#please say a quick prayer if you can. my family is fucking devastated.

[khaire-traveler]

If anyone is willing, please send prayers to Lord Haides and Lord Hermes for my cousin. His name is Shane. He passed away, but I do not have details. The only detail I have is one that is very triggering for many people; I'll put it below the cut. This is devastating. He was older than me but still young. I don't know how to express my feelings on the matter.

Tw: Death, self-deletion, substance addiction

He committed suicide. Typing this out feels so unreal. I literally just found this out. I haven't gotten the chance to speak to my mom yet. Frankly, I'm in shock. He was addicted to meth, and it was clear he was going on a steady decline for a while, but I guess I didn't see this coming. I have no clue how to feel or react. We weren't very close, but I still cared about him and was genuinely hoping he'd make a turnaround. I have no fucking clue what to say, really. The world has lost a brilliantly creative mind today.

[8emmy]

Friends With Benefits

This AU is new and is randomly going to be updated. Please send me prompts (songs, writing prompts, etc.) for this AU. Thanks!

Cassian forgets how he got into this arrangement with one of his best friend sister's. A girl who hated him with a burning passion that now comes by on Friday for some much needed mutual release.

AO3 Link: Chapter 1

Song 1

Song 2

Nesta's chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Cassian's fingers slowly come out of her tracing her clitoris and watching as Nesta shakes still in the aftermath of her orgasm. He forgets how they got here, how he is fucking one of his best friend's sisters, the girl that hated him.

Nesta watches as Cassian lifts those wicked digits and places them in his mouth. This was a bit too intimate for they're arrangement, but Nesta doesn't say anything but moan.

Friday's were Cassian's favourite day of the week. Because it was the day that Nesta comes to his apartment right after work in her fucking pencil skirt ready for their stress relief sessions.

Nesta's hand goes down to his dick, feeling how hard he was for her - for sex. They both needed sex. Sex with no emotions, just mutual, glorious, release. He moans away his wishes for a cuddle after this round. She smiled at him with teeth, like a predator who caught their prey. Cassian watches her slide down his mattress. Watches her kneel at his knees as she licks her lips, ready to devour his everything.

"Nes," Cassian begs. She glares at him. She hated his nicknames, at least says she hated them, but when they're in the throes of passion, and he is whispering those nicknames like prayers, she smirks and says her own for him. "I don't want you to suck me off. Ride me." He begs. He likes to tease but doesn't like it when the teasing is on him.

"But I am returning the favour," she says, taking his dick in her pretty hands, hands that were meant to be in his hair, on his chest while she rides him to oblivion. She pumps him. "Will you ever let me have fun, batboy?" She wrinkles her nose as she brings her head down. Her tongue laps his dick's head and he shutters. Fuck.

Batboy, when did that turn into a thing? He looks up to his ceiling, trying to last long and not cum before she rides him. Her lips part and she sucks on his head. He moans deep and throaty, "Nes, sweetheart, I won't last if you tease me this way." Nesta hums, and he fists his sheets trying to calm himself down. He can feel her smirk as she takes her mouth off him to plant kisses along his length.

"I am sure we can get you nice and hard again. I plan to have my fun more than twice this evening, batboy." She licks her way back up.

Cassian sits up and takes her face. Nes pouts her fun being put to its end. Cassian smirks and leans in to kiss her deeply, which she melts back into quickly. Kissing used to be off-limits in this arrangement, but that to was no longer a thing.

Cassian takes her hips and moves her, so she straddles him. He runs his hands up to her breasts and pinches her nipples to get another moan out of this beautiful woman. How lucky for him to have a woman in his bed that he didn't need to take out on dates? He's sure though that if he took Nesta out, took her to see one of those god awful romcoms, deep down inside of him, he would like that. He deepens the kiss, trying to bury away these horrible thoughts out of his mind. He wouldn't want to ruin the kind of relationship (whatever this was) because he wanted to add emotions to it.

Nesta pulls back and sighs as she finally sits down on his dick. Cassian lets a hiss out between his teeth. She was so warm when he's deep inside of her. Which was very different from the Nesta he knows, the ice princess that gave cold shoulders to everyone along with those devastating icy glares.

"Work," she begins to complain, "was so crappy. I hate it when Casper talks to me as if I am two years old." She lifts her hips and sinks back down Cassian bites his lip half-listening to Nesta as she circles her hips when he is once again fully in her.

"And Tomas asked me out again." Cassian stiffens. In their pact, they said that once they have decided to try dating again this beautiful, arrangement would end—no more mind-blowing sex. No more head messages, blowjobs and no more tasting her with his tongue. No more hanging out in his apartment watching basketball or listening to Nesta's talk about work and her current books she's reading. No more giving Nesta foot messages after she takes off those overly tall heels she insists on wearing. No more pizza and spending Saturdays in bed worshipping her like the goddess she is.

Cassian takes a nipple in his mouth, playfully bitting it before licking away the pain. He was trying to hide his discomfort of the thought of going back to Nesta, hating him. The awkward family dinners at his brother's place, pretending to ignore Feyre's attempt to read his feeling towards her sister. Having to pretend that he was cool and that he never really thought this arrangement would ever last. But the truth is that he never wanted it to end.

"He can't get the fucking hint that I want nothing to do with him. How many times," she fastens her pace nudged on by Cassian's teasings on her sensitive nipples. "must I have to say no before he gets the hint. Cas, harder."

Cassian places his hands behind him so he could meet her hips with his thrusts. He watches her bend her head back, groaning out her pleasure. He lays back down and reaches his hands back to her clitoris. He needed her to climax again before he finishes. She leans back. How can a woman be so perfect? He must be the luckiest man in the world.

"Cas, oh, Cassian. You feel so good." How can she says thing like that to him and not catch feelings? Egged on, he rubs harder, and she shakes moaning out his name. "Cassian, fuck, Cas I-I lo- oh god," Nesta pants leaning forward to capture his lips before he flips them. He takes Nesta leg and hoists it over his shoulder, not breaking their kiss.

"Nes, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good," he huffs between kisses. Nesta drags her nails down his back, and he is putty, "you feel so fucking good."

"Cas. Cas, cum for me," she breaks their kiss and stares at him with her stormy grey eyes. Whatever she wants, he will give. And so with a final, "Nesta," he comes undone. Nesta smiles brightly and pulls at his bottom lip playfully.

"Good first round," she says as Cassian rolls off of her and gets up. She says it like it was a soccer game, congratulating her teammate. He winks at her over his shoulder as he takes off his condom to deposit in the bathroom garbage.

He comes back into his room, seeing Nesta sitting with her back on the headboard on her side of his bed. Because of course, she has her own side next to the window. In her hand is a novel. She's now sporting his t-shirt that she yanked off of him only mere minutes ago, with the duvet pulled up her legs for warmth. She was going to be the death of him. He walks over to her side and tugs on the hem of his shirt, trying to get her attention.

"You're not wearing pants," Nesta says, not looking up from her novel.

Cassian chuckles, "you seen the goods whats to hide for. Nothing to be ashamed of." He looks at Nesta with a smirk. She lifts her book higher. "I thought we're having another round." How could she possibly read when he has the perfect distraction? He couldn't even think of anything when Nesta was in any state of undress near him.

"I was waiting for you; you took a while in the bathroom," she says, placing her book on her nightstand. Her smile is devilish. She leans toward Cassian with a wink before pressing her lips to his.

They kiss for a while. It was less than a peck to start the mode and more of making out and forgetting about the fucking part. Cassian leans her back down on the bed and just kisses her senselessly. She nips her lips before Cassian peppers his kisses down her jaw to her long neck. She moves her head to give him access. "You're so good with your mouth," she sighs. Cassian smiles into her throat. She probably knows the amount of power she has over him by this point. She was making him ooey-gooey inside and out. How his arms give out, and his stomach is full of butterflies.

He moves back to her lips and deepens their kiss. "You're wearing my shirt," he says.

"It looks better on me," she replies. No argue there. She looks fantastic in his clothes. He slides his hands towards the hem of his shirt to remove it off of her. As his finger touch her hips, his phone begins to ring. "Don't," Nesta starts, gripping his hair to keep his face on her neck, "pick up the fucking phone."

Cassian huffs, he really doesn't want to pick up his phone, but he was on call. He bites her lip, getting her to loosen her grip so he can sit up. "Cas," she whines. Nesta never whines. Cassian had to restrain himself before he pounced to make her feel better. He leans over to his side of the bed to pick up his charging cellphone. Azriel's name pops up.

"Hey, Az," Cassian greets with a gruff voice. He really didn't want to pick up his phone. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Nesta pinching her nipples through his shirt. That fucking minx. Her eyes are dark as she watched him with a devious smirk. "Can you make this quick."

"Cas, Rhys has ordered an urgent meeting at his place. He needs assistants with a possible firewall breach, and he needs his people here as soon as possible."

Cassian closes his eyes; he opens to flick over to Nesta, who had moved his duvet off her lap so she can show him his true home. Her fingers circle her clitoris, her eyes questioning why he hasn't ended the call.

"I'll be there," Cassian finally says, watching Nesta raise an eyebrow.

"See you in a bit." Az line goes dead.

Nesta removes her hands from her clit when Cassian gets up and starts to gather clean clothes. "So, I guess tonight's entertainment is over," Nesta sighs, also getting up. She removes his shirt off of herself. She picks up her underwear and slips them on. Cassian passes her a wrinkly blouse and her pencil skirt.

"There's a potential security breach at work, and they need me to attend a meeting to plan our next steps. Trust me, I wish we could continue," his voice holds promise as he watches Nesta hoist up her skirt, tugging it over her magical ass. He wished he could have lied, said he wasn't feeling well. But he was too loyal, a fault that Nesta bullies him on. "I would ask you to stay, but I don't know how long this is going to be."

The idea of having Nesta waiting in his bed for him to come home made his dick strain against his boxers. He fixes his dick before he slips on his slacks. He can feel Nesta's eyes on his ass. She enjoyed his body as much as he enjoyed hers.

"It's fine; I should head home," Nesta moves towards the door to go to the living room where her shoes and bag were. Cassian grasps Nesta's elbow lightly before she leaves.

"You are coming by sometime this weekend?" She was a drug, and this little fix he had with her was not enough to sustain him till next Friday.

"We'll have to see. Feyre is hosting brunch this Sunday. Maybe we'll see each other." Cas gives her a wicked smirk. See each other; they will. His mind goes back to the last rendezvous they had at Feyre and Rhysand's townhouse. The sneaking around to the upstairs bathroom to have a quick dirty fuck on the bathroom counter because he couldn't keep his hands and his eyes off of her. He needed her so badly when she somehow was able to play onesided footsie during breakfast, how she would catch glances at him when no one was looking. He wasn't so lucky with the knowing looks coming from both Az and Feyre, who apparently knew he was in deep shit.

His eyes darken as he pulls her closer, catching her lips to his. He almost forgets that he has to put on his shirt and head over to the office when Nesta opens her lips to him. Her tongue ran against his. He breaks away his breathing heavy. "You wicked, wicked woman." He takes her hand and places it over his erection that was restricted in his slacks. Slacks that she picked out for him. She smiles and kisses his lips again.

"Can you wait till Sunday to fuck me?" She asks with a knowing look. He grunts as she strokes him through his pants. "I am sure my batboy can wait." She ruins him when she says things like that—claiming him when she doesn't want anything but his cock and mouth. He sometimes likes to think that they were together when she claims him like that. That he was her's alone, which he was since this arrangement started, he hadn't thought of taking another woman when he had already found his match.

"They can wait another half an hour. Let me in you one last time," he almost begs, leaning in for another kiss. She leans back and turns to leave his room.

"Sunday, batboy. I look forward to it." She sways her ass as she leaves. Cassian sighs and once again adjust himself before looking for a sweater that could hide his bulge.

[chelsfic]

Sweet Child - Steve Murphy x Connie Murphy - Narcos Drabble

[gif source]

Sequel to Say You’ll Be My Baby

A/N: This is a drabble about the night that Steve brings home Olivia. It’s very personal and angsty. Please read the warnings.

Warnings: Infertility, Miscarriage, Angst, Light religious reference, The mildest of smut

Connie’s breath catches in her throat at the sight of Steve walking through the door with that sweet little baby in his arms. He’s dead on his feat, exhausted and covered in sweat. She recognizes the dull glaze of defeat in his eyes. But when he looks down at that baby, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, it’s like he comes back to life, clinging to the little bundle with a fierce protectiveness as if he’s fallen in love already.

Which, of course, he has.

Tears sting Connie’s eyes and her lips turn up in a smile at the precious sight. They tried for so long. Month after month of disappointed hope finally culminating in the devastating loss of a miscarriage. When Steve took the job in Colombia they both agreed to take a pause. And now...now this child seems like an answer to a prayer.

“Where’d she come from, Steve?” Connie whispers, stroking her fingers over the girl’s fat, little knuckles.

He shakes his head, cradling the child to his chest and letting his cheek rest against her wispy, brown hair. 

“I can’t talk about it yet, baby. Not tonight,” he answers, shutting his eyes against the memory of the mother’s body on the floor, one hand reaching out in the direction of her child. “But...she needs us, Connie.”

They have nothing. No diapers, no formula, no little baby clothes. Connie grabs an old t-shirt of Steve’s from the dresser. It’s well-worn and soft and the little girl looks adorable all bundled up in the folds of fabric. She sends Steve down to the market and settles onto the bed, bouncing the fussy little one on her lap and privately allowing herself to take in all the small details. The sweet, milky smell of her skin, the way her pudgy fingers fist into the material of Connie’s blouse, her huge, liquid eyes and long lashes. She shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t be getting attached. Whatever this is...there’s no guarantee it’s permanent.

After the miscarriage Connie laid in bed for a week feeling nothing but the hollow emptiness where once a tiny life had quickened. It was like God was denying them this everyday miracle. All she wanted was for their love to be strong enough to manifest a new soul. It felt like everyday one of her friends was announcing a pregnancy and, yet, no matter how much she and Steve loved one another...it wasn’t enough.

Steve was distraught. He’d lay down beside her, cupping his body around hers and tucking her into his strong arms. Then he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck and hum her favorite song. 

“Come back to me, baby,” he pleaded. “Come back to me.”

The child’s eyes light up when Steve walks back into the apartment, like she’s already a daddy’s girl. And that thought, flitting so naturally and suddenly through Connie’s mind, is enough to take away her breath all over again.

They get her fed and changed. Connie watches Steve fuss and struggle with the diaper. When he’s finished his face is somehow dusted with baby powder and he’s used half a box of wipes, but he’s smiling that innocent, boyish smile that Connie hasn’t seen since before Bogotá and Escobar and all of it. She grabs his collar and pulls him down to press her lips to his dear mouth. She wants to sob in relief that her man--her wonderful, kind, goofy, soft man--is still here. He hasn’t been destroyed by the misery of this war after all. 

In place of a bassinet they tuck her into a laundry basket lined with blankets. Steve sets it on the floor by the bed in case she wakes in the night. They watch as she drifts off, long lashes resting against plump cheeks, her little chest rising and falling with the comforting rhythm of her baby’s breath. 

“She’s perfect,” Connie sighs, resting her head on Steve’s shoulder and wrapping a hand around his waist. Steve leans down to kiss her temple, humming his agreement. He can feel his heart swelling with a font of emotion he’s never known. This feels right. It feels like their little family is finally complete.

They make love quietly in the dark, their bodies seeking one another automatically. They’re overcome with the need for each other, the need to sanctify this moment as if their love will conceive the idea of a daughter in a way they can’t physically. 

It’s been weeks since they’ve taken the time for anything more than a quick, vicious fuck. Steve frames Connie’s face between his large hands, threading his fingers through her golden locks and leaning down to press his forehead to hers, whispering into a kiss, “I love you so fuckin’ much, baby.”

He rolls his hips slowly, the hard length of him feeling at home inside of her. His face is open, vulnerable. His pink, full lips part around shaky gasps and his eyes are heavy-lidded, looking down at his wife as he tries to invest every touch, every movement with the power of the love he can never fully express with meager words.

She squeezes her thighs against his hips, her reply stuttering from her lips in a thready whisper, “I love you, too, my sweet man.”

They cling to each other like drowning victims under the force of waves that would surely sink them if they were alone. Muscles trembling, breath panting, tears mingling. When it’s over they fall asleep with sweat cooling on flushed skin and arms locked firmly around each other. They fall asleep to the steady beat of their hearts working in synchrony and the sound of their daughter gently cooing in her sleep.

Boyd-ish tags (if you don’t want to be tagged pls let me know, these are mostly ppl following my Donnie fics...)

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor @sabinemorans​

[jaegertango]

Noire: Infirmary

Kind of a partial followup to the previous thing I did, featuring one of @yung-rage ‘s old characters. Tone-wise, it’s not really as noire-feeling as before, but. I felt the inspiration to try and do something else with this AU, so here we go. Someone’s gotta help fix up all the people getting beaten up in Underyork, and those wounds aren’t always legal. Sometimes you need a doctor just as deep in the muck as you are - and this Doctor ain’t always so Feelgood.

The start of a new era of bloodshed. Pfft.

I’ve read that newsline so many times that I wouldn’t be surprised if I had first seen it in the childhood fairytales. Everyone in Underyork is so quick to jump on any violence the mob families like to throw around – as if yesterday’s agony is any different from today’s joy. It’s such a shame; the print doesn’t want to write news any more, they would rather parrot the same six headlines they’ve had ever since Underyork was given its first brick. I’m not sure why I bother picking up a newspaper anymore.

Oh. Right. I guess I need something to wrap the lost fingers and appendages in before I put them on ice.

I’ve had this infirmary hidden along Moonsilver Street for ages now. Hidden means I won’t get any police knocking on my door; hidden also means I won’t get any medical benefits without any police coming as well. So I’ve had to improvise a lot in order to keep my patients happy. Or rather, alive. It’s more of an annoyance than anything – I don’t think any of them realize that the brand-new happy juice called Morphine is so much more difficult to get than any of the guns they’ve been shot with, whether by legitimate checkbook or on the black market. So I have to ration it – and mix a lot of it with THC. Weed is a lot easier to get my hands on than that happy juice, and what my patients don’t know won’t kill them – not that they’re any more legal than that happy juice.

They’re not here for licenses. They’re here for Silane “The Doc” Falorus.

I hate that nickname. Every time I have someone under the knife, I always get some snarky “Oh hey Doc, guess I’m ready for your cutting-edge technique hurrhurr.” They’re so funny – it’s all just a game to them, it seems. Everyone has their nickname, and everyone has their practice, but only I take my duties seriously. This is my God-given duty to help these wounds, and so I help these victims in their plight.

Fervently.

I hear the bell to my door chime, and I hear a mess of scuttling and gasping. I don’t even need to turn my head to know I’ve got more work – and if the last three patients have been any record, I’d say it’s another Legion attack. The news might not have any idea why the string of assaults was bombarding Underyork at random, but being “The Doc,” I’m privy to much better information. One of the Legion cleaners was apparently murdered – and not in one of their pseudo-religious hits. It has the entire family up in arms, and I’ve had to fix up the majority of their mistakes because of it. Branding irons, glass bombs, toxic gas cannisters, and those are just the ones that survived. If I had to guess among those yells of “MY FUCKING KNEE” and “IT FUCKING HURTS, YOU COCKSUCKER” I would guess this one had one of his kneecaps bashed in. Old-school – maybe this was Mafia Rex instead. Turning towards the entrance, I smile as sweetly as I can towards the three men holding up a fourth, whose right leg had been so mangled that I could see his shin bone poking out of his skin, and his kneecap had nearly been entirely removed. Still, I’ve seen a lot worse than that – he had little reason to be crying.

“And how can I help you boys?” I greet them happily, making sure to reach for my “World’s Best Mom” mug.

“Doc, you gotta help us! Reggie’s got hit real bad!” One of them speak desperately, and I can see the terror in his eyes. Young – he was definitely new to this crime world, with how fast he was speaking. Another one of them looked frightened as well, but the last one looked more tired. She was a more recognizable face – Nandine the Breaker, one of the Queen’s hitwomen. The Queen was newest to this scene, but she deals with an iron fist, and I enjoy her respectful posse. She was once a part of the police force, but she learned as quickly as I did that the government doesn’t do a damn thing for you. I can see it in her green eyes – I don’t even need to question who did this attack, so I simply brace for the inevitable shout regardless:

“So where were you boys at when the Legion beat you up like a schoolyard bully?”

“DOES IT FUCKING MATTER, DOC!? FIX MY FUCKING LEG!” Reggie roars at me, and it’s only now that I realize he’s got his handgun pointed at me. I just keep smiling at him – these children really needed to learn their place. Sure, I could just kick him out to the curb to die painfully, but that would go against my doctor’s morals. God had delivered them to my doorstep, so it was my job as “The Doc” to do what I was put in Underyork to do.

“Bring him in,” I speak to Nandine, and I can see the barest hint of a smirk cross her face. I whistle happily, turning on my heel and setting aside my medical tome and bible so that the mafia has room to huddle inside. The infirmary, once filled with my other patients’ groans for life, now went silent. They know what’s coming, and it’s respectful of them to be quiet – I appreciate them for it. Reaching for an IV drip, I keep whistling as I turn towards Reggie, who was still hissing and snarling all the same as I look to him.

“If you’ve any prayers to God, we can sing one together if you’d like,” I offer towards him, gesturing at my bible. In response, he fires a shot by my left ear, the bullet embedding itself in the wall behind me.

“I will FUCKING-“

But I didn’t care what he “fucking” did. I immediately reached over with my bible and brought it down on his shattered shinbone. He howled so loudly that the previous gunshot seemed like a whisper, and he immediately dropped his pistol. Deftly, I reach for it with my forefinger and thumb, and daintily place it in the cabinet along with the rest of the confiscated weapons I’ve had to take. Reggie was still screaming bloody murder the entire time, his eyes bulging as I sat patiently, keeping constant, unblinking eye contact with him as he erupted a constant stream of “YOU BITCH!” and “I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” I watched him quietly, waiting for him to get all of his obscenities out dutifully until he finally seemed to run out of breath, giving me time to talk once more.

“So since you’ve declined the prayer, let’s allow the doctor to work, yes?” I reply happily, looking towards his leg. Up close, it's no different than when I looked at it earlier – the tibia had entirely pierced through his skin, and his patella was almost fully gone, save for a few destroyed fragments clinging to his cartilage. There was no reason to look any closer than that – even if I could reset the tibia back in place, there was no more kneecap to connect it to. The amount of muscle atrophy by the time the bone could reconnect to a metal ball socket would reduce Reggie's right leg to nothing more than a sickly, shriveled stick. I look back up to his enraged face, and I solemnly shake my head, enough to make his red face immediately turn white.

“You can't be serious-”

“I am. Deathly so, Mister Reggie,” I speak softly, looking back to his ravaged leg. “There's no way you'll be walking again, I'm afraid.”

“NO WAY!” He howled, gazing down to his devastated leg and wincing at the bone jutting from it. The poor man was little more than a storm of emotion as he looked to me desperately for any sort of help, his hands shaking as he held them out before his leg.

“Please... just. Fix it, please...!”

“Lucky for you, I do have such a fix!” I sing joyfully, and I can see Reggie visibly relax – until I pull out the saw. Immediately, his face turns even paler, and his friends gasp in fear while Nandine tuts loudly. She's all-too familiar with my work.

“No!”

“Nein? Yes, I think a nine is about fitting on the pain scale!” I reply with a hum, and I motion for Nandine to help me restrain him. She sighs explosively, but I know she'll help. Reggie is lucky she's bigger than him, or else this would be a lot more painful for him. While she holds back his struggling limbs, I reach for the IV drip, and I aim up for his vein. Even as wild as he, I'm familiar with that fat tube of blood – and it's all-too easy to stuff the needle into it. He flinches, and almost immediately begins to relax; the happy juice does its job quickly.

Still, I rate my pain scale based on the morphine I've already given.

“Now Mister Reggie, you may not be religious, but I am – so allow me to speak this verse,” I speak freely and while his eyes have glazed over with the euphoria of obliviousness, I know just what is about to come. Readying the saw and flipping open my bible to a familiar verse, I nod to Nandine, and she steadies her hand on the man's wrists. One of the other men jump to land on his non-wounded leg, and I waste no more time. With zealous possession, I drive my hand forward and rip into the sundered kneecap, knowing I have only precious seconds to spare.

“Thirty-two, twenty-nine!” I call firmly, but I cannot help but feel the notes uplifting in my voice. Reggie screams loudly, not even the gentle embrace of morphine saving him from the nine of agony. But God is on my side, which means that God is on his side – I will not let him die, nor will I let him be plagued by this devil of a leg!

“See now that I, even I, am he, and there is no god within me,” I command loudly, but my joy drives me to greater fervor. I find no pleasure in causing harm, but I do find bliss in saving lives. Reggie may be howling bloody murder, but I know it is only the demons leaving his body. My saw shreds through his flesh true and fast – the lack of bone makes my dire task much easier.

“I kill, and I make alive; I wound, and I heal,” I pray at my fullest, and I can see that my job is nearly complete. My patient screeches his foulest, and his friends are paler than the sheets beneath them, but Nandine, bless her heart, stays true. She knows better than anyone else that my quest demands her fortitude, and I silently thank her for her strength. As the final strands of flesh start to part under my bloody saw, I feel the Lord's renewing energy in my fingertips as I finally finish my prayer:

“Neither is there any that can deliver out of my hand!”

My saw bites into the top of the bed, and I sigh explosively as the gruesome task is complete. Reggie looks to be on his final breaths, but I can see the crazed relief drooling out of his mouth – the worst of his agony is finally gone. I have cleansed him of his devils of pain, and that vile leg now sits useless and decrepit away from him. I can feel his friends' terrified eyes upon me, but I care more for the steady gaze Nandine offers to me. With a thankful nod, I relieve her of her stressful job, and wave her off to depart. Moving towards Reggie's IV drip, I increase the amount just a little bit more before I look back towards his companions.

“Move him to that spot, just over there, would you two?” I ask kindly, but I might as well should have screamed with how they flinched. Nandine snorts, but nonetheless offers a soft pat on my shoulder for a job well done. The Queen's veterans always have been so gentle around me – God truly watches over her.

“Hmph. You rushed that verse.”

The sudden voice speaking up startles me slightly, but not enough for me to do more than look over at the owner of the noise. Sitting in the closest cot to me lays Soren Sigmaine, maybe my most familiar patient. I have a story for at least half of the scars on his body – and he might as well could be a tiger with those stripes. His eyes regard me curtly, and while his bloodied uniform might demand him to be silent, that leer commands him to watch me as a healthy man. A prideful man – if it wasn't for that willpower, I would have chained him to this infirmary to keep him from getting more scars.

Besides, a man of the law like himself didn't belong among all of these criminals.

“Perhaps God commanded me to speak quickly,” I reply easily, walking over towards Soren and checking his machines. His pain levels were still as low as ever – even with a fractured rib and bullet wounds, he never seemed to complain about his agony. Perhaps the Lord was his own personal guardian angel.

“I hope God enjoys a fast prayer,” the cop chuckles, and he returns to his previous grip exercises. He knows I hate how he tries to work out while kept in bedrest, but I've given up trying to stop him.

“I've never known you as one for small talk, Sigmaine,” I shake my head bluntly, looking back to his fierce gaze.

“That's another Legion attack, isn't it?” He grunts curiously, pointing in the direction of Reggie's cart. I look over lamely towards it, and then nod silently. A sudden, foreboding feeling overtook me...

“They're planning something. This is just the tip of their iceberg they're cracking off,” He growls brusquely, leaning back into his pillow solemnly. I can't help but listen to his words – I've never trusted the advice of a blueblood, but Soren's gut feelings have always proven to have some merit to them. He would make a good mobster if he wasn't so foolish.

“Any ideas what that is?” I ask mostly out of idle interest, finishing my checkup on his health machines. Typically, he just shrugs darkly and shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“Dunno. But I can feel it. This and that fighting pit. Everyone's even more on edge – it's not like the old Underyork anymore. Everything's about to be shaken down...”

I wait for him to continue, but he never does. With a sigh, I turn my back on him and look back towards the entrance. Nobody else seemed to have any idea about the state of the mob, but I couldn't bring myself to fully deny Sigmaine's partial prophecy. If what he said was even remotely true, I wouldn't have enough beds to suit God's healing will.

Ugh. I suppose it didn't matter what happened next. I am an instrument of the Lord's will, no matter what.

Taking a step away to leave Soren to his peace, I return back to my desk, where I can hear the groans of life once more singing like a choir behind me. Something about the lack of silence soothes my nerves, however morbid they may be.

The start of a new era of bloodshed. Perhaps Zalaena needed to be warned...

[crescentmoonhills]

Psychological. Second try at writing

Friday morning. The last time I would have to hear my alarm, well, until Monday. I turn off the buzzing of the alarm but I know the buzz wouldn’t stop. It never did. Countless whispers, quiet and scratchy like a mouse in the wall grating at my soul. Going ceaselessly louder and louder by the day. Begging, pleading, crying, screaming, screeching and— "Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I go downstairs to start making coffee. The office has a Keurig machine, but I have always thought you couldn't beat a pot of coffee in the morning. I step outside to smoke my first one of the day.

I put a cigarette to my lips, light it, and without even looking up, I know the neighbors are judging me. I know everyone is. I know all too well. A washed-up author with not a single book to his name—no, a 35 year old unemployed man left behind by his wife, friends, and even families. Give applause to the one and only, Mr. Ernst Klein. Heh. I could hear them speaking from here. Mumbling, whispering, hushing, and gossiping. Ignore it, Ernst. Ignore it. They have enough reasons to do so and you are used to it anyway. I took a deep drag down to the end and threw it on the ground. Figured if I’m going to end myself might as well make it enjoyable. I go in, grab a cup of coffee, took a book, and return to the patio.

****

At the altar she prayed. Sending her prayer to The Almighty Creator. The oldest and most heartless of gods. The creator of the Nine Great Gods and the world as she knows it. The one who had created her and her fate. The one who had sent her on to this holy mission of hers. The one who had given her, friends and companions. The one who had given her, families. The one who had given her, the love of her life. Also the one who had blessed her with a beautiful daughter and a charming son. Yet, He is also the one who took them all away. He took from her, her friends, companions, families, lover, and her precious children. However, she never faltered. She knows that everything her Creator did must have a reason and He had yet to abandon her and her world, she didn’t care if everyone around her thought she was insane. Through her incessant sobbing, she prayed, and prayed, and prayed again. She pushed her calls as hard as she could into the voids of her mind in hoping they would make it out to her one and only Creator.

“Please bring them back… they’re my everything”

****

Reading has, for as long as I could remember, always been my hobby. It lets me escape from this cruel reality that I live in and all the problems that follows it. Escapism. I know. It won’t solve anything but at least it helps me cope with it. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. I mean, not everyone could face their problems head-on, no, no. Not everyone… are that brave. At least I know I’m a coward. If running away from my problems and live my whole life in peace is being a coward then yes, I gladly accept being a coward.

I looked down at the book that I randomly took from the piles of lined papers and moldy writings which I had proudly called my bookcase. I looked at it and there it was, a novel with my name arrogantly printed on it. Sigh. Out of all books. It was a book that I had written myself. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. I had abandoned this story years ago because it wasn’t quite well received. Monotone, uninteresting, unnecessarily long, unoriginal, mediocre, lackluster, and the compliments goes on. None of my books are well received actually. No. None of them, and so I finished writing none of it.

****

It called to me that day as it does now.

Whispering.

Yearning.

Promising.

Promising of a world torn apart by fire, divine and nuclear, all encompassing and devastating our planet. Such is the will of the Creator. So I obey.

“I hope it gets bet—” A shaky voice barely comes out of my mouth only to be interrupted. “Cough!” I coughed so hard it felt like my lungs were to come out. I looked down at my hands and I see blood. Sigh. I guess I don’t have much to live anymore. A couple weeks probably? No? A couple months? Well like Engels used to say life keeps going like a menstrual keeps flowing hahah. Smiling as I thought to myself. I hope it gets better. I really do. The clicking of the Geiger counter is my only friend now. Ever since the factory exploded it seems to be going higher and higher by the day. Every step feels excruciatingly painful, but I keep walking.

I miss Engels, I miss Immanuel, I even miss that cocky playboy Jean. Dog tags clinking in my hand. Geiger counter clicking faster and faster. It’s ok. The temple is close now. We’ll be there any minute now. C’mon Pascal you can do it!” I thought as I continued to shamble about but fate has other plans I guess. I was a couple feet away from the temple when I realized it. I was surrounded by reavers. “Give me all your food, kid! I know you factoryborns have a lot o’ them luxury canned foods!” Yelled one of the reavers. “Forget it boss just kill ‘em and we could sell his meat to the carvers for extra foods”. That night, the snows were colored red.

God forgive me. I couldn’t bring my friends to rest. I prayed as I breathe my last.

“What did we do to deserve this?”

****

While I read, I hear a voice. What did we do to deserve this? No, not the usual voice, those gritty, harsh, and dry calls were still there. They were always there but I had learned to ignore them. Instead I focused on a more vivid voice. One that said, “Will you be able to come?”. I looked up, and saw Karen. I grumbled, annoyed that she had interrupted me. “Fuck away will you, Karen,” I said. What did we do to deserve this?

“I’m not going to your fucking baby shower.”

Karen sighed, “Look, I know you don’t like him, but he’s still your brother, Ernst—”

“I don’t care whether or not he’s my brother, Karen. I just don’t want to waste my time.”

“Family bonding is not wasting time, Ernst. It’s a tradition! And considering your situation you might need it now more than ever.” Karen yelled.

“Tradition is just peer pressure from the dead, Karen.” Please bring them back… they’re my everything.

“Why are you being so stubborn, Ernst?”

“I see no point in pleasing the dead” I said. What did we do to deserve this?

“Is that why you didn’t visit dad when he’s laying on his deathbed?” I grit my teeth. Please bring them back… they’re my everything.

“He asked to see his son at least once before he died and yet you never came. You didn’t even come to his funeral!”

“I have reasons, Karen! I’m sure dad will understand and he would forgive me! I did what he would’ve wanted me to do and that is doing my responsibilities!!”

“The way I see it It’s better for you to go and make up with your brother rather than locking yourself in that room you call your office. You don’t have anything better to do anyway.” Please bring them back… they’re my everything.

“I do have things to do, Karen! I’m an author. Writing is my responsibility!” I hollered “It’s unbearable, Karen. I can’t leave them alone.” so I said as I’m sharply sucking a breath. What did we do to deserve this? “I— I just can’t. Enough! You wouldn’t understand.”

She sighed and patiently asked “Just do me a favor and come will you?”

“Sorry, I have better things to do,” I said shortly, and went inside the house.

****

The colony's inhabitants were gathered in a large auditorium. They were laughing and smiling no less than an hour ago. The auditorium was safe and impenetrable yet also serves as a prison in which none can escape. The door was sealed from the outside. Through a thick window covered in scratch marks, Commander Alexei could see decaying bodies in red jump suits. Some were holding others in one last embrace. Others were apparently trying to escape through some sort of vent, with little luck.

“Commander?” Hadrian, the only member of the crew who knows about the program, asked “Is there really no other option?”

On the desk were a stack of journals, each marked with dates ranging from 3010 to 3075.

“It’s been years—no, decades since the last reply from Earth, Hadrian” he said while wiping a gun. It was an unusual gun. A very ancient one which dates back to the late 1800. It’s very unique to say the least. It was a type of gun called a revolver. It’s a single-action, cartridge-firing, top break revolver. Fires a type of projectile called bullets. Uses no energy cartridge, no focusing lens, and forget fusion core reactor, there’s not even a normal fission core reactor. It uses gunpowder and pressure instead. Ignition fills the barrel with gas thus increase the pressure and push the bullet out. An effective and cheap way to kill. How interesting, when killing is involved people really do anything to improve, thought Alexei as he fills the cylinder with bullets.

“Thus, I am forced to conclude the worst: we lost the nuclear war, and our nation and families are destroyed. Even this failsafe colony will not be enough to keep us alive. Instead, we will all die of dehydration. Faced with that consequence, I had no choice but to exercise Protocol 99 and terminate the colony in a quick and relatively painless way.” He had no other choice. His nation was dubbed as evil simply because they had a different political view. And so the others waged war. War don’t need a concrete reason anyway, as long as they see profits and merits in it men would jump on it the second they got the chance to. Who gets to decide morals anyway? Who are them to say that my country is evil? Are we evil for defending our beliefs? Am I a villain for defending my country and families? No one gets to decides evil and just. Only god can do that and the fact that this happens means that there is no god in this world, thought Alexei.

I’m sorry, comrades. Your screams…. your screams will haunt me even after I take my own life. Alexei points the gun at his own head and Hadrian follow suit. “I will see you later, Sir” nods Hadrian. “Commander Alexei, retiring from duty. Should humanity ever rise from the ashes and return to the red planet, know that we tried. Long Live The Union”. Alexei closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in his life. The page was spattered with small flecks of blood.

“God is not real after all. There are no free will”

****

I hated writing. What did we do to deserve this? No, I don’t hate it, what I hated was the responsibility that came with it. God is not real. There are no free will. Despite my mediocre talent in writing, I loved to write, I really did but all of my stories had a dark twist. What did we do to deserve this? I loved writing stories with a dark twist but I wish I had known any better. Oh, how I wished I had. What did we do to deserve this? I’m not sure when it started but it was there, always, unending, ceaseless and incessant. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. The whispers— no, should I call it prayers instead? Yes, prayers. God is not real. There are no free will. What started as one… became two, and that became more and more as it got louder.  God is not real. There are no free will. They got so loud that I decided to stab both of my eardrums with my pen. Yet they still wouldn’t stop coming. What did we do to deserve this?

God is not real. There are no free will. As they got louder I heard words. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. I hear men, women and children all pray to escape from the wicked world they live in. They prayed for a better fate than what was destined. God is not real. There are no free will. A better life. Alas, their world is but a page, empty and nonsensical. Their fate is determined by the splotches of inks, a fate that will never receive closure. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. And lastly, their life is in the hands of an irresponsible and incompetent god who revels in the suffering of the lives that he himself had created.

The stories with the most details are the worst. God is not real. There are no free will. Villains, broken and enraged at the uncaring god that made their lives the way they are. What did we do to deserve this? Victims, suffering from the polluted and corrupted world created only for the sake of a more exciting plot. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. Protagonists, wept in silence as their fate forces them to fight and struggle in their abandoned and callous world while losing both everyone they loved and their only purpose in life. What did we do to deserve this? I heard more and more voices, pleas, and cries for help came for every single day, hour, minute, and seconds. God is not real. There are no free will. Surely I’m going crazy. Maybe I isolated myself too much. What did we do to deserve this? That has to be it. I isolated myself to work so much that I’m losing it. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. Yet, I have to write still. No matter how many years it will take. I will end it all. I’m the one who started it and I will be the one who ended it. Please bring them back… they’re my everything. I’m responsible for them. Yes, it’s my responsibility. And so I write. I wept and I write. God is not real. There are no free will. What did we do to deserve this? Please bring them back… they’re my everything.

[calypsoff]

Seventy Four. Part 3

Useless, that is what I am because I don’t know what the hell I am doing “Twin, hey” crouching down to her “I’m gonna lose my baby Chris, she can’t breathe, she’s not getting the air. What am I going to do please, help oh my god” she sobbed out with her whole heart, and I just felt the stabbing pain in my heart, I am hurting with her “I’m sorry, I am so sorry Robyn, I wish I could understand more of what they are doing but I don’t, they are trying their best, I promise they are. It will be ok, we will get there” now she is making me cry, wiping the tears as I got up “hi Miss Fenty-Brown we need you to sign this paperwork because of the C-section” I know this midwife ain’t throwing paperwork in my wife face like this “aye” snatching the paperwork from her “y’all beginning to piss me off, you are saying all this shit but ain’t saying what we doing. You are stressing my fucking wife out, I ain’t playing around. What does this shit even say!? You are making her sign it for what!?” I shouted “sir I know you are upset but we need this consent signing, it’s nothing bad. It’s an emergency, things like this we can’t predict. Everything was fine until she rested on the cord and now she is sunny side up we need to get her out. We promise we have the best team here to help her, so please sign this” she pleaded with an emotional Robyn that is a broken woman, I am hurting for her “sunny side up! What is my daughter? An egg?” The midwife is sick of me clearly “it’s when the baby is facing head down but but facing the abdomen which can lead to a lot of tearing. The baby is distressed currently” this is fucked up “give me, I’ll sign it” Robyn managed to say “please, I want my baby alive. Please” she signed the document “I can’t lose her, not after everything” all I am worried about is my wife, I can’t lose her “we will be preparing you for birth” the lady walked out “it’s going to be ok Robyn, I pray and promise you I am going to be here” holding Robyn’ hand “I know; I get it why you’re scared” this is a mess.

Robyn hasn’t let go of my hand, there is doctors coming in and out just checking. They tried to make my daughter move; she wouldn’t I mean. She’s Robyn’ daughter, she’s stubborn “we have tried to divert with not doing a c-section, but we need too, she is not moving. We tried everything” nodding my head “she gets it from her mother, the stubborn trait that is” hearing little sobs from Robyn, she’s so sad “yes but please Robyn, we are doing our best and we have the plastic surgeon here with us so we can keep scaring minimal” Audrey said pointing at the guy stood there looking “I don’t care, please save my baby. Please” she pleaded “and we will, meet you at theatre. Call the porter and get scrubs for the father” Audrey walked out saying to the midwife, sitting down on the chair sighing out with Robyn’ hand in mine, I closed my eyes and prayed, praying to God for my wife and my child to be safe “amen” I said looking up, my phone buzzed in my pocket. With my free hand I got my phone out, I need prayers and I need people to pray for my family right now, Mel had text me, but I don’t have the strength to be telling her bad news. Tapping on my Instagram and adding to my IG story, taking a picture of Robyn and I hands together, Robyn’ knuckles are going white she is really holding onto my hand that right, adding a caption ‘pray for us’ pressing send “Robyn, I am going to tell the parents ok? I will be quick” getting up from the chair “be quick, I am so scared” nodding my head, walking around the bed “Mr Brown?” This lady came into the room “yeah?” A little confused “we need to get you ready to go into theatre with Robyn” I paused knowing I need to tell them “I really need to tell the grandparents, I will be back” walking around her to leave the home, I rushed out of the room and turned the corner and I just stopped. Emotions just hit me, I am so scared for my daughter and Robyn. Wiping the tear that fell and continued onto the room, I need to let them know at least.

Walking into the waiting room and I was shook, like I didn’t expect Ronald to be here but he is “erm, when did you come?” I questioned “as soon as I heard, can I see my daughter?” Shaking my head “I got some news” closing the door “please say she is ok” Monica’ tone and face changed, great concern all over her face “she’s been struggling with pain and she is having epidural which calmed the pain down, the midwife came back after a while and everything seemed to have gone calm for us both just waiting for her arrival” my voice broke “they said the baby is sunny side up and she is on her cord, she’s not getting enough oxygen and her heartbeat is not good, the rate is falling. They are doing an emergency c-section and I needed to tell you all. She is really struggling, and I just need y’all to be strong and pray” that was it, of course I am going to cry “can I see her” looking up and Monica she is right infront of me “I think it’s best if we give them space, be strong for her Chris. Let them do this together” my mother said “be strong Chris, she will be ok. She is in the best hands, be strong son and there for her. It’s best we don’t stress Robyn out anymore then she is, she doesn’t need to see your face, she will cry” my mom said to Monica, I feel bad that she is crying “you go” licking my top lip “can you inform others please, if they ask” I need to go, turning back on myself leaving the room. Rubbing my head, I am a mess mentally. I am just scared, anything can go wrong like that so anything could happen to Robyn when giving birth, that can happen so now I am scared that it can “please god” I said to myself.

There is still plenty of doctors here and around, they are just watching the monitors constantly clearly “we are moving you now down to theatre, the operating room is now prepped. The porters are here to take you” the midwife said “once we get down, Chris you need to put on scrubs before we enter and we will help you with that but if you would like to follow us” nodding my head going over to Robyn “how are you?” She looks so exhausted “devastated, just stay close” I swallowed hard “if you can step out first Mr Brown” I guess I am in the way “we have cleared the hallway, nobody will see” the midwife reassured, I thought they would have put Robyn in a wheelchair, but they didn’t. They are taking the whole bed, no wonder they needed a porter. Stepping back of course “are we ok to move her? Monitors ok” rubbing my forehead feeling frustrated “why did they not put her in a wheelchair?” I asked the midwife “we just don’t want to move Robyn, the baby is stressed because of the mother being stressed and we do not want the baby the put more pressure on the cord then she already is” watching them all come out with Robyn in the bed, it killed me so much. I really hate hospitals “follow us” the midwife said, I hate this.

Walking out with the scrubs on, I did everything I had to do in regards to cleaning my arms and everything “we will put your clothes back in the room ok? We have prepared Robyn while you have been changing, we are keeping a close monitor on Robyn, we have got the best plastic surgeon. It will be minimal, we have the best care and team, they are all here” she is saying it but I just feel unsafe “why did she turn though, I don’t get it. she was right there being ok” I am annoyed at my child that isn’t even here “pregnancy and giving birth is difficult as it is but things like this do happen, ready?” nodding my head, the midwife is nice, but I was just angry “sorry about earlier, to see my wife in that state. I was scared, still is” she held the door open “emotions get the best of us, it’s fine” walking into the operating room, there is a lot of doctors. She was so right in saying that they are crowding around her. Rushing over to Robyn “hey” holding her hand “you look nice” she laughed “suits me yeah?” she is smiling at me “possibly” feeling a pair of hands on my sides “sit on this” looking behind me, sitting down on the stool at the side of Robyn “are we all ready? You won’t feel a thing, maybe some tugging but for now we will be putting the curtain up. Just relax” Audrey said, and she meant it, they put a curtain up, but the midwife stood with us just behind.

Doctors talk a lot of things; can’t they just speak English instead of these words “what you thinking?” Robyn asked me, looking down at her grinning “what the fuck, honestly. Too many emotions, you know. It’s not about me though Robyn, it’s about you. Can you feel anything?” I have to ask, just because the doctor said she wouldn’t “nothing at all” nodding my head “if I was your doctor would you do me?” Robyn laughed “you’re so stupid erm, I would be talking about you to my friends yes. You look like you have a brain with this on” she is so rude “well I would do me” I winked at her “of course you would say that about yourself, self-centred ass. I remembered what you said earlier, this is my child, you got problems if she is like me” rolling my eyes “I do, but I wouldn’t change you for the world, so I don’t care. You’re the best, women in general are amazing but you, you’re a gem” Robyn scrunched up her face “you’re being too kind why? What do you want huh? You can now keep your dick to yourself, not going to lie. Captain is a lie, it’s one baby and done. No way are we having any amount that is four, no sir” I chuckled “you can’t resist sex now, please” she is fronting “oh I can, I am never turned on with you” she is just being rude now “lies, stop speaking. You will regret it” pressing a kiss to the back of her hand “why don’t you sing while this is happening?” Robyn eyed me “don’t make me pop you in the face” I laughed “I would like Pon de replay?” I laughed “shut up, seriously” she doesn’t want to hear me “your stomach was so flat, like I remember watching it and I am like damn. She got a body, mhmmm” she is going to cuss me out “leave!” she spat, let me be quiet.

I am not even sure if they are pumping Robyn with more medication, but she is doped up “what is happening” she slurred out, that is a good question “you will feel tugging, they are just getting to her now” I want to look behind the curtain “I think you should look this way” the midwife placed her hands on my shoulders “you feel tugging?” I questioned “yeah, I am just so out of it” placing my hand just above her head “you are doing amazing” a tear dropped from her eye “I failed, I didn’t do it natural” my thumb lightly grazing her forehead and my face close to hers “you didn’t, you did everything you could for her” this is long, I don’t like that Robyn is very negative about how she been through this but she couldn’t have predicted the baby laying on the cord “what is happening? Like is she here?” I am confused, it is quiet but with a lot of doctor talk “I feel tugging again, a lot” Robyn said, I am wondering how that even feels “here we are, she is here Robyn” Audrey spoke out, I just generally shot up in a gasp, just because she said there she is. Walking away from Robyn and around the curtain because that is me I gagged seeing the bloodbath to me “cut the cord” Audrey said, my eyes laid on this lifeless baby. Everything just felt slow motion to me, so much is happening that I stumbled back “take a deep breath Mr Brown” the midwife caught me “hey, look at me now. Deep breaths” she smiled at me “it’s ok, look at me” nodding my head, I was about to blank out because that is too much.

I snapped out of it “my daughter! Why can’t I hear her!” I stumbled to where the doctors moved too, Robyn’ voice just snapping me out of it “check her pulse” seeing my daughter just lifeless on the bed as this doctor started doing chest compressions “oh no, man. Come on” this can’t be, the room is awfully quiet as the only person you hear is the doctor doing the compressions, I feel my heart breaking slowly by slowly every second she isn’t doing anything “come on, please” I am shaking, I have never felt so scared in my life “check her pulse again” staring at my daughter intently “please god” I breathed out “please” I sobbed out looking up to the ceiling losing every slight of hope but the doctor is still continuing “there we are, hey. Welcome to the world, well done team” bringing my head forward and then hearing my daughter cry, I breathed a sight of relief but now I feel emotional again “oh man, oh my god” placing my hands over my face, I have never been do fearful in my life. I am so emotionally drained “my wife” it came to me, I just left Robyn. My daughter is crying, she is in good hands “she is ok, she is ok” the midwife stood to the side, she remained with Robyn when I left Robyn “you did it Robyn” of course Robyn is crying, so am I.

I am just happy “congratulations, we have swaddled her up. If dad wants to pick her up, we will need to take her to NICU just for a few hours, just to know she is ok with breathing but she is here awake” rubbing my hands together smiling “wow, this is going to be different. It’s my child so I need to hold her right” I chuckled, walking over with the doctor to the bed “like I said we just want to take her to the NICU for a few hours but she looks very healthy” nodding my head seeing this chubby face with lots of hair swaddled up, her eyes open. Peaking over the bed and into her eye view “oh wow, how did I know you would look like your momma, oh my god” I feel choked up “you are so perfect, hey. Wow” she is already putting her nose up at me “just support her head, it’s easier holding her when swaddled” carefully picking her up “wow, oh my god. I am so in love, you beautiful. Wow” she stifled out a yawn “hard work causing drama isn’t it” I am so happy “shall we see your momma” Robyn was ready to get off the table, her arms just snatching her from me, and it just hit Robyn so much. Her lips poked out and the cries “I get it” I said wiping my tears, she has been through shit. Tilting my head in awe, the way my daughter is staring at Robyn “you did it, I am so proud of you” I grinned “she got your nose” I said smiling, Robyn is staring at her and nothing else matters now.