lost everything it once had. But desire is the limit of the mere mortals, and wishing he could make it different right now, is the only thing he can do, but it won’t change a thing. He ruined the most important thing of his life, and above all, he lost the chance of growing the happiest of families by your side, ruining it so hard that he didn’t even get to meet his daughter. 

Your mother’s words echo through his mind. A little fighter, just like her mum, and he can’t stop thinking about how life has been so cruelly good to him lately: standing high on podiums, travelling through the world, succeeding in each task he would dedicate himself to. While you were suffering, in pain, crying, alone, bleeding for your baby, losing part of yourself in the process, while he had no clue about what was going on: his daughter, that would desperately need a father to hold her, to protect her, to lull her to sleep. One that never got to touch her mother’s belly to meet her small hand, to speak to her, to kiss her through the skin on the bump she comfortably used to lay. One that she didn't get to meet while she was still breathing. 

How could he dare to even feel an ounce of happiness in his body, even when his mind would feel heavy with the thought of you? While you were yelling out of desperation, the sound almost reverberated in his lungs, making him feel like something wasn’t right. While you were trembling out of agony, feeling yourself dying in seconds on that fateful day. Only to be heard, comforted by strangers. When he should have been there, he should have been better to you.

And on that night, Lewis can’t even fall asleep. Tears keep falling free from his eyes as it almost feels as if he can hear the sounds of your screams echoing through the walls of his house, in the same way they reflect all the tears that escaped your eyes on the last days that you’ve been to his place.

His house feels haunted, by the thoughts of everything that you had to go through alone, and by the idea of him being father of a soul that briefly passed through this earth, but that he didn’t get the chance to meet.

His daughter, Hope. What a beautiful name you chose for her, Lewis couldn’t have chosen a better one. His mind rushes to put your features together, so he could maybe try and imagine what his princess would look like, if she has had a chance to breathe in the scent of all the flowers in this land and feel the rays of sunshine hitting her soft baby skin.

After the storm, lightning stops radiating through the skies, only reverberating inside of you, after taking your baby away from you. Every time it rains, you picture your baby’s cries, how you could nestle her on your chest, kiss her forehead softly and calm her down. And when the rain stops, the calm that remains is more of a void than a relief. 

Three weeks have passed by since your baby girl’s heart stopped beating. Three weeks of immeasurable pain, missing her, her touches, her company so, so much. Right now, you have nothing to hold on to. So you just force yourself to stay until late at your office, glued to your laptop screen, filling all your hours with work, so you can forget about everything else, so your mind doesn’t have enough time to think about anything else. 

Everyone else around you would say that you have been acting like a robot, lately. Living on autopilot, burying yourself in work duties, getting little sleep, eating late at night inside of your car - in the rare moments that you remember that you need to eat.

It’s not as if you don’t want to eat nor rest. That just doesn’t seem to be a crucial part of what surviving means to you, lately. Life took away from you the most beautiful things you once had. Your relationship, that used to feel like a dream. Your baby, that came to you to save you, to be in your arms and glue all your broken pieces together. Now, you are left with nothing.

The only reason why you keep pushing through the days, is because you need to. In your mind, you are the common factor to both losses you suffered in the past months, so maybe you are the problem. Maybe you aren’t good enough to keep anyone by your side for long enough. 

Maybe you did something so wrong that Lewis just grew tired of you, wanting a break from you and everything you represented in his life. And maybe that’s why your baby couldn’t stick around until her time came to meet this world, to meet you: her mother, who carried her alone until her last breath. 

Not a day goes by where your eyes won’t shed some silent tears, but ever since you lost the light of your life, you feel so lifeless, that it’s like you can’t even feel a thing inside of you anymore, just letting the tears fall free while barely feeling them on your skin.

You feel like your baby can be watching you from above, like the little angel she is. Maybe that’s why you haven’t given up on life yet. Hope can definitely see how bereft you are, noticing that you haven’t been doing too well. This is not the mummy she knew and loved. The mummy she met was healing, thanks to her. It had a lighter heart to her, and was on the way to find the peace of mind that she so desperately deserved and wanted. Mummy smiled more, especially when Hope would stretch her tiny hand to talk to mummy. 

But that’s not who you are, anymore. Once again, you are left with desperation, with your broken, empty heart to hold, to try and mend. But you’re not mending it anymore. You just keep living because you deserve to suffer, you deserve to take all the punishments from not being able to save your daughter, to be there for her when she needed you the most. Your body failed her, and that’s why she’s no longer here.

If you are telling the truth, you hate that you are here again: in this dark place, in the middle of a void that doesn’t allow you to breathe, living through the struggle of just wanting to cave, never wanting to fight, dying inside. Of being lonely all the time. You should say sorry to the friends you’ve lost due to your isolation, to your family, from pushing them away most of the time. 

You regret a lot of things and you owe a lot of apologies to a lot of people, but mostly: you are sorry to yourself. This was never your intention, this isn’t how you wished your life would go. And you could promise you will get help and actively start trying to live. But that would be an empty promise. And you just truly are sorry that you lost yourself for good, this time. You wish you could fall into a deep sleep, begging for someone only to wake you up once all of this is over and the old you has reappeared. But for your old version to show up, you needed to have your baby girl in your arms. There’s no way you can be yourself without Hope close to you. 

You need time, of course you do. But that won’t bring you back. With time, the rivers and the hills will come closer. And with time, the thing that will start eating out of your hand and nest in your bed, is just one: silence.

In the afternoon, Lewis feels the anxiety running through his body as he gets ready to hop in the car with your brother, Simon - another person he hasn’t seen since you two had broken up.

The car ride is filled with an uncomfortable silence between the two men, neither of them speaking much besides the time when your brother told Lewis how you decided to move to this small town, around thirty minutes away from your parents house. 

Apart from that, they don’t really quite know what to say to the other. Your ex-boyfriend notices how Simon is also dressed in black, just like your mum was, and he looks down at himself, noticing how he unconsciously chose a pair of black jeans and a dark grey sweater, feeling like he lost someone important to him as well, even if most people don’t think he has the right to feel this way.

Lewis can feel this tension growing in between them, feeling in his bones how your brother is resenting every single thing that your ex-boyfriend did to you, realizing how hard it must be for Simon to sit beside him again, especially while driving him to meet you. 

If he was being honest, your brother was against this idea of Lewis knowing where you live right now, of him going there to interrupt your moment, thinking he can even feel half of all the pain that you have been through lately, most of it being caused by him and his selfish, self-centered attitudes. 

Knowing you like the back of his hand, your brother is sure that you won’t enjoy Lewis’ visit. But maybe, just by looking deep into your eyes and seeing the way you will reject him, will make the man finally back down, giving up on bothering you even further, on finally leaving you to try and recover. 

When Simon finally stops the car, Lewis’ heart races in his chest, making him feel so small and insignificant when compared to the importance of this moment right here, right now. Leaving the car, he follows your brother, who walks inside a dark green gate, leading to a small garden in front of a house. 

Unlike every other day, today isn’t raining. The light grey clouds are still standing high in the sky, but there’s a glimpse of sun in the horizon, one that gently lights up the day. Lewis finds your silhouette, sitting on a bench, your eyes fixed on the timid sun rays that seem to entice your gaze. 

Your brother is the one taking the first step, walking to the front of you, so your eyes can meet the guy who never left your side through it all. You slowly get up, wrapping your arms around Simon’s body gently in a warm hug, the only source of comfort that you allow yourself to feel from time to time. 

Simon is looking back at Lewis, and you follow his eyes, turning around to feel your world squeezing your body, tightening around you to the point it hurts to breathe, with the unwanted presence of the man who threw the first rock that made your glass start to shatter, until it completely broke down. 

Lewis is completely silent and frozen in place, like his mind has forgotten all about words and movements. He can’t believe his eyes. The first sight of the love of his life, after five months of not seeing each other, is brutal. You are all dressed in black, looking thinner than the last time he saw you. Your hair is longer now, and you use it to cover most of your features, but the dark bags under your eyes are still evident. 

In a silent exchange of glances, neither of you dares to say a thing, until Lewis finally feels the strength in his legs to slowly walk over to you. His steps are heavy, contrasting with the way his knees feel like they could buckle at any second. And when he gets as close as he physically can to you, his eyes meet yours again. 

The eyes that once held all the hopes and dreams of a life by his side, that would shine in the moonlight, while lying next to him in between the sheets of his bed, the ones who used to mirror all the love stringing along both of your bodies. They are, now, as empty as a dark, abandoned street, whose most hidden corner can’t even be recognized at night. The eyes that he once knew how to read as if they were his favorite book, are now the ones who scare him, the void inside of your soul visible through the gate that your gaze allows. 

Lewis’ own eyes are flooded with tears now, not even caring about wiping away the tears that fall down his cheeks. His trembling hand is slowly reaching for your face, gently putting some strands of hair away from your features, so he can see you in your plenitude: the emotionless expression, the dark eyes that seem lifeless. When his fingers start caressing your cheek lovingly, his breathing gets caught in his throat, noticing how cold your body feels against his touch. 

- It’s me, Y/N… I’m here, love. I know it took me a long while, but I’m here now. - he cries, only to be met with silence from your side. 

You don’t mind replying to him, not feeling an ounce of any feeling or sensation through your body. You don’t hold any grudges, any remorse. You’re not angry nor sad at him anymore. To tell the truth, you don’t feel any kind of emotion towards Lewis anymore. The only feeling that you allow to inhibit inside of you, is the pain and guilt of losing your baby, of not being able to protect her, as you were supposed to. And that’s the only thing that makes you feel angry at yourself: the heaviest weight that you will carry forever on your shoulders. 

So you just stay silent, even if the man in front of you is begging you to say something. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing to do after every event that took place in your life for the past five months. Instead of speaking, your eyes just try to look through him, inside the soul who you once thought to be yours, but that, in reality, it always belonged to the world, and never to only you.

Lewis’ eyes dart from your face to your belly, and his hand yearns to land a small touch on it, as if he will get to feel the heartbeat, the movements of his daughter that he didn’t get to meet while he could. However, the man prevents himself from doing it, trying for a second to imagine the indescribable amount of pain that gesture would bring you. 

Breaking down in front of you, the man crumbles, wrapping his arms around you tightly, bringing you close as his head rests on the crook of your neck, sobbing into your frame. This used to be his favorite place in the whole world: your neck, your chest, where he would search for your warmth, where he used to lay his head to drift off to the most peaceful of all sleeps when he desperately needed a rest, one that would allow him to switch off all the worries inside of his brain. That’s the power you used to have on him. 

And now, he can’t even feel the softness of your skin anymore, being met with the barrier of the black turtleneck you’re wearing, feeling like a wall made of stone, preventing him, and the rest of the world, from getting access to you again.

Underneath the fabric of your shirt, he knows what he would find: the sharpness of your bones, the coldness of your fragile body that has been through so much, instead of the enticing scent of yours, the collarbone lines that were once soft under his lips. 

Still, he holds you as close as he possibly can, almost trying to glue all your pieces back together, but he doesn’t feel your arms wrapping around his body at any moment. 

You are staying still, your arms on the sides of your body, limp, without a reaction. You don’t reciprocate his touch one bit, not feeling like you should try to console someone who simply decided to leave your life. But still, you allow him to find his home in you again, even if it’s just for a brief moment, while his face is ducked in the crook of your neck, hiding from his actions, from the world outside of this moment. 

Your eyes are staring at the emptiness of the air, noticing how numb you feel as you hear the man’s loud sobs and cries, feeling how his arms are desperately touching your figure, scared that you might run away again if he lets go of you, scared that he might drown in his sorrow if you don’t hold him up. But his pain doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. It’s not yours to deal with anymore. He wasn’t there for you when the most painful tears were staining your crimson cheeks, when your throat hurt from screaming so loud when you lost your baby, when you bled for days, only to deal with your destruction by yourself. 

And after giving him the bit of home that he can still find in yourself for a moment - even if you feel like you have nothing else inside of you to give, you finally take a step back, leaving his hold, his touch. 

Lewis is left clutching the air, his breathing ragged, a shocked expression on his face. Desperation fills the man’s body, destruction coming along with it because this wasn’t just a step back from his hold, and he knows it. He knows how badly he fucked up, he knows the pain he caused to your life. You’re no longer his, and he knows what that step back from him actually means: for as long as you’re breathing, you will never be his again. 

- I know you were going to tell me about the pregnancy, and we both know why you ended up not doing it. But baby, you should have come to me either way, after everything that happened. I should have been there for you, it was my responsibility to be there for you, my love. - Lewis’ face is stained with tears as he tries to reason with you, feeling a heartache so strong inside of him that could kill him right then and there. 

His voice is gentle, even if he’s hurt. Your presence is making him feel so guilty that he tries to use the loving pet names to make you soften up a bit more for him, reminding you of what you two once had, hoping it could help ease the heavy weight on his shoulders, alongside the agonizing pain in his chest.

But again, his tears and begs don’t make you feel anything. 

- It was my loss, so it is mine alone to deal with. - you say, your tone hoarse and cold. The first time he hears your voice again, after so long, without it being through your voicemail message. And your words sting, hard, in his heart.  - It wasn’t only your loss, Y/N… I was the father of that little girl. I had the right to know, to hear her heartbeat, to see the ultrasounds, to dream about a life with her in my arms, just like you did. - the salty tears don’t stop falling from Lewis’ eyes, feeling completely wrecked by the moment, by your harsh words. 

For a moment, you look down at your hands, fidgeting with your own fingers while biting your tongue, finding no point in arguing, in letting him know all the harm he caused you. He’s not stupid, he knows all about that. Your gaze travels through your ring finger, that still has the tan line of that damn promise ring he gave you, one that you wore for so many years - and a bitter chuckle escapes your lips, remembering all the empty promises he made, but never kept. 

- She stopped being your daughter the exact moment I went to your place to let you know I was expecting, only to find you lost in another woman’s arms. Mind you, not just any woman, but my childhood best friend. All of that because you needed time away from me, right? Because you needed a break. - your words are sharp as a knife, and you nod your head at his silence now. - Exactly, Lewis. You were never her father, you didn’t deserve to know anything about my daughter. And I’m devastated that I lost her, it’s a pain that will never stop haunting me, but if I’m being honest, I’m so glad I never had a baby with you. 

It’s like the entire world collapses around Lewis, his heart feeling like it’s being punched over and over again by you, collecting every consequence of his actions, drinking the tears that never stopped spilling from his eyes since the moment he saw you. 

Turning your back to him, you grab your coat from the bench. 

- Tell mom and dad I love them. - you ask your brother, hugging him one last time before entering your car. 

Lewis is left a sobbing mess, his body almost giving in as he is the one sitting on the bench now, hiding his face in his hands as he lets out all the sorrow spill from his body, through the endless tears escaping him. 

This is it, for him. It’s the end of a dream that he prayed so hard to get back, but that slipped through his fingers, on his own will - he destroyed his own world. And right now, it doesn’t matter how he might scream loud and feral, pouring out his rawest emotions, how badly he might sob, missing you to death. He doesn’t do it for you anymore. And even if, deep down, you still love him, it doesn’t really matter anymore, because the two of you will never be in the same room again.

Your name slips from his lips a countless amount of times, whispering it as if it could bring you back, asking God why?, only to be met with the silence surrounding him, matching how silent you went when he hugged you, not feeling magnetized to him anymore - that silence that could be heard from afar, sounding louder than all the heartbreaking screams you let out on the day you lost your little light. 

Now, the sun won’t shine as bright as it used to before, for him. The flowers won’t have such beautiful colors, the earth won’t move so graciously. If the power of the understanding between two souls doesn't change the world, definitely no part of the world is exactly the same after two souls understand each other. And how badly does he miss the times you would understand the other so easily, so effortlessly, firmly believing you were made for each other.

After this, nothing will be able to mend Lewis again. He is paying for everything he has done to the love of his life, and no trophy or podium could ever replace the dark void that lives in his heart, now. No sun can erase what has already collapsed inside of him.

Driving away, you let out the deepest breath, your hands tightening around the steering wheel until your knuckles are turning white. The rage inside of you right now is enough to start a storm, to make the most scary of all thunders to erupt through the skies, but looking at your passenger seat, you remind yourself that you have more important things to do, now. 

Today marks the third week that you’ve lost your baby. In the morning, you went to the florist, buying a bouquet of pink carnations - the lady letting you know that they represent a love, or someone, that will never be forgotten. 

And now, as the sun starts getting ready to set on the horizon, you drive to the river near your house, the safe place you used to go when your morning sickness would get the best of you, when you feel lonely most of times, having no one by your side and finding some comfort in the birds flying around you, in the flowers blooming alongside the way. It’s a newfound tradition that you make sure to do every week, on the exact same day, living through the days in autopilot, until the day arrives. 

Near the river, the wind is cold but soft, gently pushing the hair from your face, drying all the tears from your face. Sitting on a bench near the water, your shadow is hugged by a tall tree that protects you from the rain, in case it decides to fall. 

This is your place now, your refuge. Where you come to cry, to speak to your daughter, knowing that she loved the time you two have spent here. The hours pass by fast when you’re paying attention to the warm, gentle, bright colors that invade the sky as the sun sets in front of you, while noticing the movement of the tide, how the water reflects the nature embracing you. 

You could forget to eat, to sleep, or to do some house chore. But you could never, ever, forget about the date you lost your baby, never forgetting to stop by the lovely florist that already has a new bouquet ready for you every week, never not sitting by the river at the end of the day.

It seems like this safe spot hugs your heart, caresses your broken soul, speaks to you in ways no one ever did. It’s like your little Hope lives here now, waiting for her mummy to come see her as she asks the skies to prepare the most beautiful sunset for your eyes to see. 

And as you throw the flowers into the water, you carefully see the way the tide hugs the petals away from you, slowly taking them out of your sight, just like life has taken away your baby girl from your hold. 

It’s a silent moment that speaks for your heart. It’s a hurtful I miss you, and I’m sorry I failed to protect you, I will always love you more than life, that you can’t seem to say verbally, just letting the tears fall down your cheeks as you see the seagulls flying in direction to the horizon, towards the light, searching for it, in the exact same way that you try to search for yours: for a light, a signal, a reason to keep going - even if she lives in the sky, now. 

[imtryingbuck]

A Mother’s Endless Love.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 1,687

Warnings: angst. swearing. death. talks of affairs. talks of past rape and being charged for it.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

The maid who answered the door looked absolutely terrified, her whole body flinched as they heard something smashing - Bucky could also hear loud voices coming from inside - the woman opened the door even wider and lets him in, she scurries away further in the large mansion and out of sight leaving Bucky on his own in the foyer.

Following the sound of raised voices coming from the living room, he stands by the doorway watching the scene in front of him. A satisfied smirk pulls at his lips. Eliza stands there with tears running down her face, her hands shaking as she begs Michael to calm down. He can’t help but wonder how many times Theo did the exact same thing, he wonders how many times Eliza let up and let her go. That makes his smirk drop.

“You paid two million to put a hit out on MY daughter!” Michaels face was bright red, his voice was low as he spoke. And if looks could kill… well Eliza would have been six feet under already.

“Actually it was five million.” Bucky corrected, both of their heads snapping towards him. He gives them a tight lipped smile.

“You what?��

“Yep. Five million for three men to shoot my wife, your daughter.”

Bucky had seen plenty of men angry before. Of course he had. But even when the anger was directed at him - and nine out of ten times it was - Bucky had never seen pure, all consuming anger before. He could practically see Michael’s blood bubbling from under the surface.

Michael says something that Bucky couldn’t quite understand before he turns to face his wife, he asked her if it was true.

“I-I-I did it for us Mike she was in the way! I needed her gone. Please let’s just forget about all this nonsense, she survived didn’t she? What’s the harm?”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Eliza’s whole body sags with relief whilst Bucky looks at him as if he had three heads on his shoulders. “I’ll see you soon.” He says before pulling his gun out, Eliza’s face pales and as she opens her mouth Michael pulls the trigger. Michael doesn’t even spare her a second glance as he walks past Bucky and goes to his office.

Pouring whiskey into two tumblers, Michael downed his before re-pouring. “I didn’t know until today, I had my suspicions but I thought if I got Theo out of the house Eliza would leave her alone. I was wrong.”

“How did you find out?”

“I overheard her talking to someone, it took ages for her to tell me the truth. I noticed that money had gone missing.” A dry chuckle falls from his lips as he shook his head. “She paid for my own daughter to be killed with my own money.”

Bucky nodded slowly, taking a gulp of his drink. “She should have had you killed. You know since you made her raise your affair child.”

“Believe it or not James in the twenty five years of marriage I never betrayed my wife. Not once. I found out Eliza was having an affair, I was devastated as expected, nine months later she gives birth to Matt. A few years go by and I meet this woman, it was never meant to happen but it did and James I don’t regret it, not one second. Jessica told me she was pregnant and I was over the moon, I was already planning on leaving Eliza because of after nearly thirty years I realised that what me and her had wasn’t love. I truly loved Jessica then Eliza found out about Jess three months after Theo was born, I went to the apartment that I had with Jess and” sinking further into the cushion and taking a deep breath, he continues. “and I found Jess bleeding with Theo in her arms, Eliza had shot her. She came out of the bathroom, we argued then she gave me the ultimatum save Jess or our baby”

Bucky’s heart sinks, he knows who Michael chose, and for a split second he feels for the man sat in front of him “Jess begged me to choose Theo, Eliza shot her in her heart whilst she was still holding our baby girl in her arms, she walked over to me whilst I watched my love die and kissed me on the cheek and told me she’ll be waiting for me at home” Both men just sit there and let the silence coat the air like a blanket.

After awhile Bucky sat further up “Why did you save Theo just to torture her all her life?“

“They were mainly done by Eliza and the girls, Bran would occasionally hurt her too. Matt never did, poor boy would try and protect her but it just made Eliza more mad. Every time I see her all I see is Jess and what I lost.”

“Did you even care? Care that your daughter who was born out of your affair was being beaten and raped by-“

“What do you mean raped?” Cutting the younger man off.

“You didn’t know? Your wife and daughters would charge men to rape Theo. Your sons in law were also charged”. Shrugging it off like it’s nothing even though it pains him to talk about what happened to his wife this way. He just doesn’t believe that Michael wasn’t aware of this.

Michael was known for many things but crying was not one of them, so when his burst out in a fit of tears Bucky struggled to sit still. “I-I didn’t know! Fuck! I swear James I didn’t know” Once again the room goes quiet, Bucky realises that the man sat in front of him truly didn’t know about what was happening to Theo. But that didn’t excuse his part in her pain and suffering.

Before Bucky can say anything Michael continues “I know what’s going to happen next and listen son I’m not going to try and stop you, just look after my little girl please and-“ standing up he walks over to the his desk, opening up a draw he fiddled with something Bucky couldn’t see “can you give Theo this please? It’s all I have of Jess. I had to hide this one from Eliza”

Handing over a silver thin photo frame, the photo inside is of a young beautiful woman smiling brightly at first glance he thinks it’s Theo. The similarities between his wife and her mom are so striking. The same smile, the same bright blue eyes, the same dimpled right cheek, the same twinkle in their eyes. 

Finding himself lost in the photograph of his mother in law, he wonders how much Theo is like her. He wonders if they had the same laugh, or if their voices were similar, did Theo get her love for painting from her mom? He wonders how close they would have been, would they have the same relationship as his own sister and mom had, where they were close and Theo could openly talk about everything and anything with no judgments? Even through a now old photo he can feel the warmth she no doubted gave off, he feels the sense of security and love in her eyes. His heart cracks as he knows what happens to the beautiful woman who looks so much like his wife. He feels sorry for this woman, murdered for loving the wrong man, the chance of seeing her only child grow up and become her own person was taken away from her without a second thought, punished all because she loved a man that wasn’t faithful to his wife. 

But yet he couldn’t help the feeling of anger trickle into his blood at the woman, she should have left Michael when he wouldn’t leave Eliza and then Theo would have grown up completely differently, a life full of love and not pain, a life without knowing how it feels to have her skin being broken and ripped apart. His heart clenches at the thought of Theo having a completely different upbringing, he knows their paths would have never crossed, he knows that he would of never felt true love if this woman staring back at him from the photograph, had just left.

“James, Theo’s original birth certificate is behind the photo and I know I’m already asking a lot from you but, but could you tell Theo I’m sorry for everything I did wrong to her and tell her I love her please?”

Bucky’s voice fails him so all he does is nod. Michael lets a small smile reach his aged face as he sits down at his desk where he pulls out a file “In here is my will. Everything is being left to Theo and you. It’s the least I can do. Please give her this too.” Michael takes out a necklace from his breast pocket, a heart shaped locket dangling from it. Sitting upright and straightening his tie “I’m ready now son”

Bucky pulls out his gun, finding himself glancing at the photograph and pulling it towards his heart - a way of protecting the woman who resembles his wife of not having to witness what he’s about to do. “This is for Theo and Jess”

Then a deafening bang goes off but he doesn’t flinch.

Sitting in the car with Steve to his left he holds the photo frame carefully and shows him what he’s looking at. “It’s Theo’s mom.” He smiles sadly.

“They look so much alike.” Steve gives him a sad smile too.

Bucky puts the frame down on his lap gently and takes out the locket, he opens it up and instantly smiles. On one side is a photo of Jess, and on the other is a baby photo of Theo.

Engraved on the outside of the heart shaped locket reads. ‘A Mothers Endless Love.’

“Vis take me home, please.”

Everyone in the car knows that he doesn’t mean the house that they live in, no he means Theo.

Theo’s his home.

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Tags: @sapphirebarnes @bellabarnes1378 @unaxv @skulliecadaver-blog @mrsnikstan @sebastians-love @pattiemac1 @julvrs @undf-stuff @violetwinterwidow01 @cjand10 @angrykitsune01

[flowersandskeletons526]

"When We All Come Home Alive" - Ajax/Rembrandt fic for the Warriors Concept Album

Okay so this is my first fic in two years so please be nice to me. This was written in a night because I absolutely could not get this out of my head. Enjoy!

-----

“Rembrandt, you gotta get up.”

Rembrandt did not want to get up. Lying on Cleon’s couch with her back to the room, she barely had the strength to shake her head. It had been two months since that awful night fleeing through the city, two months since Ajax was arrested, two months since they lost Fox and a little over a month since her funeral. Rembrandt found the strength to make her way to the service and give her eulogy but that was it. Cleon had been taking all the calls from Ajax. She ran messages between them like a long-suffering mediator because Rembrandt loved Ajax and everyone knew that but she was still so fucking mad. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself that she knew why Ajax went after the undercover cop, she couldn’t excuse what an absolute braindead decision it was.

She’d been furious and devastated and grief stricken and once all that anger finally faded, she was left like this: catatonic on the couch while the remaining six Warriors tried desperately to break her out of it. 

Cleon alternated between being the mother hen that she was at heart and trying to pull rank, but everyone knew all her threats of extra chores and dealing with new recruits were only attempts to get Rembrandt’s attention. Cochise and Cowgirl went the route of using her art, trying to get her to draw, asking if they could steal a few pages from her sketchbook which had always been a hard no. They dropped it as a lost cause when she actually said “go ahead.” Swan did nothing but sit beside her and make it clear she was there to talk when Rembrandt was ready. Rembrandt appreciated that. 

To everyone’s surprise, it was Mercy that got the most reaction. After Fox’s funeral, Rembrandt had refused to eat for almost a week. Cochise and Cowgirl were at their own apartment. Cleon and Swan were out on gang business, dealing with the Gramercy Riffs from what Rembrandt understood. Mercy came home - still such a weird thing for Rembrandt to think about - from her day job Cleon had secured for her. She went straight to her and Swan’s room like Rembrandt knew Swan had asked her to do. Let the rest of the crew deal with Rembrandt, she never took kindly to strangers, just let them handle it. 

Rembrandt heard the door open, close, and then open again. She forced herself to turn halfway over to see Mercy kneeling behind her with a takeout container of soup in her hands. “I know it’s not Nathan’s,” she had said gently, “but Swan told me it was one of your favorites.” Rembrandt liked her a lot more after that.

“Rembrandt!” Cleon said more forcefully, dragging Rembrandt back into reality. She rolled onto her back to look up at her leader. “Get up. Seriously. We’re going out.”

“Cleon, for the love of god,” Rembrandt whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Don’t make me go anywhere.”

“You have to. This is non-negotiable.”

“Cleon-”

“Put on your vest and let’s go.”

--------

Ajax got herself stuck in solitary within five minutes of being on her cell block. She did it on purpose, jumping some girl she knew wasn’t affiliated just for giving her a sideways look. She knew Rembrandt would kill her for it but Rembrandt was probably planning on doing that anyway and she would rather be completely alone than deal with all the bullshit she was guaranteed in general population. 

Cleon had spent almost an entire phone call chewing her out for that. “Are you serious?” she shouted over the receiver. “We can’t come visit you when you’re in fucking solitary! Dammit, Ajax, what were you thinking!” Ajax was just happy she still got to hear Cleon’s voice at all. 

But Fox…

She could conquer any physical pain. None of that fazed her anymore. But the agony of hearing that Fox was gone and never coming back, that was something she didn’t know how to handle. Cleon had had the sense to immediately assure her it wasn’t her fault. She knew her too well. Ajax could only mumble one word answers for the rest of the call until an officer finally brought her back to her cell. She didn’t let herself fall apart until she was safe behind the solid concrete and steel, and the next morning, they had to bring her to medical to make sure she hadn’t broken both hands punching the wall. Cleon gave her shit for that, too.

The very first thing Cleon told her in their first call was who had made it home. She knew about Fox. She knew about that Orphan girl apparently being initiated into the gang and, honestly, fine. Ajax wasn’t thrilled but she could respect that. Above all, Rembrandt was alive. Rembrandt was safe. Rembrandt survived the night.

And Rembrandt refused to speak to her.

“I’m not going to tell you what she said,” Cleon said during those first few weeks. “You know I stay out of your relationship if it’s not affecting business but you don’t need to hear the words she has for you right now.”

“She hates me now, doesn’t she,” Ajax mumbled. 

“No, no, she doesn’t, but I know she’s speaking out of anger and hurt right now and that’s why I’m not repeating it. Listen, to be honest, she’s not doing great mentally right now. We’re all trying to help but she doesn’t seem to want help.”

“She’s not staying-”

“No, she’s not staying at your guys’ apartment. She’s staying with Swan and me. I don’t trust her to be alone right now.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Cleon sighed. “We need to get you home.”

Now, Ajax lay on the rock hard mattress and stared at the dirty ceiling of her cell. She could never be sure of the time in there, but it felt like a while since they threw her lunch through the slot in the door, so she should get the chance to call home soon. She didn’t make any more trouble after that first fight that put her in isolation. She didn’t argue, she didn’t even talk to anyone during her one hour outside, she was polite and, hell, even downright nice to the guards, no matter how much it made her want to puke. She was smart enough to know she couldn’t lose the one privilege keeping her sane.

She just had to hold on until she got out. She just had to hold on until Rembrandt forgave her, if she ever did.

“Inmate 718929!” a guard barked from outside her cell. “Get up, face the corner.”

Ajax did as she was told. Her mind raced as the guard came in and slapped cuffs on her wrists. She went through every little thing she’d done since she got put in here. She couldn’t think of anything that would possibly get her in trouble. She’d done everything right this time! They couldn’t be transferring her. She knew they wouldn’t tell the Warriors where they stuck her because they weren’t technically her next of kin. How would Cleon know how to get in touch with her? How would Rembrandt?

They brought her to the small room where normally she would have been able to meet visitors but she wasn’t allowed in-person visits so long as she was in solitary confinement. They sat her down at the metal table and undid her cuffs just to chain them to a loop on the tabletop in front of her. The guard left. She heard a short indistinct conversation through the door. It opened, and a well dressed woman with a briefcase and an easy smile stepped inside and sat across from her. 

“Good afternoon, Ajax,” she said. 

What the fuck?

“Uh, hi,” Ajax said hesitantly.

“How are you doing today?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Lauryn. I’m a defense attorney and I’ll be representing you.”

“I didn’t ask for a public defender.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, please, I don’t work for the state. You have friends in high places.”

“But the W- I mean, my friends don’t-”

“Your friends have friends,” Lauryn amended, in a way that said shut the fuck up, the guards can hear you. “I’ll make this quick. Suffice to say I talked to a few people, called in a few favors, I waived your right to a trial and simply pushed through the plea bargain, hope you don’t mind.”

“You what?”

“They dropped the assault charges-”

“The what?”

“-and I argued them down to criminal mischief. You’ll have to check in with a probation officer every month for the next six months and, y’know, not get arrested again, but you won’t be serving any jail time.”

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” Ajax waved her hands as much as she could with them chained to the table. Her head was spinning. “What the actual fuck are you talking about? Who called you in? How were you able to do any of this?”

“Don’t worry about how I got it done, only that you got out of something you shouldn’t have been able to get out of. Do you recognize the name Masai?”

“Masai? No, I… oh, shit.”

The second-in-command of the Gramercy Riffs. Cyrus’s number two. The man who sent out a fucking hit on all their heads and kidnapped Cleon and put the entire city on a warpath with them as the prize. Why was he calling her a lawyer?

“Don’t worry about how we got here,” said Lauryn. Could this woman read her mind? “This meeting is really just to get you up to speed. Once we’re done here, the guards will get you your personal effects and release you. I’ll be in touch to go over your parole meetings with you in the future. Sounds good?”

“I-I, I mean, y-yeah! Yeah! Get me out of here!”

“Perfect! Wait for my call.” 

Lauryn stood, shook Ajax’s hand, and left just as quickly as she came in. Ajax didn’t even have the time to get her wits about her before a guard came in and whisked her off to be released. It went by in a blur. She just did as she was told, signing whatever they put in front of her, and followed the guard out to the front office of the jail. She knew enough to keep her Warriors vest folded under her arm until she was safely off the premises. 

She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking. Was Rembrandt going to be there waiting for her? Was the whole gang? This couldn’t just be a dream, right? There was no reason for the Gramercy Riffs to do all this for her. Maybe this was all just a hallucination, the light in the tunnel at the end of a nightmare. For all she knew, this was just a fever dream and she was still rotting in that cell.

The Warriors were not waiting for her in the front office. Instead, Masai stood by the door flanked by two Riffs, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. He straightened as she approached him. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he said. “The legal system takes a while to work. I’m sure you know.”

“Why are you here?” she growled before she could stop herself.

“Cyrus wanted peace. I’m trying to make that happen.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Let’s go, Warrior.”

----------

Rembrandt kept her hood up and her head down as they left the subway station. A cold wind cut through the city, blowing her hair into her eyes. She lagged behind the rest of the gang as they made their way through Lower Manhattan. No one would tell her where they were going or what was happening, and every time she tried to ask they would tiptoe around the subject until they could find a way to change it. The closest thing she got to an answer was Mercy reaching over to quickly squeeze her hand and offer a tiny smile. 

As they walked, Swan dropped back through the group and put an arm around Rembrandt’s shoulders. “Chin up,” she whispered, and that was all she needed to say. Rembrandt let herself lean into Swan’s side just for a moment before the war chief returned to her place beside Cleon in front. 

They stopped before a massive dystopian-looking brick building. Police cars surrounded the place. Flanking the steel front doors were three Riffs on each side, still in their black mourning clothes, and Rembrandt bristled. What the fuck were they doing here?

Cleon waved Rembrandt forward and rested a comforting hand on her back. “Don’t worry,” she said gently.

“Cleon,” she began, but the warlord cut her off.

“We’re safe. We’re in good company.”

The doors opened…

And out stepped Ajax. 

Rembrandt heard nothing beyond the hammering of her pulse in her ears. She took a shaky step forward. Ajax’s mouth was moving but Rembrandt couldn’t understand what she was saying. Her hands were bandaged and she looked exhausted and pale and underweight and… scared. Rembrandt had never seen her so terrified. Ajax was always strong and brave, often to the point of recklessness, larger than life, but standing before Rembrandt now, she looked an inch tall. Rembrandt watched Ajax’s mouth round out her name, and every emotion that had been building up over the past months suddenly exploded. 

She broke into a run and launched herself in Ajax’s open arms. 

She was a sobbing mess within seconds. Ajax had to keep her on her feet, arms wrapped in a tight fortress around her as she buried her face against Ajax’s neck. “It’s okay,” she heard her whisper. “You’re okay, baby, I’ve got you. I’m right here. We’re okay. We’re okay.”

For the first time since that horrible night, Rembrandt let herself believe it. 

It seemed like an eternity of Ajax just holding her before she found her voice: “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Never do that again!”

“I won’t,” Ajax promised, and it was a promise she’d made a thousand times before but Rembrandt could forget about that for now. 

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Rembrandt finally untangled herself from Ajax’s embrace and turned to face the others, but she stayed clinging to Ajax’s arm, afraid she might disappear if Rembrandt fully let go. Hugs were exchanged, the repeated sentiments of “we’re so glad you’re safe” and “good to finally have you on your way home” between all the smiles and jokes. Ajax didn’t hug Mercy, which everyone understood, but she did offer a fistbump. From the grin on Mercy’s face, you’d think it was the highest honor in the city. Rembrandt supposed that, in part, it was. She only let go of Ajax when the enforcer went to hug Swan. 

The two of them whispered something to each other, holding one another by the shoulder as they pulled back, both stony faced with downturned eyes. Everyone paused for a moment. Mercy gave Rembrandt a troubled look that said they’re not going to fight, are they? But Ajax cracked a smile and gave Swan a playful bap on the arm, and the war chief returned it with a wide grin. A light shoving match ensued with both participants laughing their asses off as they went.

“Kids, no fighting,” Cleon jeered from near the jail doors. Masai stood beside her, watching them, and Rembrandt swore the man… smiled? She wasn’t sure you could even call it a smile but then again, who knew if the Riff was even capable of showing joy like that. He shook Cleon’s hand, nodded to the Warriors, barked, “Riffs!” and the gang was gone, headed back to the Bronx to continue their queen’s mission from there. 

Cleon rejoined them with Ajax’s vest in her hand. Rembrandt cringed a bit, realizing she must have knocked it out of Ajax’s grip when she tackled her. Swan and Ajax ended their playfight, and Ajax stood before their leader, tall and strong and brave as ever. 

Cleon passed her the vest. “Welcome home, soldier,” she said. 

“It’s good to be back outside,” said Ajax as she slipped into her colors. “Masai’s lawyer said-”

“She’ll be in touch. Right. I just talked to him about it.”

“Wait,” Rembrandt interjected. “Masai’s lawyer?”

“You thought they were letting Ajax out because of her charming personality?” Cowgirl teased. Cochise pushed her hat down over her eyes with a smirk. “Wha- hey! Come on!”

“He said he owed us a favor,” Cleon explained. “I wasn’t going to decline.”

Ajax put an arm around Rembrandt. The artist leaned into the warm touch, wrapping her arms around Ajax’s waist as she kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go home,” she said quietly, and then, raising her voice, “And can we please get some Nathan’s? I’m sick of that fucking prison food!”

The Warriors whooped hollered in delight, arm in arm, hand in hand, following Cleon back towards the subway station and back towards Coney Island. Back towards home. 

With the others turned away from them, Rembrandt pulled Ajax down into a light, lingering kiss, clinging to the feeling of Ajax’s body solidly beneath her hands as she finally let herself believe it wasn’t all a dream. “We’re going to talk more about this at home,” she murmured. Ajax grimaced and nodded sheepishly. “But let’s go home first.”

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

Ajax’s grimace flipped into a mischievous grin. Quick as a punch, she swept Rembrandt off her feet and into her arms, cackling as Rembrandt yelped in surprise before wrapping her arms around her neck and laughing along with her. Ajax carried her away from the jail, jogging to catch up to the others. Rembrandt closed her eyes and laid her head on Ajax’s shoulder. She was still angry and the memories all still hurt so, so much, but Ajax was back and she knew was finally secure in the belief that in the end, they would all be alright.

“Hey, do you have your cans? Maybe we could-”

“Don’t push it.”

----

The End! Thank you so much for reading!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for "yelling" at my teenage sister for putting earrings through the ears of my childhood stuffed animal?

🤬🐘 <- cause that was me holding them when I found out lmao

So I (22 two spirit, I was 20 when this happened) have had Ellie (Ive used He/she/they for Ellie my whole life, they never had a set gender), a stuffed realtively realistic elephant, since I was at least 3 years old. He was a plush of big Al, the elephant mascot for crimson Tide of the university of Alabama. (Roll tide?) that my dad owned but eventually it was cuddled by 3 yr old me and dragged to my room and out of his man cave (which I don't know why he had a big al plush, we're from Ohio) never to return. I think she had a jersey or hat or something at some point but she doesn't now. Considering just how cuddled Ellie was, it's a miracle how good her condition is. No rips, tears, bald patches or holes beyond the plasticy coating on one of his tusks ripping off in a few places. I wasn't super violent with my toys and never drew on them or ripped them up. The most I did was put hair ties around her ears so they'd look like pigtails.

I've had Ellie a very very long time obviously and he means a lot to me. I very rarely cuddle him now because I want him to stay in that good condition. Well, when I was 19, I moved to Maryland to be with my partner and Ellie went with me obviously. 3 or 4 times a year, me and my partner make the trip to Ohio to visit my family, about 8 hrs away. I bring Ellie because she comforts me when we're there (Alot of traumatic memories are wrapped up in childhood home). Well, one time Ellie got left behind and I was devastated. It was gonna be at least 3 months till I went back and even though my mom offered to send ellie through the mail, i was not willing to take the chance that ellie could get lost forever in said mail so i waited.

Here's the part where I mention I have a younger sister who was 14 at the time. we have a good, if not distant relationship that is a much better place now. Here's where the problem occurred. I returned home after about 3 months after accidentally leaving ellie and immediately wanted to find him once I arrived. My mom told me my sister had been watching them while I was away so I went to her room. My sister then excitedly held up Ellie to me... Ellie's big ears were absolutely littered with my sister's (real) earrings. There had to of been at least 150 piercings in her ears, if not 200. I held myself together as best I could and very sternly told her I was pissed she'd do that, she knew how much Ellie meant to me and she should never treat other people's things that way.

I make a very strong point to never insult, scream or yell or not explain why I'm angry at someone. If I get so angry I can't handle my composure, I leave and gather myself then come back. I never insulted my sister or raised my voice but I definitely hammered how disrespectful and destructive this was to something that wasn't hers as I took out her earrings one by one. My childhood stuffie did not deserve to be turned into Swiss cheese and used as an earring display. If I had done anything like that to her stuffed giraffe, her stuffie, she'd have a cow. Once they were all out I took Ellie and went to my room. Luckily, they were normal sized earrings so the holes were very small and I can't see them if I don't look for them but it felt so disrespectful.

My sister apologized pretty quickly but my mom said I didn't have to yell at her (I never raised my voice but I was clearly hiding an angry one trying to explain to her) nor should I have said it 5 times in the moment (shes exaggerating). I'll admit I repeat myself twice or thrice in the moment as a way to keep myself from raising my voice or stewing in it if I feel like i haven't properly expressed my anger or I feel like the person wasn't listening. Everything is cool now and we dont really talk about it (it's not taboo or too painful to touch, it just doesn't come up) but I wonder if I over reacted considering the holes are tiny, not super visible and I don't think my sister did it to spite me or hurt Ellie, she was just young and dumb and didn't think about how it could mess up Ellie. Should I have held my tounge since shes my sister? She was only 14 but I feel like you should know earrings can cause damage to fabric when you're 14, there's no way she didn't know that wouldn't leave tiny holes in Ellie. I just think she didn't think of them as a big deal.

What are these acronyms?

[lionneee]

Requests🕯️

Here are my requests! From my least recent to the closest!

Request Rules

1.

can you please write a fic set after rook rest where reader is aegon's wife, she is show to be very fertile (she and aegon have three children in four years of marriage, blood and cheese never happen in this fic). she is beautiful and very gentle, aemond always lusted over her. now after he took the conqueror's knife and saw the prophecy over it aemond has convinced himself that he is the prince that was promised (we stand our delusional king), so his first aim now is to reproduce and have his own heirs, and who better than the reader especially since aegon is out of the picture. reader try to make aemond see things, like saying that their children will be bastard and unable to inherit the throne. but aemond already took his decision and claim it's reader's decision to have pleasure from it or not. i would really like this to end with a non con/ dub con smut scene❤️❤️

2. Let The World Burn

Could I request an Aemond X reader where reader gets kidnapped and he gets all protective?

3. Favourite Uncle

I see your request open and just thought about Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader, when she is helaena and Aegon youngest daughter and Alicent is so close to her because of this she is close to Aemond too but Viserys desperate to rekindle his family betrothed her to jacaerys, they’re married after that she was pregnant but there is a rumor that the baby daddy is her uncle Aemond. You can do what’s next or make it how you like it.

4. The Enemy

here we are then!! i have a request about reader x modern aemond fic. reader has a brother, but she's unaware that he's a mafia boss. She's quite naive and dutiful, focusing solely on her college and studies. At college, she meets Aemond in their philosophy class, and they quickly grow fond of each other, developing a deep connection. However, Aemond is also a mafia boss, leading the rival gang to her brother's. They begin a relationship, but both know it can't last, especially when her brother (who was initially unaware) strongly opposes it. Aemond, deeply in love with the reader (and slightly psychopathic lol) decides to remove the obstacle in their way: he shoots her brother, killing him, and goes to the reader to tell her that now they can finally be together. Shocked and devastated, the reader is torn. Despite everything, she cares for her brother and never wanted him dead. Consumed by anger and a thirst for revenge, she decides to report Aemond to the police. He gets arrested, as he trusted her completely and had shared everything with her, including the gang's location and where they hide the drugs. After two or three years, Aemond manages to get out of prison thanks to his excellent lawyers. He feels deeply betrayed by the reader, convinced that everything he had done was for them, so that they could finally live their love. Now, however, he wants revenge (even if he still feels love for her, but the desire for revenge is greater) . A few days after his release, he sneaks into the reader's house while she is sleeping, climbs on top of her and handcuffs her to the bed with the same handcuffs that had been used to arrest him. i would very like for the request to be concluded with a non con scene, explicit if possible. thank you very much

5.

can you write a spicy one shot of aemond fucking the reader while he talks about philosophy because his voice and him speaking about all these things really really turns her on and it needs to be filthy and rough, like he rails her

6.

phantom of the opera aemond.

7. Happy Halloween

Hello hello, sinds its almost halloween i have requested: aemond as gosht face/ micheal myers x reader.

8. On The Bottom Of The Ocean

Hi ✨ I just saw that you opened the request and I just want to send a request about my idea in this post https://www.tumblr.com/sapphirevhagar/764123647456804864/can-some-writer-write-this-one-shot-for-me-i-beg I wanna read about Ghost Aemond! 👻 slightly dub-con / dirty talk/ degradation after he has died in god’s eyes for 200 years, there is a girl who wanna see skeletons of him and vhagar after she read the story about him. So, she swim and dive in god’s eyes to find him. Finally, She has found him but when she looks at his socket, she found something strange.. Sapphire in his eye shining like he still alive. In that night, someone knock her door (she live near the god’s eyes and has to live alone for a while because her parent went to king’s landing) And when she open the door, the man with long white hair and sapphire in his eye smirks at her “If you want to see me, you should see how I look when I was alive” (and yes… 200 years I think he want someone to… 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️)

9. Sweet Osferth

Hi 💓 Can I request Osferth x Reader that people always think he’s innocent but turn out he’s NOT 🤭 reader always underestimate him by thinking that he still a virgin so, he shows her that he’s really good on bed 🥵

10. His, Forever

Can you make one where reader tries to leave Aemond and he is Despartly in love with reader after reader leaves him he looses his mind he started stalking her killing her every new boyfriend and always anonymously gifting her random things with creepy letters then to get her back again he made her pregnant

[wootensmith]

Through the Glass, Darkly

He felt it when she went, even half a continent away. A sudden rush of power, like rivers running back to the sea, as the remnants of the anchor found the way to him and her will was extinguished.

He’d thought he’d prepared himself for it in more than just his mind. He’d had what he needed for the ritual for years. His waiting was purposeful. The Veil had to fall, but he tried to give them a temporary reprieve, hold it off as long as he could. The devastation in the wake of that final breath was unbearable. He’d tried to find her in the Fade, prove himself false. All he’d found was the absence where she ought to be. Not even an echo of her. He was uncertain whether that was worse or if it were a mercy. He didn’t send out agents to verify her loss. It was unnecessary. It was always going to end this way.

He grieved. Alone. 

And when there was no time remaining, he began the ritual. 

He comforted himself with the idea that the process was almost finished. A few more tasks and he could finally put the burden down. Let go. Release his consciousness back into the void, rivers returning to the sea. No longer alone.

The transfer was delicate. That is what he told himself afterward. That he had been too absorbed in its complexity to remember all the precautions he should have. In his deepest heart though, Solas knew that he’d let Varric find him. He’d hoped— well, it didn’t matter any longer what he’d hoped. For a scrap of her to remain perhaps. For some last thread of sanity for him to grasp onto, some alternate way that Varric or Dorian or anyone had dreamed up. A way out. 

The night was chilled, brittle. A long and drenching rain beat down on the stone steps, on the expressionless, titanic stone statues that guarded the prison Solas had built so long ago. He would have liked to do it some balmy summer night, late, late, when all the land slept, a peaceful slide into the end. But there was no more time, his pursuers were closing in and he could delay no longer if he truly wished to complete this before he was discovered. A few hours more and the crisis would be over, for good or ill.  It took time to build up the necessary power to burst through the Veil, even with his dagger. He concentrated on gathering his strength in the nucleus of his ritual.

“Hey, Chuckles, hope I’m not interrupting.” Solas wished he could feel the relief he’d expected at Varric’s voice, but rage and sorrow swept it quickly away. “You should not be here,” he said, turning momentarily toward Varric. He was much older than Solas’s memory. More somber, no sly grin or glint of sarcasm in his eye. Just exhaustion. An overwhelming tide of grief tugged at Solas. An instant of recognition of what they had both already lost. “No,” admitted Varric. “It shouldn’t be me who’s here. We both know that. And if you’d let us find you a year ago, it would have been her instead.” “Go home, Varric. It is perilous for you to remain,” he said, ignoring the raw anger in Varric’s voice. “It’s perilous everywhere else, too.” Solas began to turn back to take the next step in the ritual.  “She believed in you to the very end, you know,” said Varric.  Solas hesitated, the enchanted dagger clenched in his hand.

“That’s why I’m here instead of barricading Kirkwall’s harbor or raiding the wine cellar at the Hanged Man and drinking away the final nights of the world. Her last breaths were asking us to find you. She was convinced you were in trouble. None of us could persuade her of anything different. And we tried, Solas. We tried. So here I am, to ask you because she can’t. Don’t do this.” Solas shook his head and returned to the ritual. “You don’t understand. The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world, it must be healed,” he said, squinting against the increasing wind and rain. “By drowning the world in demons?” “I have taken precautions to minimize the damage, Varric.” “Minimize the— People are dying right now! You need to listen.” The click of Varric’s crossbow was still familiar after all this time and forced Solas’s attention back to him. “Please,” Varric added.

It was his desperate tone that pushed Solas too far. He shattered Bianca with a thought. Told himself it was to prevent Varric from using it, but they both knew the crossbow was only a prop to catch Solas’s attention. Neither of them had the will to harm the other. Not now. No, he destroyed the crossbow in a paroxysm of sorrow and jealousy. Varric had been with the Inquisitor in her last moments. Had been where Solas should have been. And now he stood where she should have instead. Some part of his anger was for the Inquisitor as well, irrational as it was. For failing. For not standing in Varric’s place.

“People are always dying,” Solas snapped. “It is what they do.” He turned back and struck again at the Veil.

“You’re not the only one who misses her,” said Varric, so quietly that Solas almost missed it. “Destroying everything we fought together to preserve isn’t going to make you feel better.” Solas didn’t answer, concentrating on his task. The air smelt of ozone and rain, something he tried to grasp onto, to ground himself. “Why did you bother helping us?” asked Varric after a moment. “Why not just let Corypheus win if this was all you were after?” He shut his eyes, hearing an echo of the Inquisitor asking the same, though it had been about the Qunari invasion, not Corypheus. He was not ready for the physical ache in his chest. He grit his teeth and slashed at the widening tear in the Veil.

“Was it just your ego? Couldn’t stand for someone else to destroy us and wanted to do it with your own hands? Or was it that you didn’t have the anchor and you couldn’t do this without it? That why you used us? Her?” Rage simmered in Varric’s tone, and Solas couldn’t help but try to explain. “No! I—” “Why now then? It’s come back to you, hasn’t it? The anchor’s power? That’s it, isn’t it? You were just waiting for her to die. I guess I should be grateful you waited then.”

Solas whirled around to face Varric. “I wanted you to have more time,” he said. “But there is no more to be spared. This is bigger than us. Bigger than the Inquisitor or our friendship. Bigger than me. Whatever your plan is, Varric, it will not alter this. I cannot allow you to threaten this ritual or me.” Varric laughed. “Me? Take down the Dreadwolf? No, I just wanted to ask you a question.” Solas hesitated, wary. His skin prickled as the Fade leaked from the tear, washed over him, beyond him.

“This ritual of yours— what’s it meant to do? I mean, from what the Inquisitor told me, you rebelled against the Evanuris and that was a disaster.”  “They’re imprisoned,” Solas protested. Varric ignored him. “You created the Veil and that’s a disaster. How will this time work any better? Tell me that.” You haven’t told them everything, Solas reminded himself. “I understand your hesitance, but what I do now has to be done. This is beyond your comprehension.” “So explain it,” Varric insisted. “Tell me why. Why tear down the Veil knowing all the lives it will cost?”

Solas bit back his impatience. “We can have this conversation later. Let me fin—” “Just like you were supposed to explain to the Inquisitor once we defeated Corypheus? Or like you apparently intended to do when we chased you across the Crossroads years ago? You keep promising to explain ‘later’ and then chickening out. It’s later, Solas. Explain now. What is so vital that it’s more important than all the people who are dying?” “We shared a journey years ago. Do you truly believe I would do this if there were some other better option?” “A year ago I would have said no,” answered Varric. “But now— I don’t know what to think anymore.”

It stung, hearing Varric’s doubt. I cannot afford to linger, he told himself. “You came a long way and made a valiant effort, Varric, but this story does not end with my downfall.” Varric sighed behind him. “I never wanted your downfall, Solas. None of us did. Do you know what she said the last time I saw her? The anchor, your anchor, had spread, eating her up like frost crackling across every inch of her. Agony. And we were all helpless. All of us. She should have been furious. But she wasn’t. ‘He’s in trouble.’ That’s what she told me. ‘I don’t know what and and I don’t know how to aid him, but he’s in trouble and he needs us.’ That’s why I came. Because she knew you needed—” he broke off as a terrible rending rumble erupted beneath them. The ancient carvings began to topple in a nightmarish slow slump toward them. 

Horrified, Solas managed to catch the foremost statue and push it away. But he was too late. The Veil stood open, the ritual interrupted. The creatures of centuries of nightmares erupted from the yawning Fade. Solas froze in shock until he distantly realized that Varric was calling him. “— out of here, Solas! We can’t stay!”  A tug at his elbow shook Solas loose from his paralyzing fear. “Run, Varric,” he croaked, trying to shield the dwarf bodily, “Fly from here!”  His ancient spell collapsed, sucked itself back, an implosion. When the rumbling stopped, the world was gone. And Solas was again, alone.

[denaliwrites]

Love's Perfect Ache

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

Summary: You have news for Alec and he doesn't take it the way you'd hoped.

Soundtrack: Arsonist’s Lullaby by Hozier

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Pregnancy, Mention of Abortion. No pronouns but Reader has a functional uterus.

You hold one end of a pregnancy test in one hand and tap the other end against the palm of the opposite hand while your legs aimlessly take you in circles around the kitchen. It's an anxious tick, something you've been doing for the last two hours. Since you took the test and saw the result.

Positive.

You can't help it -- it's not even good or bad news yet (that'll be figured out once you tell Alec). But learning you're carrying a baby is rarely something that people feel neutral about. And now, all you can focus your energy on is pacing and tap tap tapping the test against your palm while you wait for Alec to come home.

Of course, you want it to be good news. You've seen Alec with kids -- he's great with them when he actually cares enough to put in the effort to be. You've met Daisy a few times, and every time you see the two together you see that he's putting in the work to be a good dad, that he cares and does his best for her.

You'd be lying if you said seeing him with Daisy, or any of the neighborhood kids, didn't make you want kids of your own with him. Or even just a kid. One would be enough, really. You're not sure his heart could take more than one, anyway.

Your pacing came to a halt when you heard the door open and shut, panic suddenly filling you. As he rounds the corner and his eyes land on you and he starts to smile, you anxiously blurt out, "I'm pregnant."

You wait with bated breath, hyperaware of his expression, the way it changes from joy at seeing you to confusion to realization to panic and finally settles on...

"Fuck!" he growls in anger, and you shrink back, clutching the test tightly. "I thought we were being careful."

"I... I don't understand," you whimper. "Why are you angry?"

"Because I can't have another kid!" he turns his ire on you, but stops when he sees your devastated expression. "Darlin', I don't have it in me to raise another kid. I'm not as young as I used to be."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears. "I understand."

"And -- and think of Daisy," he went on, seemingly on a roll. "She's sixteen now, think how weird it'd be for her to be sixteen, seventeen years older than her little sibling."

"Y-you're right," you said, trying to placate him, trying to stop him. "Honestly, I should've expected you to react this way..."

He goes on, rambling about his heart and his career and at one point he circles back to his age, before moving on to the trauma of the Sandbrook case. He's completely missed that you're in tears.

That is, until you finally have enough. "Fine," you sob, and that stops him, that finally gets him to shut up. "Fine. You clearly... you don't want it. I'll make an appointment at the clinic tomorrow for termination."

He pauses, caught between having gotten, presumably, exactly what he wanted and a need to comfort you. Eventually, though you're not sure how, his need to comfort you wins out, and he pulls you into a tight and loving embrace. "Not... not yet," he says with a sigh.

"Why?" you ask meanly, squirming in his embrace to try to break free. He doesn't let you.

"We're both emotional," he says softly, hold loosening once he's sure you won't run away. "Let's... let's take some time, y'ken? Maybe we'll... maybe I'll come 'round. Who knows?"

"Why on Earth would you do that?"

"'Cause I love ye," he says simply, like there could not possibly be any other answer, like you should know that there is no other answer. "And your happiness means the world to me... and if that means ye get a kid, then..." He trails off, but you feel him shrug.

"I'm not gonna force you to have a baby with me, Alec," you whimper, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of you.

He slips a hand under your chin, tilting your head up so that you'll look at him. "You're not forcin' me to do anythin', darlin'," he assured you, planting a loving kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I want what'll make your heart sing."

[gallifreyshawkeye]

New fic, yes it's a WIP, yes I have three WIPs I'm working on shut up!

Summary:

Aziraphale has neither seen nor heard from Crowley in the four years he's been Heaven's Supreme Archangel and he's hoped the demon has been able to find a way to just disappear. But when the Metatron unexpectedly announces they've apprehended Crowley and are temporarily holding him at a remote, Earth location, it turns out the Metatron has arranged to turn Crowley over to Hell, and things rapidly go from bad to worse. Satan is intent on reminding Crowley he belongs to him forever, and in order to survive what seems impossible, Crowley must use abilities he purposefully hasn't touched since before the Rebellion. In order to get Crowley back, Aziraphale has to come to a full reckoning very quickly about the realities of Heaven and Hell and marshal all the authority of his position. And the Metatron's overly dogmatic approach not only brings Aziraphale the most unexpected ally in his quest to rescue Crowley, but, first quietly and then not so quietly, exposes Heaven's desperate isolation and turns it upside down. The Second Coming might not be what anyone thinks it is at all.

Excerpt:

He had tried to anticipate this moment, predict how he’d feel, but deep down he had known it was futile. He had been right. The air felt sucked out of his lungs and none of his muscles would move. Too many opposites existed all at once including the current damn situation right now that had them together for the first time in four years, and Aziraphale just wanted to scream with the impossibility of everything. Aziraphale watched as Crowley first froze before his face went through a cascade of emotions. Then he said, in a style reminiscent of when he’d half-sauntered, half-stumbled out of his burning Bentley,

“Hiya, Aziraphale. Wondered if I’d see you here.”

Aziraphale felt air return to his lungs and he crossed the relatively short distance from the door to where Crowley stood in only a few strides. He glanced around furtively before speaking low and urgently, “Of course I’m here, Crowley. What on earth is going on? How did you manage to get yourself…caught? Captured? Kidnapped?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. They’re your lot,” Crowley returned casually.

“And you’ve been tempting angels?” Aziraphale hissed.

Crowley’s eyes hardened. “No,” he said flatly.

“The Metatron said…”

“No.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment and it was clear Crowley sincerely meant ‘no’ in its completeness and not just as a half-truth, but nor was he going to voluntarily elaborate an explanation. 

“Two angels have completely disappeared,” Aziraphale pressed.

“Well that sounds inconvenient,” Crowley drawled, “And like,” he leaned closer to put greater lilting emphasis to his words, “An institutional problem.” The demon lounged back against the stall door, grinning.

Aziraphale fumed. He’d forgotten just how infuriating Crowley could be when he chose to.  Aziraphale took a long, centering breath and decided to change the course in his line of questioning.

“How are they keeping you here and you’re not, you know, disappearing off somewhere? Is there a miracle blocker at work?”

Crowley went very still. His mood shifted instantly and his golden eyes smoldered with pure hatred. Aziraphale almost took a step backwards at the intensity that suddenly radiated off the demon.

“Let’s just say that devastating earthquakes are due to hit multiple coastal villages and small towns with the subsequent tsunamis being responsible for further loss of life should I use any infernal power at any point.” Crowley bit out the words through a voice thick with anger, and waited for what he’d said to sink in and have its full effect on Aziraphale. He wasn’t disappointed.

“But... But that’s monstrous!” Aziraphale exclaimed finally after he’d opened and closed his mouth several times while making the little strangled huffing sounds that he did when too many thoughts and words were spinning and trying to get out but ended up as one jumbled ball of wordless sound and expression, “And I certainly didn’t authorize it! That’s… Well that’s something your lot would do!”

Crowley leaned close and spat his words out, “ My lot has never captured an angel and then held innocent villages hostage to ensure cooperation. In fact we have never once committed mass murder against humans, and the one time I was ordered to it was from God. Forget about the flood? Canaan? Egypt? All the other times? So don’t even start with ‘ my lot ’.”

An even longer silence fell between them. They both knew Crowley was right, but Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to admit the reality of that massive truth out loud and Crowley was perfectly happy to let him stew in that discomfort. He would have preferred (in the strongest possible terms) if Aziraphale would finally lose his conditioned auto-tint and biases all together and not have to be prompted so frequently to drop them and to remember actual reality, but he’d take what he could get. He let himself be satisfied that at least he’d successfully made his point.

“What did you do that’s made them so nervous?” Aziraphale asked at last, deciding to change the subject and jerking his head over his shoulder towards Sandalphon and the two angels with him.

Crowley relaxed and broke into a huge grin. “They’d never seen my ‘attack-snake’ form before,” he said, shoving most of his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels, so immensely pleased with himself that Aziraphale was reminded of a puppy who’d successfully performed its first trick and was waiting for a treat. 

“Crowley!” he chided, in mock horror, trying desperately (and not succeeding) to suppress his own grin at imagining Sandalphon’s reaction to Crowley appearing, however briefly, as a massively huge, mythological, pit viper-like snake that roar-hissed viciously and as loudly as a freight train. 

“Almost got smote though because of it. That one there,” Crowley gestured to the shorter of the two unknown angels with Sandalphon, “Freaked out so bad he straight-up screamed and flung a… a thing of divine smoting energy stuff my way.”

“What?!” Aziraphale gaped.

“Oh it missed me, obviously,” said Crowley dismissively, “But it hit the petrol tank of a delivery lorry that was right behind me, and…KABHOOOHSHKVSV!” 

Crowley’s eyes were positively sparkling with delight, and Aziraphale desperately wanted to hold on to this, to somehow create a bubble to keep Crowley and this delight of his away from whatever it was that was about to intrude.

“And then,” Crowley continued, “That wheezy, whiney blowhard of an archangel blamed me for it! Me! Squeaking that it was all my fault in the first place!”

Aziraphale nearly laughed outright at the description of Sandalphon “squeaking”. “I'm assuming that's how you’re without your sunglasses?” he asked.

“Yes,” Crowley said morosely, his mood once again shifting as quickly as desert sand and shooting Sandalphon&Co a very dark look, “The lorry exploding me threw me to the ground and knocked them off. Didn’t get the chance to find them again before I was grabbed and whisked off here.”

[sunskate]

Tessa & Scott episode 3: very eventful episode - Scott and his anger and the "mood of the day." - which, oof, there's so much to unpack about this. Tessa and Kate go to Hall and Oates. Scott and Chiddy go go-cart racing and talk. dinner with Weapo. the costume fitting. Scott hurts his back just before Skate Canada

Scott and Cassandra: S: how are you doing when i'm away, besides devastated C: i mean it's hard, i miss you, i just tell myself 5 more months S: right.

S: i find i'm a lot more anxious. do you notice that? C: i don't know. am i supposed to? (smiling, maybe she's joking? but kind of an odd thing to say to that😅) S: i get like this in an Olympic year. i just get grouchy C: i don't find you to be grouchy S: well that's sweet of you

S: like the stress is starting. starting to turn from excitement into stress. you know, i've been pumped about it for a while. now it's starting to get real C: right.

the more i watch, the more i notice where the show is creating (or maybe manufacturing) a narrative - like this scene was made for him to talk about his stress and his moods. but it also inadvertently shows they might not be on the same page. the next 5 months and the Olympics are a huge deal for him, but she's kinda saying she's waiting for them to be over. like, sure she's looking forward to seeing him more, but it feels out of touch to say i'm just telling myself wait it out and we'll have more us time. when leaving competitive skating is a huge life change and loss he'll be dealing with after Sochi

establishing shot of Scott arriving at the rink - clearly holding stuff in his hands, then empty handed in the next shot. like this is nbd, but once you start noticing how much they're cutting stuff together in a way that didn't happen, it's easier to step outside the narrative and question what we're being told by the producers

like this scene - maybe he did walk away without responding, but it would be more effective to see in the same shot if he did ignore her. instead, they cut away to a shot of his back where his head is facing the opposite direction from her. if they had a clear reaction of him blowing her off, they could have stayed with the wide shot. pretty sure that reaction shot was from a different moment

he comes off like such an ass on this show, and they also cut Tessa's footage and her talking heads to make her seem like a doormat who's mostly just taking it when he's being rude. but there are several clues coming up that she doesn't just take it. i have so many questions for VM that the producers just leave there

T: sometimes when Scott gets anxious, he can just get ... short. (then different audio quality, so recorded at a different time!) but i try my best not to let it get to me - she reads this 2nd part like voiceover, if you notice

the scene with their coach Johnny Johns (about 5 min in) when they're working on a lift took me several times through to realize the show wants us to think Scott's being a jerk:

Johnny: curve lift - i wanna see how it feels if you lift her forwards - just see if it's any easier, idk if it's gonna be or not (then they show them doing a RoLi instead, so the audio and video don't belong together 💀) S: (loudly but not yelling- i think he's just got a loud voice) i hate it! Johnny: okay Johnny: that's a half a turn, and she's in position S: yeah, that's a full turn (Tessa huffs a laugh, cut to a shot of Johnny rolling his eyes - just from how the show edits stuff, i don't trust that reaction shot is really from that moment) (a few overlapping words i can't catch) S: we're not quite there yet Johnny: i think the mission is to get this thing turning faster than hell (cut to a shot of the RoLi) i like that, what's the problem with that (cut to a shot of Scott shrugging - again, is that really his reaction, or just edited that way) Tessa (VO): Scott's always set the tone for the mood of the day, and i can feel how tense he is. the Olympics are 5 months away. we're feeling emotionally, physically really exhausted. the next 5 months will be stressful

the thing is, Scott seems focused and direct and stressed but not particularly rude in this scene. it's hard to know without seeing the whole sequence if he was being a jerk, but it doesn't really look like it? if he's moody and difficult, they sometimes say it more than show it

and her saying Scott's always set the tone for the mood of the day - again, this is voiceover, so it may be scripted - it's become the prevailing narrative about them pre-comeback, that he's a pain, and she did all this emotional labor balancing him. VM have talked about it elsewhere, so there's some truth to it. but there are hints that there's more going on from her - that she's not just passive, and that it's more complicated. the show isn't told in a way that always feels reliable. so it makes me question what the producers are feeding us

tbc -

[tinyybookclub]

The 3 Heathens: Confronting The Shadows (part 3)

College was supposed to be our fresh start, a chance to leave behind the struggles of our past. For a while, it seemed like everything was falling into place. Ryland thrived on the football field, quickly becoming a standout player. I immersed myself in my studies, joining clubs and working on community projects. Jared, now in a specialized program, was making strides we had only dreamed of. Tina's pride was palpable; we were her success story, proof that her sacrifices had not been in vain.

But the past has a way of catching up, and the cycles we thought we'd escaped began to reappear. It started with Ryland. Despite his outward success, he was struggling to balance the pressures of academics and sports. One night, he called me, his voice shaking. "I messed up, man," he said. "I messed up bad."

He had been seeing a girl, and now she was pregnant. The news spread quickly, and before long, Ryland was called into the dean's office. The school's strict policies meant he was suspended, and his scholarship was revoked. Tina was devastated, and I could see the fear in her eyes—fear that we were falling back into the life she had fought so hard to pull us out of.

I tried to support Ryland, but the stress was taking its toll on me as well. Our father's sporadic appearances became more frequent, as if he could sense our vulnerability. He had always resented our drive to succeed, seeing it as a rejection of his own failures. Now, he seemed determined to drag us back down.

He showed up drunk at one of my campus events, causing a scene and getting me in trouble with the administration. He spread rumors about us in our old neighborhood, painting us as ungrateful sons who had turned our backs on our roots. The weight of his actions pressed down on us, threatening to undo all the progress we had made.

One evening, after another confrontation with our father, Ryland and I sat in the apartment, the silence between us heavy. "We can't keep going like this," I said finally. "We need to face this head-on."

Ryland nodded, but his eyes were distant. "How? We've been fighting our whole lives. I'm tired, man. I don't know how much more I can take."

"We start by breaking the cycle," I said. "We get help. We talk to someone who can guide us through this."

It wasn't easy, but we found a counselor who specialized in trauma and family dynamics. Tina joined us for some sessions, and for the first time, we talked openly about our past. We confronted the pain, the mistakes, and the lingering fears. We learned to recognize the patterns that were holding us back and developed strategies to break free from them.

But as we dug deeper into our trauma, more cracks began to show. Ryland's struggles with becoming a young father and losing his scholarship weighed heavily on him. He took a job, but it barely paid enough to cover his expenses, let alone support a child. His relationship with his girlfriend became strained, leading to constant arguments and stress.

Meanwhile, our father became more aggressive. He broke into our apartment one night, smashing the few belongings we had along with our mothers face and leaving us with nothing but fear and anger. We filed for a restraining order, but the process was slow, and we knew he wouldn't be deterred easily.

Jared, too, faced his own battles. Despite his progress, he was still bullied at school. One day, he came home with bruises on his face, too scared to tell us what had happened. The sight of him beaten and broken tore at our hearts, a stark reminder that our fight was far from over.

Our counselor urged us to stay strong, but the constant pressure was taking its toll. Tina fell ill, the stress of years of struggle manifesting in her body. She tried to hide it, but we could see the pain in her eyes, the fatigue that seemed to weigh her down.

One year later, we gathered once again in our small apartment, now filled with the remnants of broken dreams and unspoken fears. Ryland cradled his baby daughter, a symbol of hope and the future, but his eyes were shadowed with worry. Jared, thriving in his program, showed us his latest art project, his face glowing with pride, yet the bruises were still fresh in our minds. Tina, her eyes filled with tears, raised her glass once more.

"To my boys," she said, her voice steady and strong despite everything. "We faced the darkness and found our way through. We are stronger because of it, and we will continue to rise."

As we clinked our glasses, I felt the weight of the past lift slightly, but I knew the journey was far from over. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges we couldn't yet see. But we were determined to face them together, to break the cycle once and for all.

As we sat there, the silence between us heavy with unspoken fears and hopes, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. The story of our lives was still being written, and the next chapter was just beginning.

(Part 4 posted ✨)

[quibbs126]

I didn’t really feel like drawing fankids today (or at least not now), so instead I drew some Ruby Cacao Cookie, a character I’ve been wanting to draw more of but never got around to

And she’s also the only one of the “ocs related to Dark Cacao” that I actually made to be an oc, not just a hypothetical character that just took up space in my brain

So I’ve fleshed out a few more details with Ruby Cacao, and I just want to say them

Not much to really say about the drawings themselves. The first one is just supposed to be Ruby being concerned over her brother, coming back with scratches all over him. She’s supposed to be somewhat strict on him, but given the dangers of the land, it’s pretty justified. As shown in the other picture, she tends to be kind to him

The bottom two pictures are just supposed to be that Gordon Ramsay meme, which also describes her herself, even if it is a slight exaggeration. Like I said, towards Dark Cacao she’s very kind and understanding, trying to support him even if he has trouble doing things (he’s like 5 here), and she’s always the one he goes to when he’s scared or in trouble. However, to everyone else in the tribe, they know her as being quick to anger, very aggressive and willing to commit violence on other children. Granted, part of the reason for her aggression is the fact that everyone else in the village tends to be mean to her little brother (which has a reason, but I’ll explain later), or they’ve basically given up on life and she’s fed up with them all. But regardless she does have a short temper and is quick to anger, as well as just very distrusting of people. Were she to have lived to meet the other Ancients, it’d take some time for her to warm up to them and trust them with her brother. (I realize she kinda sounds like an overprotective parent not letting their kid date someone and having to be won over for their blessing. If polyancients, then yes this would probably happen). Though also later in life she would have mellowed out some, as she’s learned not to just assume the worst of people and that there are good Cookies out there

So I alluded to me having made the backstory to the fate of their village and why it’s so run down, so I might as well talk about it. Basically, just blame the Licorice Sea. So basically, the Cacao Tribe lived right off the coast of the Licorice Sea, which also used to be farther inland, as there was less of a force pushing back on it. Years prior to the time shown here, around when Dark Cacao was baked, there was a major attack from the Licorice Sea on the Cacao Tribe, to which the warriors fought against bravely. In the end, the Cacao warriors were able to push the creatures back, but in the resulting carnage a lot of their village was destroyed and many, both warriors and innocent civilians, crumbled. To the rest of the tribes, this is where the Cacao Tribe met their end, in glorious battle to defend their people. However, they did manage to hold out, but their plight was not over, as soon after, a plague broke out amongst the (I don’t actually know what it does, but I imagine when it was visible, it showed up as splotches of licorice on the dough with it eventually turning the eyes dull. Also it was fatal. Maybe it culminated in the affected melting into licorice? I dunno), caused by the attack and overexposure to the Licorice monsters. As such, the warriors were the ones first affected by the plague, and since it was a slow acting sickness and people didn’t know about it, it quickly spread throughout the tribe. They had to cut themselves off from the rest of the world at that point, hence one reason the other tribes thought they all perished, and try to work out on their own how to stop it. The plague devastated the surviving population, and while a cure (or at least something to help fight off the disease for those who could be saved) was eventually found, by this point so many had succumbed to the disease that the population of the tribe was no more than 20 Cookies. After all the horrible death and misery that those survivors went though in such a short amount of time, they were basically all left severely traumatized and for most of the adults, it left them with a constant state of sorrow and hopelessness, wondering when death was coming for them, or why they were the ones left to survive, some even saying they should have all died when the rest of their tribe did. Dark Cacao and Ruby Cacao lived through this, however they were very young at the time, with Dark Cacao not remembering any of it. As such, he just doesn’t feel or understand that same sense of loss, especially since he still has his sister, and because of that other kids (and to some extent the adults) take out their feelings on him. Ruby Cacao is a bit older, and only vaguely remembers the end of the plague (both of them got the disease, but got it late enough that they weren’t too affected before the cure), but the others don’t pick on her because they know she fights back, and fights hard (she’s got abnormal strength like her brother)

Edit: oh yeah, another thing I wanted to mention but forgot, after making up this backstory, it made me consider making a fic where another Licorice Plague happens, but this time it’s in the aftermath of Episodes 13-14, since they have a pretty big Licorice Sea attack themselves. I think it sounds interesting, since while Dark Cacao knows what it is once he sees the visible symptoms and he’s the only one to have lived through an outbreak like this and knows that there is a cure, he was too young to actually remember any of it, only being told about it and not knowing all the details. So if the Citadel wants to find a cure before it causes devastation to their troops, we might have to do some memory magic stuff to find the answers, which could also lead into other characters learning of the past he keeps secret (if it was like a thing where someone else has to venture in his memories, I’d pick Caramel Arrow for the one to do it), which could be neat. Also, there’s the whole conflict of the fact that to keep the plague from spreading, they’d have to quarantine the entire Citadel, meaning they’d have to completely shut their gates once more, even though they just opened them up again after so long, which could plant fear and doubt back in to the minds of the citizens, and Dark Cacao doesn’t want to do that, but the alternative puts the entire kingdom at risk. I feel like there’s plenty of interesting concepts you could have with this, I’m just not very skilled at writing multi-chapter fics, so I don’t really know how to approach this

But eventually the tribe met their ultimate fate a few years later, when the Licorice Sea attacked the tribe once again, and as there were no warriors and most of them just wanted to die, and as such they and what remained of their village was swallowed up by the sea, with only a few survivors, that being those that still wanted to live and could escape the attack, which weren’t many, but included Dark Cacao and Ruby Cacao

What happened after I’ve already said, them living alone in the mountains (with Dark Cacao becoming more independent as there’s only two of them, so he feels he can’t just hide behind her and has to step up and do his part), Ruby meeting her tragic fate and what happened with Dark Cacao afterwards

I also had some ideas for what Ruby Cacao would look/be like if she had lived, mainly just in that while she uses a large sword like her brother and nephew now, she later ends up preferring dual daggers, sort of like what Caramel Arrow has, only it doesn’t turn into a bow. Also that when she’s a teenager, she wears a cloak made out of a snow lion’s pelt, along with other things made from its fur (Dark Cacao has some too). I’m thinking she’s more of a hunter than her brother. Were she to live, she’d probably go with him and the other Ancients on their journey, and (presumably) get a Soul Jam herself, probably a red one. I’d imagine she and her brother would end up joint ruling the kingdom, or if she doesn’t take ruling role, she’s at least got an important role in the kingdom. I imagine she and Dark Choco would get along, with Ruby Cacao thinking he reminds her of Dark Cacao when he was that young (and then probably teasing Dark Cacao about it, to his embarrassment). Don’t know if she’d have a kid of her own, but if she did they’d probably be named Ruby Choco Cookie.

But yeah, I think that about covers what I wanted to say

To be honest, I want to draw more on this page, so I might edit this later with more sketches and then details about what’s on that. Though most of what’s going through my head for ideas is just them when the Licorice Sea destroyed their village (the final time) and Ruby Cacao hypothetically older. Though I’m also considering drawing them during the Licorice Plague, aka very small Ruby and Dark

[dumpster-fire-deluxe]

The prompt is (thank you @asdeadasasquirrel): A conversation or a scene where Padme thinks she understands Palpatine better afterward but we know differently

Writing a character I've never written before + balancing the inner world of two characters who both have a very different perspective of the situation + incorporating dramatic irony (the reader knows something which the main character doesn't)?

The last time Padmé had been in Palpatine's apartment, it was as a refuge; when she was queen and her mentor a senator. Now, she was the senator, visiting the chancellor of the Galactic Republic.

“How have you been settling in?” Palpatine asked, reclining in his seat, two freshly brewed cups of caf on the side table between them.

“I’m almost done unpacking,” Padmé answered. “I’m waiting for a few more belongings to be shipped over, but I’ve already made myself at home.”

“That’s good to hear. I can tell you from experience that the transition from Naboo to Coruscant can be rather… jarring.”

“I do think I will miss the lakes.”

“What helped me back then, was frequenting some of the parks around here. Of course, it doesn’t compare to the sprawling nature you and I are used to, but it might help ease you into the city.”

“Thank you for the advice. I do think I’ll be taking you up on it.” She picked up her cup.

“Good.” Palpatine took a sip of his own caf. “How are you feeling now that you’ve officially taken on your new position as senator?”

“I'm excited to get to work. Though, I must admit that I'm a little nervous.”

“Understandable, yet unnecessary. There is not one person I would rather have representing our dear homeworld than you. I’m delighted to be working by your side.”

Padmé tried not to blush at the compliment. “I can only hope that I will serve our people as well as you did.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Someone as brave as you to run straight into a battle has enough strength to face a room filled with diplomats.”

“But what if they think I’m too young? I might be inexperienced compared to them.” It was a concern she hadn’t voiced to anyone else. But Palpatine had mentored her for so long. If anyone could advise her, it was him.

He didn’t speak at first and Padmé wondered if he was about to deliver an uncomfortable truth, a confirmation that she wasn’t ready after all. He’d be gentle about it, of course, but it would hurt nonetheless.

“Did I ever tell you about how I ended up in politics?”

Padmé thought about it. It was public knowledge that Palpatine was an orphan from a royal bloodline who had become a rising star in legislation following his family’s demise. It was an inspiring story, but one she didn’t know many details of. “I don’t think so, no.”

He took another sip and set his cup down. “I was seventeen years old when my whole life got turned on its head. At the time, I was at a youth legislative camp. I’m sure you’re familiar with those.”

“I am, yes.”

“My family went on a trip, but during their travel, disaster struck. Pirates. Not a single one of them was spared. When I heard the news, I was devastated.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“Suddenly, I was thrust into a different life." He looked off into the distance, a pained expression on his face. "I was lost and had to rebuild myself from the broken pieces that were left behind. I carried so much anger. Eventually, I learned to pour that rage into something more... productive.”

“Politics?”

He looked back at her, the same determined expression in his eyes that she'd seen many times before. “Precisely. I was still in the legislative program and I noticed that the only thing that made me feel better was to make a difference; to improve society from its very core and give everyone the life they deserve. And it’s that drive that has gotten me to where I am now."

Padmé nodded. She knew that feeling all too well; it's what made her get up every morning.

Palpatine leaned forward and put his hand on her arm. "Your age doesn't matter. What matters, is your passion for what we do here. You have a burning desire to make the galaxy a better place. I have seen it since you were very young, and it’s why I’ve always believed in you. And it’s what will make you among the best politicians the Senate has ever seen.”

Padmé smiled, comforted by his words and the warm encouragement in his eyes. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

He sat back. "I am here for you if you ever need anything. Senator Amidala."

The last bit of doubt faded from her mind. She was ready to serve in the Senate. "I'm looking forward to working together."

Palpatine smiled. "So am I."

[conchoronzon]

Susanoo vs Orochi

A taste of my cock vore retelling of one of the myths of Susanoo, part of my Gods of Vore series which can be found here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/92273

Eight men walked into the room, each partially coated in serpentine scales. Elsewise, though, it was hard to visually tell they had anything to do with each other. Seven of them held a smell nearly the exact same. The eighth, wide and bald, smelled a bit more ashen than the others.

“Hello,” said the smallest of the eight. “You remember us, yes?”

“How could I forget you, o’ kami-sama?” said Susanoo. He bowed.

“Are you willing,” continued the small one, “to be consumed as were your brothers, or should we rain devastation on Inada?”

Ah. So they too enjoyed the idea of consent, Susanoo noted, though the way they went about it he wasn’t quite partial too. Did it even count at that point?

“Might we play a game?” asked Susanoo. He looked up and smiled as innocently as he could manage. He pointed at the large one. “He tries to eat me. I try to eat him. If he wins, then I’m a yummy meal. If I win, then I get to try to eat the rest of you as well.”

One of the eight, a tall one who wore a hat with drapery that hid his face, bristled and drew a sword. “How dare you,” he said.

“How dare you?” spoke the large and bald one. He shot a pointed look at the tall one. “You do not speak for me, my brother.” He turned to Susanoo. “I was taught to never play with my food. But what can I say? I never grew up.”

“Very well,” said the short one. “You two may play.”

“My mother has prepared sake for the rest of you,” Susanoo said. “She would be honored if you would drink of it. Think of it as their funerary offerings to their children and their new gods.”

One of the eight, one thinner than any human could possibly be, whooped. “One never turns down alcohol,” he said. Before any of the others responded, he was out in the hall and walking away.

The short one nodded at the large one. “Don’t take long.”

Then there was only one out of eight in Oshi’s room. The large one with the rolling bands of fat and the bald head. The serpentine scales on his body, a cerulean color, connected his nipples and stretched in a thin band halfway down his right side. His eyes, tinted yellow, had pupils slitted in that way reptiles’ are.

He slapped his stomach. The force sent ripples through his body. “Are you ready to end up in here?” asked the god.

“And you here?” Susanoo opened his mouth and placed the tip of one of his fingers on his bottom canine. He bit down slightly and pulled his finger out. As the other god laughed–he had quite a nice laugh, Susanoo thought–Susanoo moved his hand down and cupped the bulge in his Oshi fundoshi. “Or how about here?”

The god stomped forward with a smile painted on his face. He reached out a hand to Susanoo. “Go ahead, little human. Shove my hand in your cock.”

“Okay.” Susanoo reached inside Oshi and pulled his red-fabriced self to the side. His cock, brown and uncut and utterly perfect, spilled out. He grabbed the god’s large hand with both of Oshi’s small ones. He pressed the tip of one of the thick sausage fingers against his own sausage and said, “Thanks for the meal.” He blinked. Susanoo’s cock flared open like the maw of a snake. The stretched skin showcased a hole larger than either of the two gods.

Those snakish eyes widened. Fear flickered across the god’s face. That, that delicious look of terror, burned glee through Susanoo’s veins. He sneered as his cock lunged forward and took in all of the god at once. He’d not done this for a few years. Usually, he enjoyed taking his time with matter such as this, savoring the squirming forms struggling down whatever orifice his captives went down. But this was not about enjoying the act of eating. It was about punishment and anger and saving the angry little human he was going to marry.

His balls bulged out when the plump god was deposited in them. His form inside Susanoo wasn’t nearly as large as it was on the outside. The divine tended to house near-endless space. At least, Susanoo did, and he sort of assumed that was the case for all other gods as well. He could have shrunk his testicles, but he liked the way the added heft pressed against the fabric confines of Oshi’s underwear form. Maybe by the time all of Ochi was in him, Oshi would be able to think of nothing more than Susanoo, his scent, and being filled by him. That would be hot.

His cock, back to its usual size, stirred. As it jutted out, the god of storms grinned. “Tonight,” he said to his cock, “let’s call you Kusanagi.”

[brokenangelwings22]

The Weight of the World ch 7 preview!

I should have this up by tomorrow. So here's a teaser!

“Chris kept us in the loop,” Jill explained. “Until we lost contact, he’d been filling us in every few days. He thinks that depending on the population of the living, say a metropolis like New York City, the undead were always hunting. The more rural you get, the less Turned you encounter.”

“What do you mean ‘lost contact’?” Claire’s question came out in a rush, her nervousness growing. “You don’t know where he is? Or if he may have been killed?”

“In his line of work,” her aunt said softly, her tone when she spoke to Claire was careful and kind. “It isn’t unusual for him to go dark.”

Claire started laughing. It grew from an uncomfortable sound to a complete cackle. Knowing that her aunt and uncle knew her brother better than she broke something in her mind. She was angry, hurt, and felt betrayed. Her laughter continued as if she’d gone mad.

“Sure! Why not? He’s been going dark with me since I was thirteen. How naïve of me never to question why he’d leave so often in my teen years. Especially if he was in a special tactical, high-level group of officers. Don’t tell your only flesh and blood that depended on you growing up!” Tears were streaming down her face as her maniacal laughter dissolved into anger.

Jill’s usually cool and calm demeanor was wiped from her face as remorse and sadness for Claire replaced it.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” her aunt’s words were honest and sincere. “We were told by our superiors and Chris to not divulge anything. I regret that we agreed to keep it a secret.”

“I don’t blame you or Uncle Carlos!” Claire replied angrily. “I’m furious with my brother.”

“Are you sure?” Carlos asked gently. “We’d understand if you were.”

“You both were there for me whenever Chris took his long ‘business’ trips. You guys and Leon kept me safe and happy,” the redhead said as her emotional rollercoaster continued. “I will not and cannot blame you. I will, however, blame my brother.”

Leon lifted his hand from Claire’s lower back to cup her cheeks with both palms. “Hey. It’s okay to be angry. You are devastated and feel betrayed. Do not blame yourself or think you did something wrong. Okay?”

The way he held her face in his hands and the sincerity of his words helped her off the ledge she was about to fall off of. She nodded to him.

“Sorr—“ Claire caught herself in time. “I mean… is it okay with you guys if we take a break? I need a distraction that doesn’t have to do with Chris.”

[altheterrible]

I'm excited about a future I never planned to have.

The therapist I saw through all four years of grad school, Kirk, gave me a plant as a parting/graduation gift the last time we met. It was a jade plant, a succulent. He told me that he picked it because he’d seen jade plants thrive in conditions that would be fatal for less sturdy plants, and that reminded him of me, thriving despite my shitty circumstances. Immediately, I was paralyzed by the idea of accidentally killing such a meaningful gift; my history with plants hasn’t been great. Kirk said if the plant did end up dying, that was okay. Plants die. Relationships end. Things change. Life is an ocean that is always in flux.  The most important thing, he said, was that I had learned that my ship could stay afloat no matter what storms the ocean threw at me. 

I was talking to my current therapist on Tuesday about how the therapy I did in grad school was basically triage. For four years, I fought to get myself stable enough that I was no longer in danger of killing myself, either purposefully or through self-harm. It was work that needed to be done before I could attempt, like, real therapy. Trauma therapy. Before I worked with Kirk, my memories--and the associated fear, anger--would completely overwhelm me several times a week. Self-harm was my surefire method to stop the spiraling and get back in the present, get back in control. I would cut myself, burn myself, hit myself, or overdose multiple times a week because I felt like the emotions inside of me were so huge, so extreme, that they would destroy me if I felt them. I needed to stop them instead. 

So I did. Self harm was a life hack that meant in an instant, my anxiety, my anger, my sadness, whatever--it would be gone. It was like I could force-close my emotions. I had an instant off switch. The only problem was that this switch didn’t just turn off painful emotions, it worked by turning off all emotions. For a long time, I was fine with that--feeling nothing was an improvement over the pain I was always in. But it got to where I felt so numb that even things that should have brought me joy didn’t touch me. I felt like there was nothing worth living for because my options were “feel bad” or “feel nothing” and I felt trapped. The idea of living like that forever felt impossible. Staying alive felt pointless. The future felt hostile. I decided I didn't want to stick around for it.

Kirk got me out of that place and I'll never forget it. It took four years of CBT, DBT, group therapy, medication roulette, and three different psychiatric hospitals, but I finally managed to mostly kick the self-harm habit. I still slip up a few times a year, sure, but it’s not like it was. I’ve accepted that being 100% self-harm free probably isn’t going to happen for me, and that’s okay. I used to be very black and white about it. If I slipped up, I felt like I was a failure. I had to learn that slipping up doesn’t erase the good days. One bad day in a month of good days still  meant I used better coping skills 29/30 days. I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. I think the therapy I did in grad school was harder than getting the degree. And it’s certainly been more helpful.

Anyway, I’ve had this jade plant since May 2019. Four years. But, uh, it isn’t looking too good right now. It might need to be repotted. It might need more sun. It’s wilting. I don’t know if I watered it too much, or if I didn’t water it enough. Plants don’t tell me what they need like my pets do.

I’m not giving up; I’m going to try repotting it. Jade plants are pretty resilient, so it has a good chance of bouncing back. But like, if it doesn’t, the idea of this plant dying no longer devastates me like it did four years ago. Because yes, plants die. Relationships end. Things change. Life is an ocean that’s always in flux. And all you can really do is enjoy the moments of smooth sailing when they happen, and when a storm blows in, know that it will pass.

I feel my feelings now instead of desperately trying to shut them off. A lot of the time, it sucks. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m hurt. I’m lonely. But the tradeoff is that now I can feel positive emotions again. I feel joy, I feel creative, I feel connected to people in a way I’ve never been before.

Sometimes I watch the sun rise as I’m walking to work, and I feel so hopeful about the future I almost cry.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I am excited as fuck to find out.