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hannahbarberra162 · 2 months ago

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Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart, Chapter 26 - The Good Ending :)

For all you Nonnies who feel bad for dear Reader.

18+ MDNI on Ao3

All the other chapters

The Moby had finally made it to Heddle Island and you’d been practically counting down the seconds until your girl’s day with Tate. You were so excited to finally be allowed off the ship and on solid ground again, nothing could dampen your elated mood. Well, almost nothing. The boat had already been docked for a day and you still hadn’t been on the island. Tate was working until the following day when she was granted shore leave. You were going stir crazy with the island so close but not being able to go.

On the first day that the Moby had docked, Marco and Thatch disembarked, saying something about scoping out the island. You weren’t sure why, there wasn’t a strong Marine presence on the island. If anything, it was held as a neutral territory, the materials that they produced too precious to pirates, Marines, and civilians for anyone to cause trouble. It was also extremely close to the Calm Belt, not a very advantageous position to maintain for any particular group. Even so, you didn’t ask if you could go with them because you didn’t want anything to get in the way of your day with Tate. You didn’t want to “waste” your opportunity off the island in case you only got one.

You were fixing a few musical instruments on the deck when someone put their hand on your shoulder. Squeaking, you turned around to see a grinning Thatch, with members of the Fourth lingering behind him, chatting among themselves.

“ Mija , look what I found,” he said, motioning to the devil fruit held in his hand. You instinctively leaned back, away from the fruit. Even though it was just a fruit, it almost seemed menacing , like it was radiating evil.

“Congrats,” you said lightly, “what are you going to do with it?” Your gut told you there was nothing good about that fruit, you wondered if Thatch felt it too. Maybe he’d sell it, make a lot of money.

“What will I do with it? Eat it, of course. Think about how much stronger I’ll be for you, Mami," Thatch said, flexing a bicep. You hummed, thinking to yourself. You almost told Thatch you didn’t think he should eat it, but that was his choice, not yours.

“Do you know what it does? I can try researching it for you in the library,” you suggested. You hadn’t known what yours did before you ate it, many people didn’t. Still, it was always a good idea to try and find information beforehand.

Thatch tutted his disapproval. “It’s always better to eat a devil fruit right away and I have a good feeling about this one. Maybe it’s the Break -break Fruit and I’ll break things and you’ll fix them. We’ll be a matching set,” Thatch said, smiling at you. You smiled back but it didn’t reach your eyes. Even though you had mixed feelings about Thatch, you knew that this fruit was bad news. But you held your tongue, Thatch was a grown man and could make his own choices.

“I’m going to eat it with Marco in the infirmary right now,” he continued, “he can help me with the transition and make sure there aren’t any adverse events. I should be fine by the morning, but I don’t think I can make your girls day trip tresora . I know Ace, Izou, and Vista were already planning on going. I think that’s enough, that’s three Commanders with two little ladies, no?” You nodded, thankful he didn’t reconsider the trip now that he wouldn’t be going.

“I’ll bring you back something,” you said brightly, kissing his cheek.

“Just make sure you come back to me, and all will be right in the world Mami .” He kissed your forehead, pinched your cheek. “I’ll see you soon, I can’t wait to show you what I’m capable of,” he said, and turned to go, Devil Fruit in hand. You sighed, you didn’t think this was a good idea. But either way, it seemed like it was happening, and now.

With Thatch and Marco occupied with the Devil Fruit, you were spending the night with Ace. Coming into his room, carrying everything you would need for the day, you found Ace laying on his bed, arms behind his head, lost in thought. You set down your belongings and crossed the room, sitting down next to him on the bed.

“Hey, you alright?” It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Ace like this, he was prone to depression. He hadn’t ever told you the full details about why, but it didn’t really matter. He needed support and affection, which you often provided.

“Yeah, M’fine. Listen, I wanna talk to ya,” Ace said, looking at you. Waiting for him to continue, you nodded encouragingly. “Do you, um, like being on the ship?”

You blinked a few times, trying to think how to answer the question without getting in trouble. “I did prefer living on land, but I know that’s not really possible right now,” you hedged, not answering the question directly.

“No, no. Like, um, do you like being here with us? Like with me and Marco and Thatch?” You bit your lip. You didn’t know how to answer.

“Um, I…I’m not, um……yes.” You stuttered in the beginning, unsure what to say. The truth was that there were some things about them that you did like but many that you didn’t. But you weren’t sure how much you could trust Ace to keep your confidence or not to get angry and punish you. Ace didn’t respond, just looked at you as if trying to solve a puzzle.

Ace POV

Ace watched you wring your hands and struggle to answer his simple question, searching his face for his reaction before you answered. Your body language was answer enough, no matter what you said. He smiled at you, and you immediately responded in kind, relieved that he wasn’t angry with you. Ace wanted to groan in frustration but didn’t want to upset you. For now, he would just allow things to happen as they would.

“C’mere,” Ace suggested, holding his arms out to you. He slid over on the bed, making room for you. You obliged and got in next to him, folding yourself into his arms. Ace still loved you and everything about you. He loved the way you smelled, the way you helped him, your thoughtfulness, your kindness, your beauty. He was just as taken with you now as he had been when you first fished him out of a pile of wood and made him shower. He loved the way you fit into him perfectly at night, your breathy sighs, your tight cunt, all of you from head to toe. He ran his hands up and down your back under your shirt. Ace was proud of you, when he first met you, there was no way you’d let him see your back, much less feel it. You’d made a lot of progress in a lot of ways with them. He hated the raised scars, the physical manifestations of the suffering you’d been through. But he loved holding the woman he loved tightly, reassuring her with his touch.

“Do you want me to take it off?” you asked quietly.

“Nah, ‘m tired,” Ace replied. He didn’t want to push anything, just let you relax and do what you wanted. You hummed happily, snuggling deeper into his arms. He rubbed your back until you fell asleep and a while longer after that. Ace stayed awake late into the night, thinking over the events of the past few months. He knew what he had to do, he knew it had to happen, but he felt lost. He had siblings and brothers to help him along the way, he supposed, but it was a different feeling. He pulled you tighter into his embrace, your small chuff of displeasure quickly dissipating when he heated you a little more using his fruit. He felt like he was trying to stop the sands of an hourglass from falling, trying to keep you in the present.

Your POV

You woke the next morning to a snoring Ace and sunshine streaming in through the windows. Ace looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well. You disentangled from his arms as gently as you could and shut the shades for him to continue sleeping. It was early but you were too excited to sleep. After changing your clothes, you hurried off to the Women’s Quarters, knocking on the door lightly. Tate, already dressed in civilian clothes and carrying a large stuffed tote, answered the door. Seeing you, she smiled widely and came out, quickly closing the door behind her.

“Hey lady, you excited too?” the nurse asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“Of course, I can’t wait. I’ve been practically pacing the deck waiting to get off the ship,” you replied. It was too early to disembark, you needed to wait for at least Vista and Izou, if not Ace as well.

“We should check on Thatch and say hi to Marco before we go,” Tate mused. “We’ll get more undisturbed time if we see them in the morning. An ounce of medicine is worth a pound of cure and all that.” Her idea made sense, you knew they both liked to lay eyes on you as often as possible, so seeing them this morning probably meant fewer calls on the Den Den Mushi or emergency lift off from Marco.

“Good thinking, let’s bring them breakfast. You know how Thatch gets when he’s hungry,” you grumbled. You’d only seen it once, but he was so bitchy when he needed to eat. You hadn’t said it to his face, but it was amazing how quickly he’d become his jovial self once he ate a stack of pancakes. The two of you headed over to the kitchens, loading plates with the Commander’s favorites in the hopes of appeasing the men. Tate carried Marco’s and you carried Thatch’s as you chatted on your way to the infirmary.

After Tate opened the door, the two of you walked into the infirmary and poked around until you saw Thatch sleeping in a bed with Marco reading in a chair nearby. You went up to Marco, putting Thatch’s plate on a table near the bed and handing him his own. Tate had gone to check in with the nurses in anticipation of her day off. Marco put down his book, smiling up at you, and took his plate from your hands.

“Good morning, Marco,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Good morning, Doveling. Thank you for the breakfast. To what do I owe this surprise?” You sat down on Marco’s lap, trying to enhance his good mood.

“Is everything OK? If Thatch is doing well, I was going to leave with Tate soon, I wanted to say goodbye first,” you said, leaning back against his broad chest. Marco placed the book on the floor and his arms encircled you.

“If this is what your behavior is like in anticipation of a reward, perhaps we need to think of more yoi,” Marco said, holding your chin in his hand. You were embarrassed if Tate came in and saw you like this, your face flushing. But you didn’t pull away, you let Marco do what he wanted. Marco held you in place as he kissed you, his other hand grabbing at the fat of your ass and kneading it. Thatch groaned in bed, causing Marco to pause and look at his friend.

“Almost got carried away, Doveling. Thatch is fine, it was a rough transition. We aren’t sure what the fruit does yet but whatever it does is making it difficult for me to heal him. Very curious,” Marco finished, puzzling over the fruit. He brightened again when looking back at you. “Enjoy your day trip, Doveling. I’ll see you when you get back.” He kissed your neck and set you on your feet, sending you off with a playful swat to your ass.

“Bye, Marco. See you later,” you said brightly, heading for the door of Thatch’s room. Tate was waiting for you outside the door, watching through the window. She wasn’t as happy as she had been earlier that morning, frowning at you.

“Everything alright? Is something happening with the nurses?” you asked, worried.

Tate smiled once again. “No, no. We’re all set. Let’s get going, it’s late enough now.” The two of you climbed the stairs to the top deck, looking for Vista, Ace, and Izou. Finding the older two Commanders, you were surprised to see an annoyed looking Ace waiting with them.

“Everyone ready?” Tate asked the gathered crew.

“Yes. Time to move,” Vista boomed, twirling his mustache. Ace looked like he was still half asleep, you came up behind him and rubbed his back.

“C’mon, Ace. I’ll give you money for breakfast on the island,” you said, Ace brightening up immediately. “I’m sure I’ll have leftover funds from the budget.” You had been to the island a few times, you wondered if anyone remembered you. Even if they didn’t, you were pretty good at haggling, you could get the prices of almost anything down, especially throwing a name like Whitebeard’s around.

“Don’t coddle the boy,” Izou tutted at you. “He’s known about this venture for days, he knew what time we were leaving.” You stuck out your tongue at Izou in defense of Ace, and Izou rolled his eyes with a smile.

The Commanders helped you and Tate board the dinghy, and sailed the smooth waters to the island. You, Izou, and Tate all excitedly discussed which fabric stores you’d want to go to, as well as the spa that you were all excited for. Vista was excited for the spa, not the fabric stores. Ace wasn’t excited at all, still hungry for breakfast. You thought he might like the spa once he got there.

“I think we should go to the spa first,” suggested Tate. You were a little surprised, you always liked getting your work out of the way first.

“Are you sure? Won’t it be more relaxing if we get what we need first? Get everything done?” you asked.

Tate shook her head. “The only reservations I could get for a group of two women and three men were in the morning. I can always cancel the reservations and we could try to get in during the afternoon but the women’s spa fills quickly. I can’t guarantee that we’ll be able to get in.” Her explanation made sense, and you really did want to revisit their wet saunas and hot tubs.

“I must agree with Tate,” Izou said, “ this one will be much more amenable to waiting for us while shopping if he’s pampered first,” motioning with his head to Vista.

“Oi,” his husband replied, “I’m sure the hot stone massages you have booked have nothing to do with your opinion, dear?” Izou pouted but Vista just laughed. You smiled, they fought like the old married couple they were.

“Alright, we can look at the fabrics in the afternoon. We’ll get better deals anyway,” you stated, knowing how the businesses on the island tended to work. Ace tied off the boat to the dock and helped you off the vessel. You waited for the group, walking together down the pier towards the town. You saw a few people point at you and whisper, but didn’t mind. The Whitebeard Pirates were an extremely notorious crew and you’d come to the island with famous Commanders. Making your way downtown, a few people gave you shocked waves, and you waved back. The town was just as beautiful and charming as you remembered. Every building was richly colored, a pictographic sign above each building delineating what the business inside was.

Passing by a thread store you’d bought from several times in the past, the elderly owner came out to greet you herself. “Amo? Is it really you?” the old woman asked, looking at you over her green framed glasses. Your friends stood back, allowing you the private conversation.

You smiled kindly and stopped to hold the hand of the grandma. “Hi, Nana. Yes, it’s me. I’ll be by to see you this afternoon, I’m going to the spa right now.”

Nana had tears in her eyes as she clapped your hand between hers. “We’ve missed you so dearly! We all heard about your island being destroyed and nothing for years after that. We all thought…well, it doesn’t matter. You’re alive and here now. But…” her voice dipped to a whisper, “are you the prisoner of these pirates? If you want, there are other ways off the island.”

Your eyes widened, you hoped Ace didn’t hear that. You glanced over out of the corner of your eyes, Ace was studying something in the store window next door. You sighed in relief. “Ah, no, I’m OK. These pirates have…helped me,” you whispered back. Nana nodded at you, still questioning your words.

“If you say so. I’ll wait for you this afternoon, I can’t believe you’re finally back after all these years! It really is a miracle,” Nana finished, speaking at full volume once again. “See you later, dear,” Nana said, waving you off.

“Wow,” Ace said with a whistle, “you’re popular here. Everyone’s whispering about you.”

You shrugged your shoulders, about to reply when Izou spoke. “Pff. I told you, she’s incredibly famous. Probably the second most famous person on our ship, after Pops. She’s just humble.” You blushed, you didn’t think that was true, but didn’t disagree. It was kind of nice having people value you for your skills rather than what you could provide to them. Since Ace couldn’t enjoy being in the spa due to his Devil Fruit, you gave him some money and sent him to go get himself breakfast.

“Bye,” he said, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

“Bye, Ace. See you this afternoon,” you said while being squished by the Commander. Ace hummed, kissed you on the mouth chastely, and smiled.

“Yeah. This afternoon,” he said, looking deep into your eyes. You had never seen Ace like this before, he must be incredibly hungry. He walked off, shuffling his feet under him. You’d check in on him later, you thought, he must still be upset by whatever he was thinking about the previous day.

Walking to the spa, you were greeted with the soothing smells of lavender and bergamot and the sounds of rushing water. This particular spa was known for recreating hot springs inside, complete with a large waterfall. Tate ambled up to the counter and slid a card to the receptionist, speaking with her casually. Picking up the card, the receptionist nodded and handed Tate two pink robes and towels. Coming back to the group, Tate handed you the robe and towel.

“Alright, boys. Time to split up. The receptionist will hand you what you need, we’re going off to the women’s side of the spa. Let’s meet up in say, three hours? How does that sound?” Tate asked the men. Three hours sounded like a lot of time to you, but Tate was organized with a plan. You’d go along with what she wanted, she seemed to know what was going on. Izou looked you over.

“Goodbye, Amo. See you soon,” Izou said, somewhat sadly.

“It’s just three hours,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Of course,” he replied, smiling. Izou hugged you, a rare moment of physical affection from him. Vista hugged the both of you, eyes crinkling. You weren’t sure why they were being weird, but you liked hugging them both. Tate, took your hand, pulling you towards the door marked for women.

“We gotta go! We’re on a tight schedule,” Tate said brightly, waving to the men. With that, Tate practically pushed you inside the changing room.

Tate POV

Tate was nervous, everything needed to go off without a hitch in order to save you. So far, everything worked out perfectly. She had been nervous that the old woman was going to ruin everything with her suggestion, but thankfully you didn’t respond to her. Tate, Izou, Vista, and Ace hadn’t told you about your impending rescue. Tate knew you couldn’t lie well and Marco would be able to tell something was going on. He’d figure it out quickly, and Tate shuddered to think of the consequences for you both.

Pushing you into the changing room away from the men, Tate quickly grabbed you by the shoulders. “Listen,” she said to you, “you’re not staying in the spa. You’re leaving.” You looked at Tate with eyes filled with confusion. “We can talk freely here, the sound of the running water means no one can hear us, even if they have observation haki,” Tate explained. “We don’t have a lot of time, you need to move fast. There’s a Kuja ship docked on the other side of the island. They’re waiting for you, they’re going to take you to Amazon Lily,” Tate said in a rush. She had met the Empress long ago, and Boa owed her a favor. Besides, Boa was already interested in your Devil Fruit ability, you’d be invaluable there.

“What - why would -” Tate cut you off. She was sorry but time was a luxury she didn’t have.

“Shh. Listen, listen. I know what’s been happening on the ship. With Marco, with Thatch. It’s not…it’s not right. It’s not what - you deserve better. A better life. Not…not what you have on the ship. I called in a favor, the Kuja sometimes rescue women in need, especially women with unique skills, like you. They’ll take you to Amazon Lily, we’re the closest you can get on the Grand Line. Marco won’t be able to follow if they set sail soon. The Calm Belt is too dangerous even for him to fly through and besides, there’s political considerations that tie his hands regarding the Kuja. So, you have to go. Now. Don’t get undressed, take this,” Tate said quickly, handing you her heavy tote. “It’s some of your belongings, a few of mine, and money the nurses gathered for you. I’ll lead you out the back door.” Tate grabbed your hand and started walking you through the spa.

“Wh-what about Izou and Vista and Ace? Won’t they come looking for me?” you asked, still processing everything Tate had just told you.

“They already know all of this, they helped me set everything up. They’re here to keep our cover, having them here made Marco feel safe enough to send you to the island. Ace finally got his head out of his ass and is going to head off Marco if he comes to the island before the ship sails. Luckily for us, Thatch ate that fruit and is out of the picture for today, in addition to keeping Marco busy. It couldn’t have worked out better.” Tate had guided you to the back door, and had her hand on the handle. You had tears running down your face, Tate wasn’t sure you noticed.

“Th-thank you, thank you, thank you,” you cried, holding Tate’s arm. “I can’t - I can’t repay you,” you sobbed. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” you asked, lip quivering.

“Nah, I have enough people on my side. Nothing’s gonna happen to me. Besides, who can say what really happened?” Tate said with a wink. “I was getting a massage, you were in the sauna, how was I to know you escaped?” Tate’s expression turned serious, “you living a long healthy, peaceful life is all the repayment I need. You deserve it. Now, go. Take this alley to the very end and turn right on the main street. Take it all the way to the far docks and ask for the Kuja ship. They’re waiting for you. Hand them this,” Tate explained, giving you a note ending with her signature. Tate hugged you fiercely, she knew it would be for the last time.

“Thank you,” you repeated, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Tate opened the door to your future.

“Go, enjoy your freedom,” Tate said with a smile.

Epilogue - Three Months Later

You sat on the ground, fixing innumerable arrows for Kuja warriors as they waited their turn in line to see you. It wasn’t interesting, but you didn’t mind doing it for those who protected you. You appreciated them the same way you did the Brothers - gruff and terse but caring in their own way. You’d made a few close friends, women who had escaped from circumstances similar enough to your own. The Kuja were friendly, but didn’t understand what it felt like to not be a warrior capable of defending yourself. The Kuja women were fierce but kind, giving you company when you wanted it and space when you needed it. You’d started to build another life for yourself, though it wasn’t easy starting from scratch yet again.

Life was slower on Amazon Lily, but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything. You were lost in those first few weeks, trying to understand who you reported to and who you needed to please. It turned out that beyond the Empress, no one was your boss and no one needed much from you. Of course, they expected you to work and earn your keep on the island. As isolated as it was, there wasn’t a lot of room for loafers, everyone had tasks to attend to. You quickly demonstrated your value and spent your days making clothes or fixing things, much like you had on the Moby.

But you didn’t have fear constantly lingering and creeping into your thoughts, you didn’t feel like you had to watch what you said, always walking on eggshells. You didn’t have to sit on someone’s lap to eat, to accept whatever sexual acts were being forced on you, to have your boundaries trampled constantly. You didn’t have to worry about rules and punishment, outside of the normal rules of their society. Sure, men weren’t allowed on the island, but it wasn’t like you were going to bring any.

The longer you stayed at Amazon Lily and the more you spoke with the other traumatized women, the more you saw how awful your time on the Moby was. You struggled immensely with guilt, anxiety, and feelings of abandonment as you sifted through all the memories. You were grateful for your physical health, but it came at too high a price. It was all so clear in retrospect, now that you were away from it all. You tried to push it from your mind, keep yourself in the present.

Except.

Sometimes late at night after all the other women had gone to bed, and you were alone by the dying fire, your mind would drift to those you’d left behind. To Ace, to Vista, to Izou, to Tate. You hoped your friends had escaped retribution, that no harm had befallen them on your behalf. Tate was so self assured that she wouldn’t have any backlash, but you weren’t so sure. You would send up thoughts and wishes to the skies, sending the Universe your wishes for their good fortune.

And other nights, you would think of the other two. Of Thatch, of Marco. A shiver would tingle down your spine as you remembered their smiles, their words, their touches. And on those nights, you’d extinguish the fire quickly, the flickering flames far too reminiscent of another.

#op x y/n #marco the phoenix #marco op #tw yandere #yandere whitebeard pirates #thatch one piece #whitebeard crew #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace #the good ending #so don't cry when its the bad ending #bamf tate #tate one piece #you knew she would and she did #women saving women #tw anxiety #kuja

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miguelswifey04 · 1 year ago

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Could you do a Miguel x single mom reader who has a little girl? Reader is a waitress who brings her daughter with her to work, and her daughter immediately is drawn to Miguel when he comes in? Reader left an abusive relationship so she's immediately skeptical of him.

miguel o’hara x single mom! reader

as a waitress, you had grown accustomed to bringing your daughter to work. it wasn't an ideal arrangement, but as a single mother, you did what you had to do to provide for your precious little girl. on this particular day, just as you were serving customers, a tall, menacing figure caught your attention.

it was miguel, your regular customer. his presence commanded attention, but it was your daughter who seemed particularly drawn to him. she watched in awe as he entered the restaurant, a curious twinkle in her eyes.

“mommy, who's that?" she asked, tugging on your sleeve. you let out a sigh, glancing over at miguel with a hint of skepticism. the wounds from your previous abusive relationship were still fresh, and you were cautious around new people. however, you couldn't deny the sparkle in your daughter's eyes.

“that’s miguel, sweetheart. he’s a customer," you replied, keeping a close watch on both of them. miguel, noticing your daughter's curiosity, crouched down to her level with a warm smile. "hola, mija. what’s your name?" your daughter, shy but intrigued, hesitated for a moment before answering. "i’m maeve."

“well, maeve, it's a pleasure to meet you," miguel said, his voice gentle and friendly. "do you like superheroes?" maeve’s eyes widened with excitement, nodding enthusiastically. "yes! i love superheroes! they’re so cool!"

miguel grinned, his demeanor softening as he chatted with your daughter, captivated by her innocence and energy. he carefully engaged her in conversation, drawing her out of her shell, while you watched, observing his genuine interaction with your little girl. as the day went on, miguel proved himself to be not only kind to maeve but also respectful towards you. he never crossed any boundaries or pressured you in any way. slowly, your skepticism began to wane as you saw firsthand the genuine care and attention he showed towards both you and maeve. by the end of the day, when miguel approached you to settle the bill, you found yourself feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him.

“thank you for being so kind to my daughter," you said, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. miguel nodded, his brown eyes warm with sincerity. "it’s my pleasure. maeve is a special little girl." as you exchanged farewells, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope, a curiosity about what the future may hold. maybe, just maybe, there was room in your heart and your life for miguel after all.

a/n: i love you guys so much!!/p like you guys always give the best prompts 😭

tags 🏷️.!! @kairiscorner @meeom @obi-mom-kenobi @sabcandoit @emiemiemiii @astro1bloom

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #lin’s asks #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel o’hara x single mom! reader #miguel o’hara fluff

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avonne-writes · 2 years ago

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lucerys after undergoing puberty and becoming breakbones Jr: hi

aemond, internally: I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me

Expectations

Aemond hasn't seen his nephew in three years - since Vaemond's failure of a challenge against Lucerys' position - but he can picture him clearly. Round, rosy cheeks, big eyes glistening with fearful tears, hands like a maiden's and a body built for soft pillows and sugary cakes. Pathetic, really. Imagining him fills Aemond with familiar delight.

When it was announced that Rhaenyra would bring her entire flock to the capital for the King's nameday, Aemond could barely contain his excitement. He didn't have a chance to put his hands on the insolent little bastard last time, but he has grown since. He had years to prepare. He'll get through to Lucerys' pretty face even if his sister's rabid watchdog of a husband stands between them. Then, Lucerys will get what he deserves.

When Rhaenyra's carriage pulls to a halt in the courtyard, he's watching the door with thinly veiled glee, standing as tall and as menacing as he can in anticipation of his nephew. But he's left disappointed. It's only his sister - miraculously not fat with a babe this time - and her youngest sons who step out. Aemond has to resist craning his neck for a glimpse of floppy brown hair. He grips his own elbow tighter, gritting his teeth. Where is he?

Then, there's a roar high up in the clouds - a dragon, Aemond's ears recognize. Another roar responds to it, and laughter follows before two beasts land just outside the gate. Aemond is surprised that Rhaenyra allowed her precious, illegitimate offspring to arrive on dragonback. Wasn't she concerned that a forceful gust of wind would blow the little lord into the sea?

The first figure coming through the gate is Jacaerys, just as arrogant and irritating as ever. His hairstyle has not improved either, Aemond notes with smug satisfaction. But behind him, there's a man whom Aemond's mind refuses to recognize.

He's tall and broad and built with muscles big enough to pass for a smith. The golden seams of his doublet struggle to contain him. His breeches look tight too - perhaps Rhaenyra's seamstress hadn’t had time to refit them to his size. His cheeks are dusted with stubble Aemond could weep for but would never be able to grow, and his brown hair curls in soft locks around his ears. He's that brute, Ser Harwin - but younger, sweeter. Prettier.

His round eyes glitter not with tears but with joy that dims as they meet Aemond's gaze.

This is not fair.

Aemond's hatred boils in his chest as he glares, all his plans and dreams and fantasies crumbling, his mind grappling to rearrange them to fit this new image. His nephew looks disturbed by his scowl. He casts his eyes down, his smile faltering, then flicks them back up to Aemond as if unable to stay away for a long time. Good. Aemond wants that bastard to look at him all day. To never have a peaceful moment when he doesn’t think of Aemond watching him back.

They stare at each other with a fire that never wavers until Rhaenyra blocks Aemond's line of vision to make him go through the expected greetings.

As they proceed into the castle, Aemond makes sure to situate himself behind Lucerys to make him more unnerved. He's annoyed to note that Luke is not only tall but taller than Aemond himself, and his steps are heavy in his boots no matter how small and insignificant he tries to appear just to avoid Aemond's notice.

It's a ludicrous notion anyway. He'd have Aemond's attention even if he was a pitiful worm in the ground.

As they walk up the stairs, Aemond considers his plans to take Lucerys down. He runs his gaze up Lucerys' calves to his ass and up his back. When Lucerys throws a wary glance over his shoulder, he smirks, happy to see that it still intimidates the bastard.

Simple brute force isn't going to suffice anymore. He can't just grab his nephew's dainty wrists in one hand and use the other to tease him with his knife. Those wrists wouldn't fit in his grip at once, and Lucerys could just tear himself out of that hold and punch him. No, Aemond will need to wrestle him into submission properly.

He'd have to use his own weight, even if Lucerys is not as skilled as he is. Aemond is better with a sword than with his bare hands, but he needs skin contact to truly revel in his revenge. The nick of a blade wouldn't be as gratifying. It would be better to catch Lucerys unawares, when those bulging muscles of his are still too sluggish to react. In the middle of the night seems promising enough.

Aemond adjusts his hair over his shoulders, suppressing a smile. Yes, he would sneak into Lucerys' chambers in the middle of the night, straddle him in his sleep, bind his wrists and tear his clothes away to get at his skin, then torment him until he begs. He knows Luke's tears will look gorgeous as they trickle down to his cheeks. Aemond would pretend to be gentle and wipe them away, feeling the rasp of stubble under his palm, and he would slip his thumb between Lucerys' plump lips to make him taste the salt. Then, he'd see if those breeches have been tailored to trick the eye or not -

Aemond's thoughts screech to a halt.

By the gods, what is he thinking?

#lucemond #aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #aemond x lucerys #my writing #anon #thank you so much 🌼#i hope you enjoyed this little drabble 😄

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jungle-angel · 2 years ago

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It Takes A Village To Catch A Menace (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett adore your kids, but once they’re turned loose with their cousins, they give everybody a run for their money

Tagging: @rhettabbotts Shelby, I hope you’re doing ok. I know things have been kinda rough but I thought this might give you a good laugh and cheer you up a bit

No one could have asked for a better day than this, the threat of a long, hot summer approaching from around the corner and the Dutton Land near to bursting with the new life of spring. So many animals had been born as soon as spring hit, mostly from the cattle, but to everyone’s surprise, even the bison hadn’t slacked in the procreation department. Everyone was reeling with excitement when it was discovered that a white calf had been born to a female in Felix Long’s herd, a highly auspicious sign in everyone’s eyes.

Rhett, Rip and Kayce leaned against the wood rails of the paddock fence, watching the little calf graze with its mother, the cow clipping the grass and the little one sneaking in to nurse every so often.

“It’s gonna be a good year, that’s for sure,” Rip remarked, pushing his aviators back up onto his nose.

“Herds are doing great, land’s nice and green,” Rhett added. “Couldn’t ask for better.”

“Yeah and in two weeks, you and I are gonna be uncles again,” Rip chuckled.

“Because THAT horn dog over there couldn’t keep it in his pants!” Rhett laughed, pointing to Kayce.

“Fuck all o’ ya’ll and the horses you rode in on,” Kayce retorted.

Rhett laughed but deep down, he knew Kayce and Monica deserved it. Sure, they had Tate, but after one rough ride, Monica had given birth to Jake, their precious little rainbow baby and Felicity after that. Now, another little girl would be entering the family in just a few weeks. There wasn’t a day that went by where you and Rhett hadn’t kept the family in your prayers, grateful for the lifelong bond you all shared with one another.

The three men kept talking away, hardly noticing the smaller footsteps traipsing through the grass behind them. Rhett, Rip and Kayce turned to find Tatum and Tanner, yours and Rhett’s twin boys, Rip’s son Joey and Kayce and Monica’s little boy, Jake, running through the grass with something in their hands.

“Whatcha got there boys?” Rhett asked them.

“Nothin,” the four little boys chirped.

Rhett, Rip and Kayce all looked at each other, knowing that nothing usually meant something.

“I’m gonna ask ya’ll one more time,” Rhett warned them. “What’ve ya’ll got in your hands?”

“There’s a wasp nest in the tree daddy,” Tatum chirped.

“Yeah, a big one,” Tanner added.

“And we’re gonna burn it off the branch,” Joey proudly declared, holding up one of John’s cigar lighters.

Rhett, Kayce and Rip were suddenly overcome with a look of fear on their faces, almost as though each one had just shit themselves.

“Uh oh,” Tatum said meekly, noticing the look on his father’s face.

“HAND THAT SHIT OVER!!!!”

“NO!!!!!”

The four little boys took off into the grass, their fathers all hot at their heels as they leapt over the pasture fences and chased them around one tree after another.

You and Beth had just come out onto the front porch of the main house, coffee mugs in hand, ready to relax and enjoy the morning before helping Monica with whatever she needed. All of a sudden, you heard the shouts of small children and three grown men coming up behind them.

“Oh my God, what did they get into now?” Beth chuckled.

“Well, I noticed at least three cans of hairspray and your dad’s cigar lighter was missing,” you answered.

Beth almost choked and spat out her coffee. “Why the fuck do they even have that?!”

“One of life’s great mysteries I guess.”

You and Beth fought the urge to chase your sons through the yard, letting their fathers try and catch them for once. John’s heavy footsteps came up beside you, his gaze fixed on the sight before him. “Anybody have any idea where my good cigar lighter went?” he asked.

“Why don’t you ask your devil grandchildren Dad,” Beth answered.

John laughed and shook his head when a loud curse from Rip reached his ears. “I’m gettin way too old for this shit,” he chuckled before pulling his phone from his pocket and hitting the record-video button on his camera.

*******************

“C’MERE YA LITTLE SHITHEADS!!!!” Rhett bellowed as he, Rip and Kayce charged across the grass towards the barns.

“No we need it!!!” Tatum yelled back.

“BULLSHIT!!!”

Teeter and Avery leaned out the window of the loft where they had been stacking haybales all morning. ”What the fuck are them lil goat turds doin now?” Teeter questioned, adjusting the Astros cap on her head.

“No idea but by the looks on their faces, I’d say it’s not good,” Avery answered.

“SOMEBODY HELP US CATCH THESE DAMN KIDS!!!” echoed Rhett’s voice.

“Ight, let’s go git’em,” Teeter sighed climbing through the trapdoor and down the ladder. “Them idjits have suffered enough.”

Teeter and Avery headed down into the main stables where three of the other ranch hands were busy feeding the horses. “The fuck’s all that yellin about?” Lloyd asked.

“Them lil skunk-herd motherfuckers are at it again,” Teeter answered. “Ya’ll got the oversized feedin sacks?”

Colby tossed her one and Jimmy took another before giving one to Avery. “What’re ya’ll doin with those?” Lloyd questioned.

“Gonna go and catch’em,” Teeter answered before sticking her gum behind her ear.

“Well, if ya’ll are goin, I’m goin too,” Lloyd chuckled. “I ain’t missin this shitshow.”

Teeter led the way and the ranch hands all hurried to the other end of the pasture, blocking off the only escape route the boys had a hope of taking to outrun their fathers.

“Keep’em steady boys!” Teeter ordered.

The kids came charging over the hill with Rhett, Kayce and Rip still on their heels, clutching the cans of hairspray and the lighter as if their lives depended on it. In a split second, each one of them tumbled right into the feed sacks, the hands closing them right up as they wriggled and squirmed inside.

“Thanks guys,” Rhett blurted out, completely out of breath as he took one of the sacks that had a twin inside of it. “We owe ya’ll one.”

“You don’t owe us shit,” Lloyd told him. “Here, c’mon, bring’em back to the bunkhouse, I’ll make damn sure they’ve got the fear of God in’em for this one.”

Rhett, Rip and Kayce followed them all back to the bunkhouse, hoping that this time the boys would learn their lesson.

****************

“Are you shitting me?” Thomas Rainwater laughed as he watched the video John had pulled up on his phone.

“No, wait, it gets better,” John told him.

Thomas laughed and shook his head as he heard the loud curses and Beth’s remark. Mo tried to hide his laughter too, but it was no use. Neither of them cared who in that office saw them or heard them. It was just too funny to look away from.

“I take it they went down to the fire station?” Thomas asked him.

“Nope,” John replied. “Didn’t have to do that. Lloyd took’em aside and showed’em what’ll happen if they do it again.”

Thomas and Mo each made a face knowing that Lloyd’s tactics, as unorthodox as they were, would at least stick with the boys for a long time.

“Well,” Mo sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe there’s an advantage to all this.”

“You’re damn right Mo,” John said. “There’s definitely an advantage.”

“And what might that be?” Thomas asked him.

“If that bitch, Caroline Warner, ever comes onto the property again and tries to pry the land out of our hands, we’ll just sick the grandkids on her,” John explained. “Odds are no land developers will ever come back.”

“Truth be told, I like those odds,” Thomas grinned.

#outer range #yellowstone #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rip wheeler #kayce dutton #rip x beth #kayce x monica #lloyd pierce #thomas rainwater #john dutton

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 11 months ago

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Change

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike has a gift for you.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI!!! fingering, (unprotected) p-in-v showersex. And cat shenanigans, Mike behaving inappropriately around boobs... That kind of stuff.

A/N:

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @mayloma @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @livisss @ylva-syverson @sweetandgentlecreature

“Babe, can you grab some eh… Yes, Nyx, you can— Jesus Christ! Babe… Cats. Snacks. Please!” You look over the counter into the living room, where Mike is laying on the couch, covered in — and being screamed at by — his cats. The only one sitting next to him, rather than on top of him, is Sy. Your favorite orange menace is glaring at you, impatiently awaiting your return to the couch.

Nyx leaps off the couch and onto the counter as soon as she hears the drawer that holds her precious treats, Nova lazily taking her place on Mike’s chest. Little Mikey — who is still called that even though the name isn’t exactly apt anymore, because he’s grown so much that he no longer fits in the pockets of Mike’s hoodies, much to his dismay — pokes his head out of Mike’s sweater.

“What is he doing?” you ask, barely able to contain your laughter.

“Being a pain in my ass, as per usual,” Mike sighs. “But the cutest fucking pain in my ass I’ve ever seen, so it’s okay.” Your friends still don’t understand how you were able to make peace with the fact that Mike will never look at you the way he looks at his cats. The simple reason is that you know you’ll never look at Mike the way you look at your cats. You mean… his cats. Right?

Sy jumps you as soon as you sit down, Nyx and little Mikey follow soon after.

“Ow, Mikey, that’s my boob!” There’s honestly no saying which Mikey that remark is aimed at: it could easily have been both of them.

“He takes after me,” Mike says lovingly while he manages to grab a handful of tit while pretending to stroke Little Mikey.

“Hey, Mikey, that’s… Yeah, he does take after you,” you sigh as you try to feed all four cats an equal amount of treats. Mike eventually helps you by pulling Sy and little Mikey away before they can make a play for the last few treats. They’re Nova’s, end of story.

“I don’t like how they walk all over my sweet little baby,” you coo while giving her the head pats she so desperately meows for.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike laughs, “I’ve been meaning to tell you she’s got you fooled, babe.”

“What?” You turn to him — or rather; try to, because Sy lets out a dark meow that sounds more like a growl when he feels you’ve shifted too much.

“Yeah,” he said with a grin, “she’s being a pouty little baby around you, but she can take these fuckers in her sleep. They don’t mess with her when you’re not here.”

You turn to Nova, who is lying on her back in your lap, looking up at you with the biggest, most innocent-looking blue eyes imaginable. It’s obvious: whatever shenanigans are going on here, she hasn’t done anything. Mike laughs when you tell him that.

“Uhuh,” he says, “sure, Sweetcheeks. It’s okay, though! I spoil her too. Look at that little face!” He gently touches her nose with the tip of a finger, and she rewards him for his attention with a gentle, yet very loud purr.

“And how about this little face?” You chuckle under your breath as you gently move Nova off your lap and into Mike’s — Sy just bolts at some point — and nestle into Mike’s side, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Not nearly as cute,” Mike says, but you don’t agree.

“How about you come with me and I’ll show you exactly how cute I think your face is?” you tease. Mike squirms when your cold hand worms its way into his sweater. “Fucking ow, Mikey!” Ten tiny claws have found their way into your hand — apparently the space inside of Mike’s sweater may now only be occupied by (parts of) Mike, little or otherwise.

“Serves you and those icicles you call hands right,” Mike says as he shivers dramatically.

“Well, maybe there’s a way to get me nice and warmed up,” you mutter with your lips pressed against his neck. “Come take a shower with me?”

“But I’m comfortable right here on this couch, with my cats,” Mike moans. You forgive him immediately; it’s not like you’ve never declined some naked quality time with just Mike because you were just too content with Nova purring in your ear.

Luckily for you, Mike has a weakness… “The shower will have significantly more naked boobs than the couch,” you try.

It works — of course it works! Mike is on his feet in seconds, leaving a very offended Nova on the couch, meowing loudly in protest.

“The f-" Mike exclaims as he takes a break from kissing your neck to look at your feet, where something furry brushed past your legs. “Of course.”

It’s Nyx, now soaking wet, of course, and meowing like her life depends on it.

“You did this, dumbass,” Mike grumbles as he picks her up. “Fuckin' wrong kind of wet pussy, dammit.” You barely manage to fight back a chuckle, and Mike blows you a quick kiss when he notices you heard what he said, before taking Nyx out of the shower cabin and wrapping a towel around her.

“Did you forget to close the door?” you ask curiously. He never does – he knows this is the result of that

“Nope,” he sighs, “but I’ve been suspecting for a while that this little monster can open doors. Guess I have my proof now.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” you ask. Nyx didn't sound like she enjoyed being wet much – although she seems to prefer it to being dried off, which she's fighting very actively.

“Yes, she's just being dramatic,” Mike snorts as he finishes towel-drying her. “Besides, this was entirely her fault. Yeah, you. You don't have to go everywhere I go, little weirdo.” She clearly doesn't agree with him.

After tossing the now semi-dry cat into the hallway and locking the door behind him – but not before checking if any of the others have snuck into the bedroom without him noticing – he joins you in the shower again.

“Where were we?” he says, making you laugh as he grabs a handful of boob.

“Right about there,” you chuckle.

Ever since Mike moved out of his parents' house and into his apartment, quickies in the shower practically all the private time you get together – and you both greedily make the most of what little time you get. Nova and little Mikey go absolutely nuts if you don't let them into the room even when – no, especially when – you’re getting it on, and Sy and Nyx are just obnoxiously loud at all times, no matter where you put them.

To add to the insanity, little Mikey has developed a habit of attacking feet. It's easy to guess why that isn't especially conducive to a romantic environment.

Then again, even limited to the shower – or those sporadic moments you decided it was worth wrangling four cats and listening to their complaints through the bedroom door – you have plenty of fun together. Besides, waking up with a snuggly Nova in your arms and Mike behind you with his arms tightly wrapped around you is just about the best feeling in the world.

Second to that feeling, is the exact thing Mike is doing to you right now; gently sucking on your neck while furiously pumping two fingers into you. He’s really gotten good at that.

“Fuck, Mikey, don’t stop,” you mutter. The remark is redundant at this point; he’s got you.

“Yes, victory!” Mike says with a big grin on his face that you kinda, maybe want to slap off, because he’s being impossible. “Now turn around so I can fuck you.”

It’s not an order of any kind, it’s a very directly phrased request born of sheer impatience, as evidenced by the fact that Mike unceremoniously grabs your hips and attempts to turn you around as he speaks.

“Bedroom?” you try, knowing you don’t want to wait, either. It’s that silly voice inside your brain that still tells you you’re a lady (you’re not) and you have to keep a sense of decorum (you don’t) to keep Mike from thinking you’re a slut (he already knows that, and he loves you for it!)

“Nope,” he replies. “Want you. Now.”

Oh. When he puts it like that… You finally give in to his greedy hands, allowing him to turn you to face the wall. When he pushes into you, you clench your fists and let out a loud moan.

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of you,” Mike groans, pressing his lips to the back of your neck. It’s interesting how he seems to speak your thoughts so often — not that you would go as far as saying the two of you are totally in sync, or anything. God knows that’s impossible with Mikey, who isn’t even in sync with himself. But he’s yours, and you love him, and you can’t help but hope that you’ll indeed never get enough of each other.

He’s patient today, keeping the rhythm of his thrusts slow and steady. That alone would drive you nuts, but it’s the soft kisses to your shoulder and neck that really do you in, and soon you’re begging him for more — faster, harder… anything.

He chuckles. “Let me enjoy this,” he moans into your ear before teasingly nipping at your earlobe, his breath already revealing that he won’t be enjoying this for much longer, anyway. So you concede, your moans echoing off the tiled walls as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate and torturously gentle.

It’s the pressure of his fingers on your breast that eventually betrays him, letting you know he’s struggling — that he’s close, but not quite willing to have this be over yet. He wants to give you more, he always does, but he’s fighting something he can’t hold off forever.

Unsurprisingly, the grunt he lets out when he cums sounds more than a little disappointed, and you grab his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, keeping him as close as humanly possible for a while. You lean your cheek against the cool tiles of the wall, sighing deeply while Mike’s lips explore your neck.

“That was good,” you mutter, making him chuckle.

“That was short,” he replies. Who cares?

“It was great,” you repeat, not prepared to take any of his bullshit.

“Hey Sweetcheeks,” Mike says softly, and you let out a frustrated grunt.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble. There’s no such thing as five more minutes, especially now that the cats know you’re awake.

“I brought you coffee and breakfast.” Mike presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and — as per usual — Nova impatiently headbutts him out of the way. For the first fifteen minutes after waking up, you’re hers. Mike should know that by now.

The breakfast Mike brought you is an avocado and fried egg bagel, which means that eating it is not without risk — especially in bed. Nyx has this annoying obsession with eggs, which she immediately showcases by trying to steal it off your breakfast.

Luckily, Mike quickly provides the cats with their own breakfast, which means you get to eat in peace for a change.

You’re just finishing the last bite when they sprint into the room and jump on the bed. Now, all you have to do is wait for Mike to show up, too, and you can start your favorite part of the weekend; cuddling with Mike and your fur babies until someone can come up with a good reason to get out of bed. Last week it was well past noon when you finally decided you’d spent enough time under the covers. Not that moving to the couch had changed much about your activities. It had only added ‘watching TV’ to the mix — a Christmas movie, and you hadn’t even had to beg Mike to watch it with you; he’d volunteered.

Sy gets comfortable in your lap, while Nova climbs up to stick her face in yours. Nyx curls up next to you, waiting for Mike. That leaves little Mikey, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Odd…

“Baby,” you call to Mike, who you hear rummaging around in the kitchen, “where’s little Mikey?”

“Right here,” Mike says a little while later, when he comes back into the bedroom with his fluffy namesake in his arms.

Mike drops the cat on your stomach, and as soon as you pet him, you notice he’s wearing something around his neck. The cats don’t wear collars, which prompts you to investigate further.

Quickly, you find it’s not a collar; it’s a ribbon, with a note attached to it.

Dear mom, We miss you when you’re away, Always screaming, keeping dad awake. So for his sanity and his sake, Here’s something we would like you to take.

“You wrote me a poem?” you say with a smile before even really looking at what you’re holding in your hands.

Mike shakes his head. “They wrote you the poem, I promise.”

His tone is so serious that you can’t help but burst into laughter. “God, you’re such a dork, I love you!” You can’t help but notice that there’s something different about him this morning. He’s nervous. Fidgety — more than usual, at least. As if this is something way bigger than you realize at the moment.

It’s then that you realize you haven’t even taken a look at what he’s giving you, but as soon as you do…

In the palm of your hand, there’s a key — a house key, to be precise.

“We don’t want you to leave anymore,” Mike whispers as he pulls you firmly against him, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“You’re giving me a key to your place?” you stammer. Somehow, you get the feeling your voice is barely audible over the sound of your heart.

“I mean,” Mike mutters even more nervously than before, “I’m… I’m actually hoping I’m giving you a key to our place.”

With tears in your eyes, you turn your head to look at him. Mike’s hopeful (but terrified) baby blues stare back at you. “You want me to move in?”

“You can think about it… Or, if you’re not ready, that’s—” You raise a hand to get him to shut up, and when that doesn’t work, you kiss him square on the mouth. Hard.

“Yes, Mike. A thousand times yes.”

#mike hellraiser #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser)#hellraiser mike #mike (hellraiser) x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mikey x reader #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #mike hellraiser smut

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nagarnia · 2 years ago

Note

I don't know if you remember, but back in April I wrote to you about my cat passing and Chunkli arriving at the same time.

I still take him to bed with me, to hell being a grown adult, he's a great cuddler and sleeping so good just holding him! I'm glad he's here!

But ever since late August, he has to contend the space with someone else. My mom knows a lady who works at a cat shelter, and she's always been 👀👀👀, saying that if I ever decide to adopt again, to just tell her... And we did.

She sent our way a lovely ginger boy, a bit of a menace but he's 9 months old, he's baby 🥺

And I named him Tomo. Yes I realized AFTER that maybe naming him after the fanon name for Kazuha's dead friend may not be the best omen, but I promise I'll keep him out of fighting a god so he should be fine. He doesn't seem to mind Chunkli, anyway, I think they'll get along well :')

I hope it's not weird to say it again, but it's been a huge help to have Chunkli with me in that moment, and I'm really glad I got him when I did, I wanted to thank you again.

And if there's more plushies coming, I might start to save up for one, because I'm also 👀👀👀

My heart reading this🥺 Yes I of course remember your ask! I'm beyond happy how chunkli has given you peace and comfort in your hard times... and Tomo😭 precious little katto 🤲💖 I will wish you the the best and thank you again for sharing your stories!

#ask

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novankenn · 1 year ago

Text

"Ozpin's Fault AU"

Calls & Conversations (1089 words)

Nora exited the shower after 45 minutes, looking refreshed and clean, though she still shot Jaune a menacing glare. Jaune's ears drooped, and her tail wrapped around her body, covering her face as she tried to further bury herself in the nest of blankets Pyrrha had arranged for her.

"Nora." Ren and Pyrrha commented in unison. "Don't."

"I will..."

"Finish that statement, and I'll inform Professor Goodwitch of your intentions..." Pyrrha threatened.

"Traitor!" Nora proclaimed.

"Nora, enough." Ren stepped into the conversation. "Once Jaune's back to normal, I'm sure he'll apologize..."

"I demand compensation!"

"Er... what? Compensation?"

"She ruined my shirt... I want it replaced... limited edition Ms Mapleworth t-shirt!"

"You want Jaune to replace a plain white t-shirt with a limited edition shirt that features the logo of a maple syrup mascot?" Pyrrha asked, a little confused.

"Emotion distress and pain." Nora stated flatly, and before anyone else could say anything, a "YIP" from the nest of blankets on Pyrrha's bed answered Nora. "Thank you for agreeing, Jaune."

"How?" Pyrrha asked as Ren rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Breakfast time!" Nora's chipper attitude returned, "Let's go, Rennie!"

Pyrrha watched as Nora proceeded to drag Ren out of the dorm, leaving her and her crush alone. Pyrrha was so conflicted. Her feelings for Jaune had grown from interest in finally having a friend into a full-blown crush... but the gender swap was making things confused. She still held feelings and was discovering that she was possibly more sexually attracted to Jaune as a female than she was when Jaune was male.

The ringing of a scroll drew her out of her musings. Moving to the nightstand next to Jaune's bed, she picked up Jaune's charging scroll, to see if it was a call that she should answer.

"It's from your... Mom." Pyrrha announced as she turned to look at Jaune. Seeing Jaune shrink into the nest of blankets, told Pyrrha all she needed. Jaune was not read for such a conversation, but fate intervened, and as she was moving her thumb to tap the ignore icon, she tapped the accept icon instead.

"Hello, Jaune why haven't you... you're not Jaune. WHO are you..." the cheery voice instantly turned menacing. "Who are you? Where is my baby-boy?"

/=/

Qrow groaned, his head thumping as the incessant ringing of his scroll stirred him from his booze induced slumber. Rolling over on his ratty couch, he swatted the detestable device, and attempt to fall back asleep, only for it to start ringing again. Once again he hit the technological annoyance, again, for it only start up again.

"This better be important." Qrow muttered as he rose, sighed and answered. "What do… Glynda?"

"Qrow I have a situation at Beacon. I NEED you here... now."

"Huh?" Qrow shook his head, not believing his ears. "What?"

"As I have already said. I have a situation that requires your assistance in resolving."

"What type of issue could you have that you can't fix with that semblance of yours?"

"An Ozpin caused one."

"Seriously? What happened this time?" Qrow asked as memories of having to teach a four-year student how to change back from being a transformed into a Komodo dragon.

"Jaune Arc. Vixen."

"Shit." Qrow groaned. It was not a secret to any of the staff or Ozpin's inner circle that the eccentric Headmaster had a habit every so many years of causing anarchy with his magic. Usually around the time of the Vytal festival coming to Vale. "When?"

"She was discovered transformed this morning."

"Wait, did you say she? Jaune's your nephew..."

"Was..."

"How... Ozpin."

"Ozpin." Glynda confirmed.

"I'm in Patch." Qrow informed Glynda as he rubbed his face with his free hand. "I can be there before lunch. Anything else I should be aware of?"

"My precious Jaune is also now a faunus, and Jasmine does not know... yet."

"Fuck." Qrow cursed. The Arc matriarch was well known for being rather overprotective of her spawn, and Qrow used that term lightly. When the entire Arc clan got together, those kids were Hellions, specifically when it came to embarrassing, or protecting the sole son of the family. "Are you...?"

"Not if Ozpin can correct this mistake."

"He wasn't able to for the fourth year, four years ago." Qrow pointed out, only to wish he hadn't, considering the murderous look that crossed Glynda's face.

"He... WILL... fix this." Glynda informed Qrow through clenched teeth. "Before Lunch?"

"I'm leaving now."

/=/

"Well. I'm waiting."

"She... he is in the bathroom right now." Pyrrha lied as she heard Jaune's soft whimpering behind her. "I'll let her... I mean him know you called."

"Really?" Jaune's mom's eyes narrowed, and Pyrrha felt fear and panic starting to coil about in her stomach. She had never been a competent liar, and the way Jaune's mom was looking at her, Pyrrha could see she wasn't buying what she was selling. "And WHOM might you be, that you have access to Jaune's scroll?"

"I'm his partner..."

"Partner," Jaune's mom's eyes lighted up and a slightly unhinged smile crossed her features. Features that Pyrrha definitely could see the familial resemblance in. " And what type of ... partner are you?"

"Excuse me?" Pyrrha wasn't sure what was being asked of her.

"Hold the scroll out, I want a better look at you." Pyrrha, still a little confused, did as she was bid, holding the scroll further out and tilting it slightly to give Jaune's mom a better look at her figure. "Nice figure. Good hips, ample bust..."

"Excuse me?"

"Have you ever thought of having children?"

"I..."

"I expect at least four grandchildren from you."

"Huh?"

"I suppose we should get on a first name basis. I'm Jasmine Arc, it is a pleasure to meet you Ms Nikos, or course you're more than welcome to call me MOM."

"I..." Pyrrha's face grew cherry red, as her mind switched from preventing Jaune's current condition from being discovered to images of her heavy with child, with at least three other rugrats with strawberry blond hair seated around her for a family photo.

"I knew it." Jasmine grinned. "You have it bad. Now, about those grand babies. I want..."

"Nine. Minimum... I can do nine." Pyrrha blurted out.

"Oh... I like you... nine it is, and if you want more..."

Jaune whimpered as she heard the conversation happening between her mom and Pyrrha. Don't get her wrong, Jaune liked Pyrrha more than just as a friend, but the glint in her emerald green eyes was terrifying to her.

(So I am working on some follow-ups to recent postings, and working out a few more posts for "Jaune Gets a Gun Au". Hope you're all enjoying this nonsense.)

#rwby #jaune arc #team jnpr #team rwby #female!jaune #foxfaunus!jaune #vixen!jaune #glynda goodwitch #glynda and jaune are related #jaune is an actual fox #jasmine arc - Jaune's mom #the beginings of baby fever #qrow branwen #ozpin has caused this chaos before...

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webslingingslasher · 8 months ago

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omg j i need to rant a lil, its not too serious bc i dont like spreading negativity but oh my GOD i need to rant

my mum is such a toxic boy mum. shes literally in love with him. its so fucking weird. he can (and does) say the most inhumane things ever to me (he literally called me a demon last night and said the world would be better without me) and she didn't say a WORD. she was completely silent. like a mute.

but i just ate his mini protein bar and she is screaming at me like i murdered someone? she's so personally offended that i took something from her poor precious little baby :( (hes literally 24 years old, grown WITH a job but still lives at home bc he doesnt wanna do his own laundry or make his bed💀

its so weird j he can literally do the worst thing ever to me and she doesnt give a fuck, i do the slightest inconvenience and she's ready to stone me to death?

she also hates his girlfriend and says she should be the only woman in his life. its so fucking weird. all of these people are weird😭 i want out. she's literally in love with him, its so fucking weird i hate it so much bleughhhhhh

pt. 2 its a typical "mothers love their sons and raise their daughters" type thing😭

i'm sorry anon :( the issue with your mom doing this is that it also builds resentment towards your brother. it's not cute and it's not fun. i had a friend with a mom like this and we all thought it was super weird. her mom viewed her as competition. fucking weirdo.

next time ur brother does some shit just be like "how's that emotional incest going?"

"you're a demon."

"ok and you have an emotionally incestious relationship with our mom. i pick demon time."

or when your mom starts some bullshit.

"eww... mom, do you smell that? ah, gross! it smells like incest!"

i'm fr a menace and i'd just be calling incest at every turn. "sorry, i can't be more like brother, mom. i wish i could incest with you too :("

#thanks anon!

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illuxtre · 1 year ago

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So I finished FHH yesterday and I couldn't even process it till today I'm jwhzjwjdjws

Incoherent thoughts bellow:

Orion lacking even an OUNCE of self preservation in face of Rosalind's life being in danger they're so. I can't

That scene with Celia arguing with Oliver and him just "This is going to work." JAIL. JAIL. THERE'S NO WAY BEING LIKE THAT IS LEGAL. THAT MAN. I SWEAR TO GOD. They're so sweet and he's so silly for her I'm going to actually cry

Alisa is such a menace she's my favorite

THE FINAL CONFRONTATION. ORION HAD ME SCREAMING LIKE BABY???? I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED THAT FROM HIM BUT MY GOD.

The most Siblings Thing he do be bleeding out but absolutely about to throttle Oliver and Phoebe for pulling the Priest thing (Btw I'm so offended we did not get a on screen reaction to Oliver revealing Priest to Celia PFTTT)

Lady Hong had me screaming and punching something bc what the hell. What the hell. That entire family. What the hell. I'm so sad for Phoebe yet again

AND SPEAKING OF. Phoebe and Silas are so precious I can't 😭😭😭 he really caught her when she broke down, and gave her a reason to keep going, helping Shangai, even if they're literally enemies ffs. Throwback to Romajulliete, specially in the first book, absolutely unmatched vibes,, I'd love to see more of them tho I know it's over fr

THE ENTIRE SCENE TRYING TO SAVE ORION. WHAT A ROLLERCOASTER. I was like "As you like it is literally a comedy there's no way there is NO WAY." The relief was so real when he woke up he's so silly for Rosalind istg istg

AND THE PROPOSAL THE PROPOSAL THE PROPOSAL AKZBWJJXJS that is literally the cutest thing in the whole world the fact he spelled it out in the sky ("The sky says I love you" I'M ON THE FLOOR) but he was concerned she disliked the attention of the papers AND HE BOUGHT HER A POISON RING I'M CRYING SO HARD

The set of siblings are usually bought together do not separate them!!! Chloe better give us the Oliver/Celia proposal too!!! That's so endearing

AND LAST NOTE BUT NOT LEAST. ROMAJULLIETE BABY. OH MY GOODNESS. MY CHILDREN ARE ALL GROWN UP.

#foul heart huntsman #spoilers #oh my god oh my god #i love this book so much #oh my god #I should reread tvd and ove at some point too after this I just love the secret shangai characters so much

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ahollowgrave · 2 years ago

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I would love to hear about Odette's sheep! If you wouldn't mind sharing!

Oh, of course! When she was still a full resident at her convent one of her duties was tending to the very small flock that they had! Only about four or so sheep, so very teeny but enough to keep a young troublemaker busy. When she left the convert the care for those sheep was given to one of her Sisters and Odette has missed them since. Enter, Rou. Friends of Odette found Rou while tripping on something out in the steppes. According to them, he is both a terror and a menace. He 'trapped them' and then 'chased them' all the way home. Another friend intercepted the chaos and brought Rou to Odette for care! According to Odette, Rou is precious and sweet and good, although perhaps a smidgen jealous. In reality, Rou tends to be very jealous of people getting near Odette whilst also being the biggest ham. For a while, it was just Rou and Odette but, lately, she has gathered a few other sheep to form her own small flock.

In this photo, Rou is staring directly at the viewer. The other two full-grown sheep have yet to be named, Odette is waiting to see if they'll tell her. The littlest one is named Bitty, however. Itty Bitty when she's being naughty! Odette cares for them very much, as is her wont, and uses their wool to make her friends truly horrendous gifts. She is a good nun but a terrible knitter. Thank you very much for the ask @briar-ffxiv!!

#Answered #Ope this got longer than I meant #I hope this is what you!!!!! were looking for (':

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oliviaspeicher · 2 days ago

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Fate Wait

Content Warning: Violence, Injury, Discussions of Death

by Olivia Speicher

Part One: Amber Showers

The birds chirped with menace. They wanted to warn Mercy away from their precious nests — have her turn and flee in terror before she reached her lythe hands upwards and robbed them of their eggs. It wasn’t something she had any intention of doing, and yet they squawked like cornered prey, indignant, sharp.

Mercy had not yet grown so misanthropic as to kill baby birds.

Rays of wilted sunlight pushed like desperate children through the canopy overhead. A few groups of leaves on the ground glowed under the pathetic spotlight, too little too late for them —who had already fallen from grace, browned, crunchy, and dead on the forest floor.

The weatherman had informed the county that morning: rain would not come. Although the clouds might hang low, as if on the precipice of weeping, not an inch would pour. The news had brought Mercy some joy. Rain fell often in Bristol, or perhaps it just rained often on the East Coast. Her father had always said that days of sunlight were days God was smiling, because humanity had not yet done anything to warrant his sadness. Mercy did not particularly believe in such ready answers.

She had gone along with it, the church, the summer camps, the Wednesday night hymnals, but when Amber started to dodge out of it after reaching high school —Mercy followed suit. Amber always seemed to know the right thing to do. Of course Mercy had also developed doubts of her own. Their parents seemed displeased but unsurprised. Mercy’s mom had told her in secret that she had also lost her faith for some years in her twenties.

A bird swooped down overhead, close enough to make Mercy flinch back. She attempted to track it with her eyes as it returned towards its nest, frantic with maternal urgency, but she lost it in the trees. As she moved forward through the brush, Mercy realized she had walked this path before. There was a steep drop-off on the right side of the path, where the water from a stream had eroded the Earth down into a miniature valley. The undertow quietly tumbled the rapids over smooth rocks. The simple, serene act of nature, reminded Mercy of Amber: who had always loved the water.

Amber was her half-sister. Related only by their father — a man named Leonard Shaw. Amber’s mother was dead. She had died, writhing in pain, during the summer of 1986, her body fleshy and weak on a sterile hospice bed. Amber was being looked after by Leonard’s mother at the time, he was away on business in Philadelphia, so she passed away alone and ashamed in the cheapest room they could afford.

All of this Mercy’s mother, Jordan, had whispered to her in the dark solitude of the master bedroom, when Leonard was still watching the television late at night. After Mercy turned eighteen, her mother seemed to realize she was no longer a child, but perhaps a friend. A close confidant. She would push Mercy’s soft hair out of her face as they laid against each other — talking until the sun had hidden itself deep below the horizon. Everytime they did this, an unending thought would scamper through Mercy’s mind: Amber would never know this kind of comfort. She had rejected Jordan early on, like she was still haunted by the ghost of a mother she never really knew.

Though the circumstances may seem grim, Mercy really did have a perfectly normal childhood. She lived in a two-story house, three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Amber had been her friend, growing up — though they had spats as any pair of sisters would. When Mercy hit high school, Amber had moved out, off to college in another state. She went to North Carolina, where the cold waves of the ocean would crest the beach in silent contentment — far away from the rain and woods.

By the time Mercy had graduated, though, the money had run a bit dry. Paying for Amber’s tuition and housing so far away had been more than a few buckets in the well. So Mercy stayed close by. She lived at home, and commuted to the University of Connecticut. Perhaps the situation may seem unfair, but Mercy sort of felt it was a retribution; an even exchange for the pleasure of a living mother.

On Wednesdays her classes would end at one forty-five pm, and she would drive home in her beat up car while mindless pop buzzed out of the blown-out radio. She would whizz down Ambler Road —a name that had such a comedic similarity to Amber that they used the two interchangeably— until she hit a trail head, then she parked her car, and started walking. It was nice. There was never anyone in those parts of the woods. No vast lakes appeared through a curtain of lovely green brush. No fickle deer peering at passerby with wide, innocent eyes — just ferocious, territorial birds.

Mercy was about to reach the halfway point of the trail, where it began to wrap back around itself in order to deposit hikers near the location they had started, when she caught a glimpse of a structure peeking through a thicket of trees some two-hundred feet away. Looming over the tips of tall shrubs, it looked to be made out of steel, or perhaps a cheaper alloy. The round walls were crested by vibrant graffiti art.

Some wretched feeling of trepidation tore through Mercy’s stomach like a squirming bug. There was something that felt so perverse about seeing a man-made thing impose on its surroundings; an incurable sensation of wrongness that made Mercy see it as more akin to a dead animal than a sign of life. If she could identify one reason as to why she approached it: a morbid fascination. The same way a child might poke a decomposing squirrel in the park, its bloated body, which could no longer play dead even if it wanted to, limp under the puppeteering of mere circumstantial curiosity.

She pushed the young Spring brush out of her way as she strayed from the foot-worn path. Aviators above screeched like innocent prisoners; the beating hearts in their flimsy feather frames bursting with venom as Mercy moved through the vegetation. Her eyes were set on the object before her.

Upon closer inspection — there were three large metal cylindrical structures. They looked like giant oil drums, the ones people would get full of petroleum. Their engines and grills would guzzle it like an addict getting their fix, expel the waste like a bad memory. If the rain was God’s tears, then perhaps, Mercy thought, the oil was his shit. Maybe he tried to hide his shame deep in the crust of the Earth, hoping humanity would never shatter his creation badly enough to find it.

Rust caked the drums, bits of crusty chemical reaction peeling away from the iron alloy as if they had somewhere to go. Most of the corrosion was covered by swaths of wild spray paint. There was a purple fairy, artist tags with big ballooned letters, and a small speech bubble which read ‘buff me’.

Whatever kind of facility it had been, the place was abandoned. Rowdy vines twisted with vengeance around stray pipes. Autumn brush which had long ago fallen collected along the seam where the metal met the ground. Mercy had wandered around the area countless times, and yet this place had eluded her. Some thirty feet away she saw another graffiti ridden structure — this one a concrete box. The building was stout, lacking any fancy accoutrement: an eyesore of American practicalism. There were several more buildings scattered throughout the terrain, along with some sloping staircases that led down to tunnels. Mercy couldn’t have been sure when the place was last in use, perhaps some time in the late seventies.

Amber would have loved it. If she had been with Mercy in that moment — she would have begun explaining in detail the scale and velocity of the party she would be throwing the next night inside the crumbling buildings. Thursday had always been the night Amber hung out with her friends, not Fridays as her hangover would interfere with Saturday softball games. When Amber played, she would get a real serious look on her face; like her life depended on winning. In a lot of ways it did. Mercy could still recall the screams of rage, the broken bats, the loud chatting of a dozen angry girls in their basement. When Amber left, the house got far quieter. Only three mute mice were left to scurry around in there.

A small drop of rain splashed atop Mercy’s hair. April showers bring May flowers. Or May flowers, Mercy’s mind wandered, mimicking her feet — Amber showers and then brings Mercy flowers. Mercy thought of the poor suckers named after months of the year, how confusing is that? She knew a girl named June once, who would touch her shoulders and back without asking. Finally, in seventh grade, she moved to Kansas City. ‘Good riddance’ was all Mercy could think, as she departed, weeping, from the school. Mercy gazed into the gray expanse above her; the news always seemed to lie, and God weeped too that day.

Part Two: Four Letters

On Sunday evening Mercy discovered a letter in the mailbox addressed to her. Her name was in careful handwriting that sloped thoughtfully over the tall hills in the big letter ‘M’. The ballpoint had curved around the ‘c’ — venturing up and down again for a round ‘y’ which swung around the bottom, underlining the whole name. The return address was:

Amber Shaw

1105 Highway 54 Bypass, Apt 314

Chapel Hill, NC 27516

It had been a very long time since Amber contacted her. Mercy wondered why she had chosen to send a formal written letter, rather than a quick email.

04/02/2007

Dear Mercy,

I realize by now you’ve been in college a while. Sorry I am late. I wanted to tell you this when you graduated high school, but then I thought it would be too much for you to handle at a time like that. I love you, and you have always been my sweet little sister. I am sorry if I didn’t show you enough. I know how our Dad is. He isn’t very good at those kinds of things either. I haven’t told either of them, and please don’t tell them this. So, around a year and a half ago, I got pregnant. The father was this guy named Aaron, anyway he’s a good person. I think maybe it seemed like I was having a really good time on Facebook and stuff (thanks for the pokes) but my life has been really fucked up. I got pregnant and then I thought I would keep the baby even though I didn’t want it. Aaron didn’t want it either so he kept asking me why and why and why I wouldn’t just get rid of it. But it’s so fucked up, and I couldn’t explain this to anybody else but you. I wished I could talk to you then. My mom just left me here and I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that I had a deadbeat ghost craning over my fucking shoulder. I guess I even really blamed her for getting sick because it was her fault for being with so many random guys. She knew what was going around. But then I went to college, and I guess I just did the same exact thing, didn’t I?

You don’t really need to know about any of this, but I wanted to tell you. It was weird, I guess it just felt like the right thing to do for a long time, but I didn’t want to bother you. Anyway the point is that I’m telling you everything. Get ready for the mope-fest: the baby died. It’s honestly funny. It was just all bloody and wrong, so I went to the doctor again and they told me it was dead and that it would just fall out eventually. So all of it was for nothing in the end, really. Then, for a long time, I was really glad I didn’t tell you or Dad or Jordan because it didn’t end up being anything at all. I could tell Aaron was so relieved and honestly I was too. I thought things would just go on, but I was wrong, and I just can’t stop thinking about that stupid fucking baby. I think I’ll only be with girls from now on (don’t tell your parents that either). I buried the weird little thing some ways into a tree line by the highway. I haven’t been home in a while. I thought maybe, if you send me a letter back, I would come. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me there. But I really can’t stand being in this city anymore.

ps. You should post more. You’re beautiful, Mercy.

Love you so much,

Amber

Mercy folded the letter back up, slipped it into the thick parchment envelope — a duck stamp emblazoned with pride in the top right corner, and laid it into the top drawer of her desk, taking care to place it flat. She ran her hand over the bumpy white paper once more, before squirreling it away.

What a strange letter, Mercy thought. Amber had never been so warm with her. Her ‘I love yous’ had been tight lipped things that came out like bile at the prompting of their family members. So much awkwardness in words that are meant to be inspired by truth. Hard to say, in Mercy’s eyes, if affection could become real — transcend the barriers of performance. The only certainty of love Mercy had ever experienced had come from her mother. She would tell Mercy that a mother’s love is greater than any obstacle on this Earth, and when a child leaves their mother’s body — this creature she’s been keeping inside of her own physical flesh, as soon as they are born they’re vulnerable. The link between mother and baby is severed, but that thing that was part of her body is out in the world and must be protected. She said she was overwhelmed by her infatuation with Mercy.

Is that what Amber felt, when she buried the child in the shallow ground past whizzing cars? The distant sister suddenly appeared to Mercy as a far more complicated person than she had ever realized. Why had it taken her this long? She imagined Amber’s calloused hands, rough from the hewn wooden bat she had swung, shaking in the cold, as they parted wet soil which crawled up under her tiny fingernails. And she dug a hole big enough for her poor, dead, baby. Amber had never been so warm with her, as she was in that letter. Their family must have done so wrong by her, if she sat in that place alone — grieving a child who was never given the opportunity to exist.

A memory rose to the front of Mercy’s spinning thoughts, whirling like a little metal top. One night, back when Mercy was still in middle school, she had gone downstairs into their kitchen with orange oak cabinets, and a round table with four seats that were never occupied at the same time. She had wanted to sneak another slice of Amber’s birthday cake: selfish brat. Chocolate icing smeared along the length of her tongue, she didn’t turn the light on for fear of being caught — so she sat in darkness at a table for four: for one. A commotion emerged from the corner which separated the staircase from the drywalled edge of the kitchen. Amber stomped onto the tiled floor, unconcerned with the amount of noise she was making. Her dark hair was tangled into ropes — her young face tear soaked and puffy from distress. She sniffed, more vulnerable and small sounding than Mercy had ever heard her, and opened the fridge. Yellow light poured out of the white doors which were plastered with papers and pictures, illuminating Amber’s solemn face. Mercy thought of a repentant angel.

Against her better judgment: Mercy opened her mouth to ask, in her tiny voice, “Are you okay?”

Amber’s body jolted with shock as she flung her head around to seek Mercy, shrouded by darkness.

Amber sighed, coming down off the adrenaline,“What the fuck are you doing down here?”

“Nothing,” Mercy replied —far too quick.

“Nothing?” Amber attempted to clarify, doubt evident in her crackling tone.

“Were you crying?” Mercy probed. Amber never cried, not since they were very little.

Amber narrowed her teary eyes. Her gaze flicked down to the plate in front of Mercy — a slice of rich chocolate cake sat atop, leaning over like a half-played game of Jenga. Fear began to rise like bile in Mercy’s stomach, the aftertaste of icing turned bitter in her zipped mouth.

Amber must have seen something on Mercy’s face because her suspicion faded. Amber’s lips morphed into a pout, like another sob was just rearing up to sputter out of her tight chest. She took a few careful steps closer, coming to stand next to Mercy at the table.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, sounding more like a child than a high schooler. She reached a tentative hand forward, her fingers slipping through the strands of Mercy’s freshly brushed hair. After a few moments, her hand stopped moving, and she placed it atop Mercy’s head — the touch was gentle, full of a maternal love that reminded Mercy for a moment of her own mom. “You can have the rest of it,” Amber surrendered, the shadow of a smile on her mouth.

“Really?” Mercy couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

Amber moved away from the table, turning her back on her sister, walking towards the stairs, “Yeah, really. Good night, Mercy.”

Mercy was roused from her thoughts by the sound of the garage door opening: her father was home. She wanted to tell her mother about the letter, but Amber had given her such a warning against it. Even then, Jordan had never lost a child. She always said Mercy was her one and done. She had dreamed of a daughter her entire life, and God granted her one on the very first go around because she had prayed so hard for it. Mercy tried to picture her own mom pushing Amber’s wet hair out of her face as she sobbed with muddy hands.

Would a spirit be lifted from the ground, in one way or another?

That night, Mercy’s father sat frustrated in the living room, trying to complete a paperbound book of three hundred crosswords.

“What’s another word for caution?” He asked, finally yielding to the desire for help. All evening he had been letting out exasperated sighs — as if it was the fault of his wife and daughter that he didn’t know the answer to seven across.

“Warning?” Mercy’s mother replied, absentminded, from her place on the couch.

“No, four letters.”

Mercy pondered the riddle for a moment, “Heed?”

Her father twisted the princess themed mechanical pencil he was using between his fingers. The eraser had long been chewed off by Mercy’s gnashing and juvenile teeth.

“No, that doesn’t work with nocturnal,” He ground his jaw together in annoyance.

“Who knows these kinds of things?” Mercy’s mother questioned, huffing like a dog, and laying her romance book down onto the flat part of her chest.

“People who are worth their salt,” He mumbled, adjusting his reading glasses against the bridge of his thin nose.

Jordan shared a knowing look with Mercy, “So what are we worth, then?”

A weak grin pulled up around Mercy’s lips, “I guess we’re just worth our dirt.”

“I’ve done just around two hundred of these — I’d say that’s worth a bit more than dirt,” Her father protested.

Mercy scoffed, “They make those for kids.”

“God, Mercy, no they do not. Do you always have to do this?” She could almost hear the sound of her father’s molars being eroded down to nubs as he clenched the muscles in his face.

In all her eighteen years Mercy was never able to resist poking the bear, “Do what?”

“You just have to piss me off.”

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

He was silent for a moment, “I’m sure.”

Part Three: Death Walk

Leaves crunched on the underside of Mercy’s boot: it sounded like tiny screams. The wind whipped with vehemence around her face — like an ice cold knife that serrated her softened cheek. The birds were silent.

It was Wednesday. During her class, Mercy hadn’t quite been able to still the restless twitch in her leg. The limb moved on its own, anticipatory; she had counted down the minutes until her week awaited jaunt back to the old oil terminal. There was a creature which had curled in her gut all week, whispering to her that she had left something there unfinished. The rain had drowned out her exploration and with it washed away any sense of conquest for the rusty wreck.

Mercy’s hair flew, whipping and wild, around her as her body pushed against the fearsome gusts, towards her destination. The leaves and twigs of the trees sang sharp melodies as wind propelled through their gaps — secrets like hidden things felt comforted by their concert.

When Mercy had responded to Amber’s letter, the words had spread forth from the far edge of her pen like buried soldiers on a vast hill which had once held a great battle. Like secrets underneath the surface.

04/11/2007

Dear Amber,

I am glad that you told me, and my heart breaks to think of you so cold and alone. I think of the time we shared together under the same roof and mourn each moment I let you slip between my fingers. I love you dearly. Nothing you can do will make me push you away. My mother loves you, too. I know you may not want to hear it — but I could see in her face so many times she had wished to wrap you in her embrace, and calm the crazy storm that always seemed to be raging in your mind. I search for her in my moments of loss, and I can’t stand the idea of you feeling like you have nowhere to return to.

That being said, I swear I will not tell another soul. Our father likes to stir the pot. Mother would perhaps not understand you as deeply as you need. Please, Amber, don’t be scared — I know your baby rests. I know how deep the water can run, but it’s never dirty. And hidden things are never gone. You did nothing wrong, nothing.

Please come home Ambler

Love,

Mercy

Through a thicket of branches, Mercy was able to see the rusted drums peaking through like a curious stranger. A stray breeze caused a razor-like twig to thrash, scratching Mercy’s arm as she pushed the brush aside. A sound like a drum pumped a monotonous beat against her inner ear — her heart squeezing blood out to the rhythm of a death walk. Suddenly, Mercy felt a sense of duty. Almost as though she was guiding a spirit.

The terminal folded into shape around her, like orange crusted ladders unfurling themselves upwards into an endless sky. Concrete buildings rose from the Earth and shook themselves free of dirt. A sound like a big drill began to hum, causing the entire area to quake with uncertainty. Mercy followed the noise as it grew louder, and louder. For a choice without action is simply a thought. And Mercy had made a choice when she parked her beaten car on the edge of Ambler road; when she had closed the driver's door and stepped unceremoniously into the unexplored known.

She weaved through the crumbling structures, every few steps her boots got caught in a thick patch of thorny ground cover. The soil and rocks appeared to groan with ill ease as the mechanical buzz continued to permeate the air.

The spirit on her shoulder wished for her departure — it called to her to turn around, but the thrum lured her further. Some kind of witchcraft, as wind seemed to almost speak in her red-rimmed ears. Two forces pulled upon her frigid skin, attempting to tear her apart.

Suddenly, the drilling stopped. Mercy looked up to the sky for explanation — to a God that had promised to hold her heart, or so she’d been told.

The sky was empty, and as she took her next step, so was the ground below her. The Earth bellowed a wail, as Mercy fell into a concrete lined hole. Her hair flew upwards, like it was trying to grab the lip of a stray rock — but all that surrounded her as she plummeted down was smooth pavement. She reached her hands outwards, scrambling for purchase, but the skin of her palms tore itself to shreds against the friction from the cement. The universe had decided at its conception that Mercy should fall. That in the very center of the planet lives a force so powerful, so tempting, that no piece of matter should be capable of resisting it. Eventually, the concrete was no more, and the walls surrounding Mercy were just black damp mud — the pungent smell of unrefined oil filled her senses and pushed itself into her fibers. Her bloody fingers scratched the sludge around her, it forced itself under her nails and covered her once lythe hands. A stray metal bar stuck itself outwards, proud to emerge though the oil drenched Earth, and Mercy struck her arm against it as she slipped even further — she heard a sickening sound as the limb cracked in half. She cried out in agony and heard herself echoed a thousand times. She pleaded for her life, and felt the emptiness like a slap in the face.

When she hit the ground, it was nothing but another blow against a beaten Earth.

Gray waves crested a rocky shore. In the distance: a lighthouse blinked once, twice, three times. Mercy stood barefoot — her soft feet being poked and prodded by the stone filled sand. The water wind blew in, certain and frosty, atop the roaring ocean. Seawater smelled like salt crystals and raw shrimp.

The beach was empty. There were no people, no anxious crabs hiding under the dunes, no seabirds taking flight crying across the horizon. Mercy took a hesitant step forward, and her legs brought her where she wished to go. As she grew closer to the edge of the water, a soft feminine voice began to whisper in her ear. She said no words, at least not any that Mercy could make out, but simply made her presence known. When Mercy placed her barren foot into the end of the sand, where the blue toned foam could wash over it, the water felt unbearable: far too cold. In such a way that the chill of it almost burned — as though the salt and ice were corroding away at her thin skin. She took a small step back, feeling very scared.

“Mom?” She called out, trepidation dripping from her tinny voice.

Mercy recognized where she was. A beach, in North Carolina — when they went to visit the campus with Amber her senior year, they made a detour to the Eastern coast of the state. Their father had not come. He said he had work, but he probably just wanted to complete his crosswords in peace. A girl’s trip: Mercy’s mother had talked about the trip for weeks. Her heart was always bared clear as day to her family — excitement rang like a bell in her voice as she showed them both articles titled 10 Fun Things to do in Charlotte, NC. Amber had asked if they could visit the ocean.

“Of course, sweetheart. This is your trip!” Jordan had replied with a warm smile. They left a day earlier from Charlotte than planned, and drove the nearly six hours it took to get out of the landlocked central city to the largest lagoon along the North American East Coast: Pamlico Sound. They had gone during Winter Break, so the water was frigid — unswimmable unless you wished for your lungs to constrict and the weight of your body to pull you down into a cold death. When they arrived, the beach was empty. The flagpole which was meant to show how safe the waves were for the day was instead barren. Two lifeguard towers stood a few feet in the air: unmanned.

Amber walked to the shore right away, leaving Jordan and Mercy behind in her wake. Her dark silhouette stood out against the low, white, sun which threatened to dip below the horizon. Long hair spilled over her slumped shoulders as the sea spirits carried the breeze to land. She went no further, she did not touch the water, she did not take a picture, or play in the sand. She had just stood there, observing the lapping waves.

“Amber?” Mercy whispered, hesitant to utter the name. She wasn’t sure if she did it in the memory, or in real life, “Mommy?” She tried again.

The sun was growing brighter, rapid like a beating heart— making Mercy’s surroundings glow brilliantly, so much so that she was forced to close her eyes. But she could still hear the sound of the restless waves as they collided with the pointy rocks which lined the coast.

Mercy knew, logically, that she had fallen down very far. She recalled that something had happened in the forest when she found the oil rig again. Voices she didn’t recognize had spoken to her — and they continued to even on the beach. She allowed herself to wonder, for a moment, if she was perhaps in heaven. That maybe in the fleeting second she had looked above to God before she fell, she had earned back her salvation — ripped it from the clutches of apathy and doubt. Was this world her perfect eternity? The moment she shared with her sister and mother five years ago? But how frightening it had become, without them there: a nest with no birds.

Somehow, it felt wrong. Mercy did not feel as though she were dead. There was that doubt again, which whistled in joyous communion as it writhed within her mind. If there was a God, did he not welcome his subjects with an embrace? Did the Devil not begin to sing of a sinner’s crimes?

Dread began to hang itself, polite as a mouse, over Mercy’s shoulders. The place she was in seemed perverse — a fabrication in lieu of a more final destination. She was supposed to be home soon. Her mother should have greeted her near the door with the self-same unwavering excitement and adoration she had held for Mercy since her conception.

Is this how she repays such a debt? With her child’s body in the ground. She was on a beach, and she felt the salty wind twisting her hair, she saw her memories before her — but all the same Mercy knew she was gone. The idea of her mother’s grief was far too heavy a burden to bear. They would perhaps never even find her, not her poor mangled body which had fallen so deep into the surface.

It had all been for nothing. The sacrifices — letting Amber go to the better school, pushing through her unrelenting distance, Mercy waited and bid her time to be there for Amber at the right moment. Perhaps Mercy was destined to fall away from her. There was nowhere for Amber to hang her coat, when she returned home.

Part Four: Orpheus Maker

04/20/2007

Dear Mercy,

I miss you so much. Your mom is not doing well. I know you probably don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. I wish I could just see you one more time. They say you could have run away, but they found your car parked on Ambler. When they called me and told me you didn’t come home, I got the first flight here.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? That I spent our entire lives pushing you to the edge of myself, pretending like you and your mother didn’t exist because it made me feel like a good daughter to a dead woman, and then the moment I realize how stupid I’ve been and how cold it is to hug a corpse you get killed too. Or maybe you’re alive. God I hope you are — but at the same time I can feel it. I think I know that you’re gone. Your mom knows it too. Her sobbing is unbearable, she goes out in that stupid fucking forest everyday looking for you, and I do, too. She can hardly see past the tears and she just cries your name over, and over, and over again and it drives me fucking crazy.

And our dad is as useless as ever. What does Jordan see in him? He managed to get two incredible wives and daughters who wanted to love him so bad and he still fucked it up. But anyway that’s not important, really.

If you were here, you would tell me I’m crazy, but I just have this feeling — this gnawing gross and just weird sick knowledge that this is my fault. The world is punishing me for what I did. It’s punishing me for the shallow grave. But what was I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do now? If we never find you, then our parents will never see me again. I can tell you that right now. You were my baby sister, and you were always so much calmer and more mature than I was and I never saw it. I am so sorry Mercy — I should have been here with you. I should have stayed in Connecticut because running away to the ocean got me nothing but fucking dirt.

Mercy, please be resting, please. Please be somewhere where you’re happy and smiling that sweet way you do. You were so beautiful.

Love you,

Amber

When Mercy opened her eyes again, she was in her house. Before her was the orange oak staircase which led upstairs to her and Amber’s rooms. Silence crested around each curve of the home — she could tell the house was empty like it was breathing, she could feel her mother wasn’t there. The house was silent, save for the humming of the dishwasher, and the sound of clean air leaking through the vents.

“Hello?” Mercy asked the empty structure — call and response.

Something like a whisper replied, far too quiet to understand.

“Hello,” She tried once more.

“Orpheus?” A soft feminine voice spoke into the stillborn space.

“My name is Mercy,” She corrected her. The voice took a moment before speaking again.

“No, your fate was Mercy,” She explained —her voice reminded Mercy of a lullaby.

Mercy looked around at the eerie home, she recalled the cold beach and the too bright sun, “I’m scared. I fell down.”

The woman made an earnest noise of pain, “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I could not save you in the way you probably wished.”

“This is my home,” Mercy stated.

“This place is not the home you know,” The woman whispered, almost reluctant.

A truth that Mercy had already begun to feel, like a thundering pulse in the bottom of her stomach, rose up, “I am dead?”

“No, you have fallen into my embrace.” She soothed.

“I cannot go back home?” Mercy asked — she wanted to see her mother, to talk to Amber and comfort her and make sure all of it wasn’t for nothing.

“I’m sorry. No, you cannot. You were born to die at that moment,” The woman’s voice broke as she spoke the words, as though she were on the verge of tears.

“Do I know you?” Mercy questioned, for what reason did this woman cry for her?

“I am sorry. I am being selfish for wanting to keep you, my Orpheus.” The woman confessed,

“Let me explain further,” She continued.

“There is nothing after death, when you die: that is the end of your consciousness. There is no living anymore. But you, Orpheus …. I just thought, something deep and powerful within my heart, that you did not deserve it. I wanted you to know more — I thought you were so nearly perfect: so kind, patient. You were funny, so sweet, such a sweet daughter. How cruel it was that the ground swallowed you in that moment,” She became silent, perhaps choosing her next words very carefully.

“It is so lonely, you must understand. You must believe me. If I could have spared you from that fate, I would have in a heartbeat. I know how your mother mourns, I can see your beauty. How easy you are to love, Orpheus. But, there is a place for you here — with me.”

“Why did I see the beach?” Orpheus murmured.

“I wanted to, I tried to, show you happiness. Such a pitiful attempt, I know, empty, and cold, as things tend to be here — I understand you are accustomed to warmth,” The woman cooed, and Orpheus felt a caress upon her cheek.

Somewhere in the distance the gutter rattled against the side of the house. Such a disturbance happened often, as they discovered a bird had recently made its nest in the metal tubing. During the early spring, Jordan decided to clean the outside of the house; rake the old, dead, leaves from the ground — trim the hedges, clear the gutter. When she saw the baby birds, she had called out for Mercy. She yelled at the top of her lungs with a juvenile enthusiasm.

“Come see! Come see!” She banged against the windows heartily, attempting to get Mercy’s attention.

She descended from the ladder, letting Mercy tread up — caution lacing each step, all the way to the second story. The mother bird wasn’t in the nest at the time, it was just the strange little featherless babies, which opened their maws: expectant. Is that why the mother bird existed? Did she live to feed empty mouths? Whenever Mercy had said she was hungry, her mom would descend upon her offering food. She would push Mercy’s hair back from her face and provide her labor like it was nothing. If Mercy was cold, she would have taken off her own clothes to warm her, placed her own shoes upon Mercy’s lythe feet. Was being a mother a service, more than anything? Jordan would have sacrificed anything to aid Mercy’s comfort. When she felt joy, looking at the small naked birds in a big stick nest, her only thought was to give it away. She wanted to gift the experience to Mercy because that was the desire that laid most ardent in her heart.

Tears began to collect like rainwater in Mercy’s eyes,“My mommy,” She choked out.

“You love her very much,” The woman stated.

“Yes, she holds my hand,” Mercy responded through her buckling sobs.

“You do not wish for me to hold you?”

“I cannot. How could I let her go?”

“I understand. In death you will hold onto her still?”

“Yes, I must.”

“Then I will let you rest.”

Mercy walked away from the orange oak stairs, into the hallway off of the living room. Her body was silhouetted strangely against the off-white walls, the light in the home was not quite right. The oblong form shone in the shadows like an unwanted guest. She pushed the crooked door to her mother’s room open —it had been thrown off its hinges slightly when a young Amber and Mercy had played a too rough game of catch, and Mercy had stumbled backwards into it. She hit her head, and began to wail like an alarm. Jordan had appeared in an instant, crouching to her knees to pick up Mercy’s prone form. She enveloped her daughter in a benevolent hug, stroking her fine hair with gentle fingers as she whispered condolences. Amber had watched the scene unfold from the other end of the hall, gazing upon the two as though they were ghosts.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Jordan turned her head to ask Amber, as Mercy continued to bawl into the crook of her neck. She extended her arm outwards, inviting Amber into her embrace.

“I’m fine,” Amber answered, her eyes flicking down to the floor with embarrassment as she fled into the living room.

Her mother’s king bed appeared behind the squeaking door, it was made up in the same age-worn quilt it always was. Some of Jordan’s books were stacked in a haphazard tower on her nightstand, along with reading glasses and a near empty cup of water.

Mercy laid her quiet head down on the feather filled pillows, her body limp on the cold bed which had never known use in such a place, and went to sleep.

Part Five: Love Mercy

Dear Amber,

When you find me dead, please don’t depart, Amber. If I could wish for anything only once, it would be that my mother embraces you in her arms. Please return her solemn grasp with your own. Please let her comfort you with her strength, and please don’t leave her alone in that house.

I know I may ask too much. I am sorry but I can’t ask for anything less. I love you, Amber. I still hold my mother’s hand, but will you hold her too?

What happened to me is not your fault, and tell my mother the same. I spoke to the Earth and she told me my fate. I felt the drums of caution and walked along with death. Your destiny sings like a siren when it asks for you to fulfill. There is no avoidance, no second chances, and no life beyond the end. God will not extend his arms. God will not invite you in. God will not speak to your virtues. Death is cold, and though the center of the Earth burns bright she cannot comfort you in it. A shallow grave is no less comfortable than a deep one, I promise you.

A spirit will be lifted from the ground. My body is just a cold corpse, so please don’t cling onto it. I will go into blissful sleep with a grin on my face.

To my mother, even when I had nearly forgotten all the things I lived for, your presence never left my mind. I swear I will never let go of you. Never forget how I cling to you, how I need your comfort, please continue to embrace me, mommy. Mommy I am scared still, so please don’t let me go. I sleep in your bed with you. I want to lay forever beside you.

In my death, extend your arms to Amber once more — for me.

Love,

Mercy

#short story #creative writing

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