#the possibility of a daughter and naming her eve but then i thought i like the name noelle even BETTER

[kissingarthurclaus]

Did you guys know that I'm....already thinking about a fankid >////<

[writersmacchiato]

Three Years | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Summary: You see Edmund and Lucy again in the most unexpected of places after their departure three years earlier.

Warnings: kissing (between Edmund x reader)

. . .

Salt.

It was misting over your face, tangy as it melted on your tongue.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, the endless blues of the sea turning golden and pink as they reflected the light.

Besides the creaking of the ship, and the shuffling of feet below deck as the crew began to stir and rise for the day, all was silent.

You had been waking up early every day since the voyage had begun. Without any reason, drawn to the crow’s nest in the misty grays of dawn before the rest of the world awakened. Watching the sunrise from the perfect spot.

The day would be like any other that had come before.

When Caspian, in all his kingly charm, had requested that you accompany him on this trip to the ends of the world you had been expecting more dangerous conquests. All you had battled so far was seasickness.

“Good morning. See anything?” The aforementioned king called up his usual greeting to you, hair ruffling in the cool breeze.

“Sea and more sea!”

You don’t hear it but can imagine the chuckle he releases through the rise and fall of his shoulders as he walks away to resume his check of the ship.

The sun continues to rise higher and higher into the sky, a cloudless day stretching away. You had snuck away to catch a moment of quiet in the crow’s nest.

Watching the empty waves was beginning to bore you.

When.

It couldn’t be-

“Caspian!” You yelled, jumping over the wooden beams that held you aloft. Grabbing hold of the rope to slide down, all the while yelling Caspian’s name.

“What is it?”

“There on the eastern starboard, I saw something. Someone.”

Caspian runs to the railing, quickly yelling orders at the crew to begin a rescue.

Rescue?

You’re too stunned by the possibility of a rescue to react when Caspian himself dives into the water. You’ve been watching the waters - there have been no sightings of any boats or ships for days now. Not even a rowboat.

The creak of the pulley grabs your attention, dragging first Caspian into view and then the young girl huddled against his side.

It couldn’t possibly be-

Lucy Pevensie. Daughter of Eve.

She shouts your name and crashes into you with little grace. You don’t care that she’s dripping water everywhere, returning her fierce embrace.

“Oh Lucy.” You can’t help the wide smile.

And then you see him, standing besides Caspian with his own smile looking at you.

“Edmund.” You breathe so quietly you aren’t sure you say anything, but Lucy pulls away and beckons her brother over.

He says your name just as quietly and gets close enough for you to touch him but he doesn’t make the first move, just looking and looking.

“Well come here!” You wrap your arms around him, relishing the way he grabs onto you gently. Almost shyly.

He whispers your name again, to himself, committing every bit of this to memory. He thought he remembered everything; but now he realizes how much he’s forgotten. The way you felt against him, the feel of your hair against his face, the way you smell.

A piercing scream cuts your reunion short, and Edmund has even more reason to despise his cousin when he feels the loss of your warmth against him.

“Welcome aboard the Dawn Treader.”

. . .

Edmund tried to fall asleep, he truly did.

The creaking of the ship and the swaying of his hammock made of his stomach roll, but he could’ve adapted to it if it wasn’t for the snoring of Eustace. He also couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much his heart swelled, almost painfully, when he thought about the look on your face when you saw him. Like you were happy to see him.

He’s sitting outside now, on the eastern stern of the ship, giddy at the feeling of the wind against his face. Narnian air.

“Edmund.”

His gaze cuts from the endless water to your form, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Like a dream. It feels too much like the many dreams he had back home, wanting nothing more than to see you again.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shuffles over on the bench, trying to contain his grin when you open the blanket you brought and drape it over your shoulders and his.

“Tell me about your world.”

You play with his hand, tracing over the lines on his palm. Edmund doesn’t know how to describe it to you; he’s fought battles by your side, danced with you under the Narnian sky while fireworks flashed across the sky. In England, he’s no one.

“There’s nothing exciting there. Nothing like what we did.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I suppose so.”

You can tell there’s more he isn’t saying, something that is eating away from him. But you don’t pry. Not yet.

“Tell me. What have you been doing since I left?” Edmund asks.

You hum, fingers still tracing over the lines on Edmundo’s palm. Trying to reconcile three years worth of memories into something amusing or daring, but the truth is… that without Edmund, dealing with his sudden departure had left you in misery.

“Can I be honest with you, Edmund?”

He doesn’t answer right away, shifting slightly so he’s turned toward you instead of side by side. Hand gently squeezing yours.

“Of course you can.”

“The past three years have been amazing, theoretically. Caspian has managed to restore peace and order to the lands, Narnians have been rebuilding their lives and I… I missed you. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Edmund would love this’.”

“I missed you too.” Edmund says quietly. “Lucy had to drag me out of bed most days, because at least in my dreams I might get to visit you again.”

“Edmund?”

He hums in response.

You turn your body so you’re facing him too, the blanket you’d brought slipping down to your waist. Even with the chilly breeze from the ocean you don’t feel cold, feeling the warmth radiating from Edmund. From where his thigh touches yours. His hand still in yours.

You ask the question that you’ve thought about every night since he and his siblings walked through the tree back into their world.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You don’t have to specify - when, where, what? Edmund knows exactly what you’re talking about.

The night of Caspian’s coronation, the sky lit up with fireworks. The way the colors flashed over your face, the whizz and crack of the fireworks vibrating through his chest. Your hands on his shoulder, his on your waist.

It felt like a moment torn out of a fairytale, the only thing missing was a twirl and a dip in the dance that ended in a kiss.

Instead, once the majority of the merriment commenced, the fireworks fizzled out and the food and drink all gone, Edmund walked you to your room. You remember the way your heart beat, so fast, feeling more nervous than you had on the battlefield days earlier.

“Goodnight,” Edmund had said, pressing a kiss to your hand and then he was gone in the castle shadows. The next day he was gone from Narnia.

“I did kiss you.” He has a hint of a smirk on his lips, but you can see the flush on his cheeks.

“On the hand does not count! Did you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I did. I’ve spent three years thinking how foolish I was not to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I knew Susan and Peter had spoken to Aslan and that they seemed upset. I had a suspicion of what they discussed. So, that night with you… I felt that if we got closer than we already had, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Knowing how it felt and then leaving. I’m not sure I would’ve gone with them.”

“I thought I misread you.”

“I’ve spent three years regretting that night. I should have kissed you.”

“I think it’s time we rectify that, hm?”

You kiss him, and you’re struck by warm he is. Slow and languid, the kiss is sweet. Filled with years of pent up longing finally being released.

Shaking your hand loose, your hand slides up to his neck, gently guiding his eager mouth closer to yours. He breath hitches in his throat, biting back a moan.

It gets messy, clumsy. Noses bumping against each other. His hand finds it way to your waist, your own hands slipping into the loose hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him closer and closer until he’s pressed right against you.

You pull away with a heaving breath, Edmund chasing your lips.

“I need a breather.” You huff out.

“I’ve thought about doing that every single night since Caspian’s coronation.”

“Oh, you mean after you chickened out and didn’t kiss me? And then left for three years?”

Edmund rolls his eyes, pulling away in his stubbornness. “I didn’t see you making a move either, oh fearless one.”

“I think I just did.”

“Three years later.” He mocks.

You shut him up with another kiss, this time finding a rhythm with your lips that makes your toes curl.

The voyage ahead was certain to become more dangerous with each passing day, but here, wrapped in a king's embrace, you think of nothing else but him. Edmund.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Preview.... "Lick Back 2"

Lick Back 2 by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Angst, Domestic Drama, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Blood & Violence, Drug References, AITA!Terry Richmond.

Summary: Terry Richmond didn't expect to become a father over night. A surprising photo in the mail reveals that an illicit affair he had with a married woman eleven months ago resulted in a baby girl named after him. Ecstatic to be a new dad, he races to South Carolina to reunite with Nova, and bring their new family to Louisiana for Christmas. Unfortunately, Nova's estranged husband Jordan has different plans.

Preview Word Count: 3.6K

Arriving in full on Christmas Eve! Tell a friend! Part 1 HERE.

"I took one look at you

And it was plain to see

You were my destiny

With you I'll spend my time

I'll dedicate my life

I'll sacrifice for you

Dedicate my life for you"

Method Man & Mary J. Blige—"You're All I Need"

Terry Richmond couldn't stop looking at the eight by eleven color photo he received in the mail.

Terrina Richmond.

He had a daughter. A two-month-old baby girl.

His mind raced with so many chaotic thoughts. He'd had an affair with a married woman and she left him to salvage her wreck of a marriage in South Carolina. Terry spent months trying to forget her, poured himself into his work, and blotted out the memory of Nova Patterson.

The last time they made love, he nearly broke the bed, pulling out his best erotic moves to keep her. By his calculations, that was when he impregnated her. They loved each other, but ultimately, he had to let her go. She belonged to someone else and already had an infant son. Who was he to prevent a reconciliation of a family?

He worked day and night, taking on extra hours, even requested deployment overseas to get away from Nova haunting him with her beauty, kindness, and intelligence. He wished the world for her, but couldn't bear to be in the states knowing he couldn't have her.

The big bosses denied his request. They wanted his skills building up their elite soldiers in Oceanside. Make more war machines. Oorah.

Terry booked a flight to Charleston the moment he hung up the phone with Nova. An hour later he still sat on his couch wondering who to confess his shocking news to. His first inclination was to reach out to his family, but he wasn't ready to explain the circumstances of fathering a child with a married woman to his parents just yet. His closest friends Von and Bethany were next in line, but he could already hear Bethany chewing him out for being no different than Jordan, with Von nodding his head in agreement. Telling his homegirl Angie would only result in a flying fist socking him in the jaw.

He had accrued ninety days of leave time that he planned on using up for Nova and Terrina. His godson Junior, too. He stroked his chin. Junior would become his stepson now. A bonus child. Nova gave him purpose. He had a family to care for.

Terry cancelled his flight.

Nova would have a ton of things to bring back with the children. He would drive there instead of flying and rent a U-Haul cargo trailer in Charleston. Nova could take what she wanted and he would buy anything else she needed once they returned to Oceanside. He glanced around his condo. They could stay in his place until the lease ended the following summer and then look for a new home big enough for the four of them.

Four.

How strange. He woke up that morning a single man living a solitary life. Now he was responsible for three other people. He wanted to marry Nova as soon as possible, that way he could get them on his health insurance. Terry grinned. He moved like a man with a plan.

Packing more clothes for an extended trip, the reality sank in further. He was a father. He stopped to look at his daughter again. She had his ears. Funny how he hadn't noticed it before. Terrina's eyes struck him first, but then all the other little details jumped out. She was his mama's color. Terry got his eyes from his maternal grandmamma and his ears from his paternal grandpa. Terrina repped both sides of his family like him. He sat down on his bed and rocked his body, staring at her picture like it was going to disappear if he stopped looking at her.

That was his baby girl.

Nova carried her while enduring the stress of an unraveling marriage. His woman needed peace and a home fit for a queen. He was determined to give it to her. Texting his parents, he sent them a quick message that he had to postpone coming to Louisiana because of work.

He stopped by his local coffee shop and loaded up on an egg white breakfast sandwich and coffee. Hitting the road by noon, he headed east after texting Nova that he was driving and would arrive in Charleston within two days. She sent him another picture of Terrina and Junior. He smiled so hard in his truck after taking a restroom break. Junior was nearly two years old, and it shocked Terry that he didn't look like Jordan anymore. The boy had Nova's face dipped in milk chocolate. He noticed that she'd typed the names Terrina and Novan. He typed the name Novan with a question mark. A minute later, she sent a message that she legally changed her son's name to hers. His nickname was Van-Van. Yeah, she was really done with Jordan if she yanked his son's name away from him. That shit was tough.

"My baby girl will never have that problem," he muttered, heading onto the freeway again.

Terry drove non-stop, only taking breaks when the truck needed gas. He loaded up with a bunch of Big Macs from McDonald's in Dallas, and his heart started beating wildly. Sitting in the parking lot, he inhaled deeply several times and listened to one of his meditation apps. On the verge of a panic attack unless he spoke to someone about his sudden anxiety at meeting his daughter, he called Bethany and confessed everything.

"I'm sitting here freaking out, Bethany. I just want to get to South Carolina and see Nova…hold my baby, but right now I'm losing it. Cuss me out, yell at me, I don't care…I just needed to talk to someone I trusted who knows me…knows I wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone on purpose. Not even Jordan."

Bethany gave a long sigh. He waited for a shrill tone to rip his ear apart.

"Terry, I have to be honest with you. Nova called and told me everything a month ago."

"She what? A month ago?"

"Don't be upset. She was scared and didn't have anyone supporting her. Her family flipped out…Jordan's family flipped. Jordan is on a downward spiral. It's a shitshow out there…but I promised her I wouldn't say anything until she was ready to face you. Go easy on her, okay?"

"I'm glad she has you," he finally said after a long pause.

"You should be glad to have me, too. I should kick your butt, though."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything about her…and me."

"Didn't have to. I already knew something was up. I just hoped you two would've ended it quietly without all this blowback. You make a pretty baby, though. She looks just like you and your mom."

"I'm nervous Bethany…a little scared. I'm thrilled to have Terrina…it's just…I'm halfway across the country ready to uproot Nova from her hometown. Am I doing the right thing for her and the baby? I mean…she has Junior…Van-Van. Can I take him away from his father like this?"

"She reached out and wants you to come for her. That's all you need to concern yourself with. I'll let her tell you herself what's been going on, but that is your family now. Jordan should be an afterthought in your mind."

"I want to marry her."

"Get her out of Charleston first. Text me when you get there."

"Does Von know?"

"No. This is something he needs to hear from you when you get back."

"Thank you for being there…for the both of us."

"You have a darling little two-month-old who needs her daddy. Drive safe, Terry. Love you."

Terry sat in the truck, feeling better. Bethany didn't hate him. He texted Nova despite the late hour in her time-zone.

He started the truck and drove closer to his love.

Terry sat in a parking lot of a Target store in a town just outside of Charleston on Sunday morning. He wanted to buy gifts for Nova and the baby, but the store didn't open until seven. The weather was already hot, and he rolled the windows down to wait three hours. He contemplated waiting at a Jack in the Box parking lot, but there were two cop cars there and the last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of the police outside of a fast-food joint at four in the morning.

He spent time on his smartphone looking up all the things he had to do legally to establish paternity. DNA test. Filing the results with the court. It would probably be a hassle to take Jordan's name off the birth certificate, but Terry would spend whatever money it took to pay all court fees to do so. He'd need to get a lawyer in Charleston to navigate everything.

The store opened, and he grabbed a cart, rolling it to the children's section. There was no sales associate around to ask about sizes, so he looked at infant clothing that claimed to fit newborns up to two months. He bought a fancy box of chocolate for Nova's grandmother who she stayed with after leaving her brother's home. Flowers for Nova. Baby balloons. A clunky-looking Captain America action figure for Van-Van. It took him a minute to find the Black one. Sam Wilson. It was going to be all Black everything in their household. Terry paused in the toy section. He imagined his life being like Von and Bethany's, raising two children and being happy. Von always went home to a happy wife and happy children. Sending up a prayer to God, he wanted to provide the same life for Nova and his new family.

He paid for everything at check-out and rolled his cart out to the truck. Bethany was right about Target. You can't ever go inside and come out with the one thing you went in for. He spent over two hundred dollars on all kinds of toys for his daughter and bonus son.

Terry smelled like long hours on the road and stopped at a café to purchase a blueberry muffin that gave him access to the restroom. He washed up, brushed his teeth, and changed into fresh clothes he carried in a backpack. By the time he hit the road again, he was ready to face his future. Following the directions on his GPS, he admired the old buildings and the slow pace of Charleston's southern charm. That went out the window when a palmetto bug flew into the truck. A goddamn flying roach. Hell nah!

He rolled up his windows and put on the air conditioner. The directions showed that he still had an hour to reach Edisto Island. He leaned into the steering wheel once he started crossing the McKinley-Washington Bridge that led to Nova. The Dawhoo River below him looked like mysterious black water. The tannins seeping out of decaying trees turned the water a dark tea-color. Nova once explained that the word "Edisto" meant "black" and was also the name of the indigenous people who lived there, including her Gullah kin, from way back.

His heart palpitated, and he started breathing faster when he reached the street where Mrs. Mariam Walker, the matriarch of Nova's family lived. He smelled the heavy scent of the sea and the river. The house was only a few blocks away from Edisto Beach. Everything around him had been built by Gullah hands. Homes. The bridge. Docks. Churches. Everything.

He passed Mrs. Walker's house because there was no parking available on both sides of the street. Making a U-Turn, he found a spot where a driver left in a brown van. He glanced over at the large white house with the double stairs leading to another stairway that led up to a semi-wrap-around porch. Several older Black men and a couple of men Terry's age stood on the porch looking his way. They built the old house high to avoid flooding, and it seemed like it should've been on a heritage museum tour. He typed into his phone.

I'M HERE.

He put on a stoic expression to face Nova's male relatives. They probably weren't thrilled to see him approaching the house.

The front door flew open and Nova dashed out. She ran down the top stairs first and waited on the landing, her eyes searching the street. When she fixed her gaze on him, she covered her mouth and jumped up twice before running down the left set of stairs, hurtling forward like a comet to greet him. He moved so fast people could've sworn he had wings on his feet like Mercury.

"Terry!" she cried out.

A bunch of women exited the house to watch them.

The moment Nova reached him, he lifted her up high. She hugged his neck so tight that she almost cut off his circulation. He set her down, and they held each other. Embracing her was like having a missing puzzle piece slipped back into its proper place. It was hard to look at her without the tears in his eyes making it difficult to see. She trembled in his arms and every hitched breath she took tore at his heart. He had been a fool to let her go. Sparing another man's feelings in a wasted act of nobility cost him time with the woman he loved and a daughter he hadn't met yet. Lying to Jordan about not sleeping with Nova had been the wrong choice to make eleven months ago. He should've come clean and faced the music back then. It cost him his own happiness. Cost him sharing the journey of Terrina's birth.

He touched and smelled Nova's fragrant hair. She still carried the scent of sugar cookies and strawberries on her skin. Her cornflower blue wrap dress sat snug around her figure. Having babies just made her look enchanting to him.

"Told you…told you I would come the moment you needed me," he said.

She nodded, and they pressed their foreheads together.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, too."

She burst into tears. He rocked her in his arms, saying her name over and over.

"Are the babies inside?" he asked.

"Van-Van is with Jordan for the weekend. Terrina is inside with my mother and grandmother."

Nova wiped her wet face and puffy eyes.

"Ready to meet your daughter?"

He laughed out loud, and then bit down on his tongue gently to keep himself from leaking more water out of his eyes. He wiped his face and glanced at the welcoming committee on the porch.

"Mawmaw cooked a big Sunday breakfast and invited the family over to see you," she said.

"See me, or beat my ass?" he joked.

Nova's eyes welled up. He stroked her arms.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Bethany told me you're having it rough here. I gotta take that weight off of you. I'm the one who got you pregnant…I'm the one who'll fix all of this, too."

He kissed her forehead. She kept her cute pixie cut and fixed her baby hairs to look like curling ocean waves. He rubbed her back. She rested her head on his chest, unable to look at him.

"Terry…I didn't know she was yours. Jordan and I got back together, and I tried to put you away in my heart. He started messing up out here…I left him…but I still thought she was his. I wasn't hiding her from you…I wasn't trying to keep her a secret from Jordan, either. I didn't realize until after she was born that she wasn't his. I was so frightened of what would happen to me and her when everyone found out what I did. People in my family called me a whore…and Jordan…"

She wept. He soothed her as best as he could.

"Just think about us…okay? Hold on to us and I promise, Nova…things are going to get better."

"Okay."

She wiped her nose and inhaled deeply to calm herself down. He clasped her hand in his, and she walked him up the steps. Her family members held paper plates of food and hushed their talking as Terry looked at them.

"Everyone, this is Terry…Terry Richmond. Terrina's father."

"We can see dat. Can't miss his chirren at all."

The other relatives tittered under their breath. An older woman in her eighties pushed a walker and Nova's family parted to give her room so her eyes could track Terry up and down. She had slightly wrinkled, dark pecan-brown skin and gray hair clipped short. Mariam Walker…Mawmaw.

"I see una have no shame coming here after putting a baby in her the wrong way."

"Mawmaw," Nova whispered.

"Ma'am, I'm not here to upset you. I want to meet my daughter and be with Nova."

"Be with Nova?"

Mawmaw sucked her teeth and pointed at Nova with an accusatory finger.

"Look ya. Dat is a married 'ooman. You a comeya, messing up the peace of dis family."

"Ma'am, I don't mean any disrespect—"

"Tie yuh mout!" Mawmaw shrieked.

A female relative stepped forward.

"Okay now, Mawmaw…my Lord, let the man get inside the house first before y'all put all they business in the street. Hi Terry, I'm Cornelia…Nova's aunt. People call me Nella. Come inside. Mawmaw is going to fuss no matter what you say."

Nella walked toward the screen and opened it for Terry. She was forty-ish, heavyset, and a shade darker than Nova, but had the same sparkling brown eyes.

"I have some things in the truck to bring in," Terry said.

"Go get 'em, then," Nella said with a warm smile.

Terry walked back down to the truck with Nova. He collected the flowers and gave them to her. Her face brightened up with the full, colorful bouquet in her hands. He grabbed the balloons, Terrina's bag of baby clothes, and chocolate, then headed back to the house with Nova by his side.

"This is for you, ma'am…Mawmaw," he said.

Mawmaw looked at the big box of expensive Godiva chocolate shells, and her eyes widened; surprised that he was giving her something.

"He tryna butter her up," one of the older men snickered.

Nella waved for him to keep moving.

"Tote all that in here, Terry, c'mon now. Can't let these no-see-ums in the house."

Terry glanced at Nova.

"Mosquitos. The ones here will eat you up and you won't even see them," Nova said.

He grinned hard enough to show his gums.

"They've been eating me up since I got here."

Nova led him inside the quaint living room filled with old, cared-for furniture and several sizes of intricately woven tan baskets with dark brown geometric patterns woven in the detail that decorated the corners. The interior smelled of good southern cooking and something else, something that the west coast didn't quite have yet: the odor of history. His hometown in Louisiana had it. All the south and the east coast had it in abundance. Compared to the south, the west was still young and feeling its oats.

Old family pictures cluttered a mantle, and so many people were crammed inside that it made Terry feel like the Jolly Green Giant. He definitely was the tallest person there. His eyes were drawn to a large painting above the mantle of elongated ebony figures showcasing men, women, and children dressed in clothing from the 1930s with blue-black skin and featureless faces. The painting seemed to be the focal point of the room that gave it a cozy feel rooted in a proud lineage.

Three women Mawmaw's age sat on a couch wearing their good Sunday wigs. They scrutinized everything on him. Somewhere out back, the excited voices of children playing added a comforting noise.

Nova took the bag of clothes from him and set them on an empty chair.

"Hello…I'm Terry, pleased to see everyone," he said.

Mawmaw shuffled in with her walker and Nella helped her sit down on an old rocking chair.

"Dis him," Mawmaw said to the ladies on the couch.

Nova introduced him to everyone present. He became eager to make a good impression despite the hard stares and thin-lipped expressions from the elders. All he needed was a knife to cut the simmering animosity in the front room. A giant bible sat propped open on a bookstand next to Mawmaw's rocker. A huge brown lacquered cross hung next to a picture of a tawny Jesus on the wall behind her seat. Terry took in the context clues and understood quickly that he was in a serious religious household. That meant their situation would never be acceptable to MawMaw. The matriarch's frigid brown eyes stared him down like she was going to turn him into a pillar of salt.

A baby's cry interrupted the family showdown.

Mawmaw's eyes immediately softened, and she tried to stand up too fast, almost losing her balance.

"My great-grandbaby is calling for me," Mawmaw said, or at least that's what Terry made out.

The shrill cry shattered the peace again, and Terry felt a lump grow in his throat. He imprinted that sound to memory. That was his daughter. His first time hearing her.

Nella gently pushed Mawmaw back in her seat.

"Bring ha," Mawmaw said.

"Mawmaw…Terry needs to see his baby. He come three thousand miles. Man is probably tired and hungry rushing here. Let him have his time alone with Terrina," Nella said.

Nova placed her flowers on an end table near one of the older adult men sitting in the room and grabbed Terry's hand.

"Come…she's back here," Nova said.

Her eyes were shiny with pride and love.

They moved past family members who ogled his height and muscular build. His body looked big and battle ready from all of his military training. Moving through a short hallway, they skipped past two other bedrooms and made their way to the last one.

A.N: Hope you enjoyed the preview! Be ready for more on Christmas Eve! This one will be a little longer than Part 1, but I don't think y'all mind! One of the best ways to support Black fanfiction writers that doesn't cost a dime is to reblog & comment. We thrive off of kind words to keep us going, and it's always great to extend our reach to new readers. In 2025 I'm making more of an effort to get my stories out to as many Black women as possible. We are in our #RestEra and deserve nice things to come home to for our reading pleasure. Okay, off to finish this thing. It's already over 18,000 words, lol!

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[hazbinwhoree]

Come Inside

Part 2/2

A/N: The heavily requested part two.

“Well you fucking did it,” (Name) announced, storming into the living room where Adam was watching TV. “Did what,” he asked, mouth full of the ribs he was eating. (Name) threw something at him.

“Hey!” he yelped, the small object bouncing off his shoulder. He picked it up and the world stopped for a moment. It was a pregnancy test. And it was positive.

“Are you fucking with me?” Adam asked after a moment. “Does that look like I am fucking with you?” She had a point. (Name) was watching him anxiously. Adam looked back at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know. How do you feel?” “Like I made good on a promise,” Adam smirked. (Name) threw a pillow at his head. “This is serious!” “I am serious!” Adam protested. “I said I’d put a baby in you and I did. You had no fuckin’ objections when we were doing it.”

(Name) groaned, flopping onto the couch next to him. “You’re telling me that you are ready to be a dad?” Adam placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You say that like it’s an insane notion. I knew the risks, I knew this was a possibility. I wouldn’t have taken the chance if I wasn’t ready for it.”

(Name) teared up.

“Oh, shit, do you not want this?”

(Name) shook her head. “No, it’s just the hormones and the fact you actually want to have a baby with me.”

Adam laughed, pulling her into his lap. “Of course I want to have a baby with you. I wouldn’t have a baby with anyone else. Well, Eve, but I never raised Cain and Abel. In fact I was a completely absent dad–” “Babe.” Adam laughed, thinking about it. “I don’t know if that’s funny,” (Name) said.

Adam cleared his throat. “Point is, you make me want to be a father so long as you’re the mother.”

“You’re not gonna leave me and the baby like you left Cain and Abel?”

“Babe, Eve had Cain and Abel like right before she cheated on me. I wasn’t fuckin’ sticking around. Those kids are a mess too–” he laughed. “One killed the other!”

(Name) rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder. “The things you find funny are so fucked.” “Yeah but you love me,” Adam cooed, licking her cheek. (Name) squealed. “I hate when you do that! Just kiss me like a normal person, asshole!” Adam cackled.

The first trimester, it still hadn’t become a permanent thought in Adam’s head that he was going to be a father.

The second trimester, it became much more real and they started considering baby names and preparing a nursery.

The third trimster, was really bad for (Name). She was constantly exhausted, sore, hungry but sick to her stomach. The baby really did a number on her. By the time nine months rolls around, (Name) is more than ready to get this child out of her.

“GET IT OUT OF ME!” She screamed after pushing once. “Push again!” the midwife encouraged. (Name) screamed as she did.

Adam watched on in horror. He wasn’t there to witness Cain and Abel’s births, so he had no idea how brutal and scary childbirth was. He stroked back hair off her sweaty forehead, letting her squeeze the life out of his other hand.

Every time she screamed, Adam lost his shit a little bit.

“And push!” With one final push and a pained yell, (Name) delivered their baby.

It was a baby girl.

Adam had been reconsidering his eligibility for fatherhood. But when the nurse cleaned their baby off and placed her on (Name)’s chest, Adam was determined not to ruin a good thing. He may not be looking forward to the responsibilities of a father, but he would take them on for her sake.

In the following weeks, he really tries to help with the baby equally, but he’s pretty bad at it. He’d offered to take a few night shifts but would sleep straight through the baby’s crying, leaving (Name) to go soothe her. But he learned how to prepare a bottle of milk, and he learned how to change dirty diapers.

To his surprise, he actually didn’t find it all that difficult to bond with his child. (Name) even caught him baby talking once, which he fervently denies.

Months go by, and their daughter surprises them with her very first word… “Fuck!”

(Name) is appalled, Adam thinks it’s hilarious. She berates Adam for setting a bad example for the baby, when she shocks them with her second word. “Bitch.” Clear as day. Adam picks their daughter up and praises her. (Name) hits Adam’s arm.

Adam does his best to be a good husband and father, and while he’s not great at it, he is a present father and a loving husband.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Gaze of the Moon (HOTD One-Shot)

Rhaenyra Targaryen x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: You and your wife, the Princess Rhaenyra steal a moment of peace together as you prepare for the coming birth of your child.

Fic type: fluff, romance, reflection

A/N: I had intended for this to be fem!reader x Rhaenyra but it wound up GN. This is also for @hotd-bigbang's March 11th prompt.

HOTD: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Did you know of that tale?" You asked softly, brushing your wife's hair back behind her ear as she lay against you in the moonlight. "About the second moon who cracked open from the heat of the sun and let the dragons out?"

Your wife let out a deep breath, the back of her skull pressing into your shoulder as she leaned back against you to peer out at the sky- up at the full moon above. She was gorgeous tonight. Radiant, round- both wife and moon.

The silver rays caught in Rhaenyra's loose hair, free tonight from tight braids and silk ribbons. The way you knew she preferred it. She'd been a wild child who'd grown into a proper lady, though you knew she yearned for the freedom of manhood. If she were a man, things would be easier. You both knew this but didn't care to dwell on it. There was no changing what was.

Rhaenyra hummed, eyes catching in the moon's gaze.

"I'm sure I remember my father telling me such a story once," she affirmed softly, lip twitching ever-so-slightly into the ghost of a smile. Your wife spent so much time stone-faced under the watchful eyes of the court vultures that even in the privacy of your own quarters she sometimes had trouble letting the cracks through. You treasured each of them like jewels as they deserved to be. "I used to stay up late into the eve and watch the moon- waiting for her to split and for the night to grow dark save for the fire of dragon's breath,' she admitted, eyes drawing closed as she thought on the memories.

"Perhaps one day, my dear wife," you said, pressing a kiss to her head before allowing your own to lean back against the cold, stone wall behind you. "Tell me, what is High Valyrian for 'moon'?"

You'd been learning her family's language for some time now, and you were certainly getting there. It was just that you preferred to hear the words from Rhaenyra's tongue. And truly, who could blame you when her voice had such royal lilt? Her voice was a balm for the mind. Or your mind, at the very least. You could listen to her speak for an age and then some.

"Hūra," Rhaenyra replied, a soft knowing smirk on her lips. You repeated it back to her, testing the syllables on your tongue. You liked the way it sounded, the way it felt. You reached a hand around her to brush over her swollen belly, round with child.

"If we have a daughter," you said thoughtfully, "Hūra is a nice name, do you not think?" Your fingers danced over her belly, and you both let out a laugh when you felt the babe kick from within her. Rhaenyra's hand joined yours, squeezing comfortingly. You hastily added, "It is not a traditional name, but I like it."

"Princess Hūra Targaryen," Rhaenrya breathed, opening her eyes to peer at her belly. "It does have a ring to it," she agreed, "and if the little one's restlessness is anything to speak of, the babe likes it, too."

You both lapsed into silence for a while, enjoying the light of the moon, the glint of the stars and the sounds of the night. It was quiet at this hour. Your favourite hour. What else could you possibly want for than this? A loving wife in your arms, a babe on the way, a flask of wine to share and the gaze of the moon on you?

"I suppose it is only fair you get to name one of our children," she said after a while. You'd almost thought her asleep in your arms with how quiet she'd been. "Why not the first. Get it out of the way, hmm?" She teased. "What if the babe is a boy?"

You chuckled softly, flicking at her arm in reply to her jape.

"Thank you, wife. Your generosity knows no bounds. I do not think the bairn is a boy, but if he is, I am quite fond of Vēzos. Best keep with the theme."

"One has to wonder where this sudden passion for celestial names has come from, my love," Rhaenyra mused. "Perhaps we will have twins. The Maester did say it was a possibility. Hūna and Vēzos. Moon and Sun-" Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably as the babe wriggled under her skin. "I like it."

"Strong names," you added, brushing your fingers through her hair softly, aiming to detangle the few knots that caught in your fingers. "Compassionate names. Perfect for bairns destined for greatness."

You suddenly found yourself hoping for twins. A boy and a girl. Siblings to grow up together and protect each other from the horrors that lay dormant in the realm. You could picture them, age three or perhaps four, playing hide and seek in the gardens. Ages ten and four by their mothers' side on the throne. Ages nine and ten crowned joint heirs to the throne. Ages four and thirty sitting side by side on the throne. Ruling, together. Sun and Moon, over their kingdom. Their birth-right. Protecting each other and keeping each other in check. What was best for the kingdom.

The thought filled you with pride. Oh, yes, you hoped for twins. It wouldn't be long now until Rhaenyra was due. Within a month, most likely. It was part of the reason you both were staying up late at night and enjoying the peace. Once Rhaenyra commenced and completed her labours, there wouldn't be much room for peace and quiet.

And yet, you couldn't wait. You didn't like the thought of your lady-wife in pain, but the thought of your quiet chambers filled with the sounds of a babe or two growing big and strong was perhaps motivating enough for you to bear the thought of her pain. You'd be by her side no matter what, of course. Fuck the Maesters and midwives. This was your wife, your babe. You would be there to support her until she asked you to leave.

"We should retire to bed," Rhaenyra broke your thoughts as she began shifting to stand. "We both need our rest for the day to come. I believe we are making arrangements for catering after the birth."

Ah, yes. The feast the King was insisting upon for the birth of his Grand-Sire. As the birth grew closer, more plans needed to be set. Catering, colours, floral arrangements, gifts for the babe. So many things that Rhaenyra and yourself were set to arrange. You may have enjoyed setting the festivities up, but Rhaenyra would be more than happy to sit out if she could.

You hadn't told Rhaenyra yet, but you'd made arrangements with the cooks to send for the ingredients to make Rhaenyra's favourite sweets. Ones she had not had since she were near a babe herself. The rest of the food, however, you both needed to settle on. A job for tomorrow, quite clearly.

You supported her as she stood, following behind. You stretched out the muscles in your arms and legs, creaking with complaint. You could only imagine how Rhaenyra felt. You left the balcony door open to the bedchambers as you helped your wife shift out of her gown.

Once she was settled into the sheets, Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief. The bed took the weight off her body and allowed her to settle in. You followed, pressing up against her back to keep her warm against the slight chill of the night.

Rhaenyra took your hand and rested it against her belly. You felt any of your remaining troubles melt away for the moment and pressed a kiss to the back of Rhaenyra's neck.

"Good night, my love," you whispered softly, rubbing your thumb over the silky material of her nightdress. "Sleep well, little one."

You drifted off to the sound of Rhaenyra's soft breathing and the quiet chatter of insects out in the gardens below your balcony, dreaming of the bairns to come, and a life well lived.

[cocosparkel]

Curiosity killed the cat (but satisfaction brought it back)

Chapter 1

Summary-

When Marinette finds out that she is adopted, she tracks down her Biological aunt. Who happens to live Gotham, the place she swore she wouldn't go. Well, Gotham just gained a new vigilante -Chaos.

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CHAPTER 1: REVELATIONS

The day Marinette found out she was adopted, her life changed completely.

It started like a normal day.

She entered the kitchen. “Maman ?” She asked. Her mother was crying over a photo. When she noticed Marinette, she quickly wiped her tears and hid the photo under a book.

“Marinette…” she said with a shaky smile.

“Maman, are you okay ?”Marinette asked, stepping into the room “What was in that photo ?”

“Nothing, Marinette, I'm fine.” Sabine abruptly stood up and left the room.

“Okay maman…” Marinette whispered as Sabine was leaving the room, loud enough for her to hear it.

Just as Marinette was about to leave too, confused about the entire thing, something caught her eye. It was another photo, which had fallen on the floor. Hesitating, she eventually picked it up. The photo was that of a baby. She had big blue eyes, and black hair, with a beautiful smile. Flipping the photo, Marinette saw a familiar handwriting at the bottom corner.

Bridgette Liu Dupain-cheng, our precious baby.

Confused, Marinette kept the photo with her, deciding to ask her parents later.

______________________________________________________________

At dinner, Marinette finally asked the one question in her mind. “Maman, papa, who is this ?” She showed them the photo she had found early.

Sabine dropped her knife and Tom looked stunned.

Snapping out of her reverie, Sabine said “Oh Marinette, we hoped this day would never come….”

Marinette swallowed, losing her appetite immediately.

“We were going to tell you when you were 13, but then Hawkmoth appeared, and we didn't want to overwhelm you, and we just– we love you Marinette, and it doesn't matter if… if you're…if you're…” Sabine looked at Tom, unable to complete her sentence.

But Marinette bet them to it. “ I'm adopted, amn't I ?”

Sabine started sobbing, and Tom put a comforting hand around her.

He sighed,” Marinette, we are your godparents. Our own daughter, Bridgette passed just a year before we adopted you. Your mother was a very close friend of ours, and she left us with you.”

Sabine gave her a watery smile,“We love you, Marinette that will never change.”

Marinette stood “ Thanks for finally telling me the truth Maman, Papa.”

She fled to her room.

______________________________________________________________

Her parents had given her her original birth certificate that night.

Her name had been Marie Kyle - Draper. Her mother's name was Diane Kyle, and her father's name was Richard Draper.

She looked them up in every possible website, but the only thing she found was an article.

Last saturday night, a young couple who were later identified as Richard and Diane draper were found dead in an alley near Robinson park. Richard had been shot straight on the head,whereas Diane had taken a bullet through her stomach. While it looks like a mugging attempt which led to their demise, the GPD suspect something more sinister. The GPD have promised to get to the bottom of this.

Finding out just what happened to her parents made her uneasy, especially when she realised that the place they died was Gotham, the very place where her grandmother Felicie had been murdered.

______________________________________________________________

Walking into class, Marinette was still in a daze about what had happened the day before. She was so lost in thought, that she didn't notice the glares her classmates were giving her.

"How could you, girl ? We all trusted you so much !” Alya shouted, as Marinette went to sit beside her.

"Alya what do you mean ? I don't get it ?” Marinette asked, confused.

“Look I get that you don't like Lila but that doesn't mean you can insult her when all she's done is be nice to you.” Kim said, as everyone agreed with him.

"What? I still don't understand-’’ M asked looking around. Her eyes fell on Lila who seemed to be crying.

"So you're saying you didn't tell lila that she will never be Adrien’s friend ? Or that Ladybug doesn't really like her ?” Alya snapped.

“I never said that!” Marinette exclaimed, realising what was happening.

“And who would have sent her these messages from your phone ?” Sneered Kim.

“ Those were taken out of context.” Marinette said, shaking her head.

"Sure…” Alya looked at her, and lowered her voice and said, “Look all you have to do is apologise to her… and understand that Adrien may not want to be with you and-”

“Alya what makes you think I still like Adrien” Marinette asked, getting annoyed.

"Come on girl, I'm your best friend.” Alya said rolling her eyes.

“You haven't been my best friend in months! You haven't properly talked to me, insulted me when I forgave Chloe and even ditched me for Lila many times.” Marinette shouted, done with her friends, no ex friends stupidity.

“Marinette, you know it's not like that…” Alya said, in a condescending tone.

"No Alya, I'm done. With all of you.” With that, Marinette stormed to the back of the class, and sat next to a stunned looking Chloe. She had made up her mind about what she was going to do.

______________________________________________________________

Ever since she found out that she was adopted, things had been tense with her parents. She walked into the bakery, determined to put this behind her.

“Marinette ! Could you.. could you help me with making the decorations for this cake ?” Sabine asked hesitantly.

"Sure thing Maman” Marinette said, a small smile on her face.

So what if she was adopted? Her parents still wanted her, still cared for her. She wasn't going to let anything ruin her family life, like the way she let Lila ruin her friendships.

______________________________________________________________

( what do you think ??? Is it nice ???? Is it boring ??? Is it cool ???? Is it horrible????)

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[ssahopelessly]

Home for Christmas

Synopsis: Spencer gets called away on a case days before Christmas and while he should be working, his only thoughts are those of returning home to be with his wife and daughter.

Prompt: “After an awful case, the team comes back on Christmas Eve to find that Penelope has gathered their loved ones and quickly decorated the BAU as a surprise.” From the Office Party challenge {but I left out the party and decorating of the BAU office}

Warnings: Married Spencer x WifeReader, Fem!Reader, daughter named Autumn, brief discussions of case [let me know any I missed]

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterist

It was his worst nightmare come true. Well, maybe not his worst, that was one he hoped would stay tucked into the recesses of his mind for all of time. But this definitely made the list, without a doubt. Several years ago, it would’ve been an inconceivable one, but now, knowing what was waiting for him at home, this was the absolute worst.

“Are you going to be home for Christmas?” Her voice rang through the line as clear as a silver bell.

“I don’t know. I hope so. But…” Spencer allowed himself to fall back onto the bed he had been sitting on, trying to imagine he was home for this holiday. In his mind, he could see it as clear as he did when he left their home two days ago, the Christmas tree they had spent an afternoon decorating, the garland lining the stairwell that had been entwined with warm white Christmas lights, how the whole house smelled just like a Christmas tree farm and some cinnamon.

Spencer hoped that if the fates had any sway and any favors they could pull for him, maybe this would be the one. “But?” She had caught onto the sentence he didn’t finish, his mind lost in remembering.

“Well we haven't had any victims in the last three days and what we have isn’t conclusive enough or worse, it’s just not enough.”

“Oh.” He was staring at the hotel ceiling above him, getting visually lost in the scalloped pattern of what was above that he missed the defeated look on her digital face.

“And I don't want to wish for another victim, not a few days out from Christmas, but if we don’t get enough evidence we’ll have to close the case and go home.”

“Would you be here for Christmas?” The voice she used was relatively small, knowing at its core, it was a selfish desire: to have Spencer home for Christmas when people in another town needed him to stop the unsub. But there were only so many childhood Christmases for their daughter, and there was nothing more important in their lives than her.

“I mean maybe, but we would just have to come back out when the next victim shows up and I don’t want to leave if he’s still out there.”

“Is it possible he’s tied up in holiday festivities?” On her end of the call, she was moving about the kitchen, preparing a late night cup of hot cocoa as she listened to him, knowing she was sharing his attention with the details of the case.

“I mean maybe but…” His voice trailed off again as he slowly sat up, his memory deep diving into the facts of the evidence board and how that situation had never been entertained, how they had never considered with the holidays their unsub might be busy with festivities.

“Spencer?” She called to him, making sure he was still there or that the call hadn’t dropped.

“What if he’s tied up in holiday events and- I gotta go.” Pushing himself off the hotel bed, he ran towards his satchel, forgetting his phone on the sheets. With a view of the ceiling, she called for him one more time.

“Spencer?”

“Yes?” Crossing back over, he looked down to his phone so she could see him one more time for the evening, a smile forming on her lips as she knew they might’ve just had the breakthrough he needed. Whether he would get home in time for the holidays was one thing, whether he would save a town from future torment was another matter entirely, something she knew he was perfectly capable of.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Her words had given him the hope he needed, that electric spark of an idea that could carry him through the next few hours of re-evaluating the case enough to feel like he might actually be able to go home. “I’ll be home for Christmas. Promise.” Even through the phone screen, he could see the tears that had built along the bottom of her eyes, the smile she tried to show just for him, and he hoped against everything, that her beautiful and brilliant mind had given him the breakthrough the case so desperately needed.

-

“What?” Penelope yawned over the speakerphone, stumbling into her office that morning with Spencer five cups of coffee deep into his complete reanalysis of a case everyone was nearly ready to close, unsub known or not.

“We need to look at individuals who would be tied up with holiday festivities right now. Craftsman working on the local parade or theatre performances, someone who would have access to the tools and skillset but have virtually zero free time right now due to holiday obligations.”

“Spencer, it is six in the morning there, did you sleep? At all?”

“I got four hours before midnight and I can sleep on the jet.” He rattled off in a half breath as he added new notes to the map on the evidence board. “Okay, how many of the churches are hosting or have already hosted Christmas events this month through New Years?”

“Uhm…” he waited for her numbers, hearing the incessant typing of her keyboard, “Jesus, you’re definitely in the south. Within the city limits, 43.”

“Out of city limits?”

“52.” His attention focused in on the pins where the latest victims had been found compared to where the churches and local theaters were. “Spencer?”

“What about-”

They carried on like that for another hour until finally, they had narrowed it down to one guy. Their unsub had split time between three churches and a local theater, one victim tied to each community and within a few hours, they had their warrant and had arrested him before he could even wake himself up that morning. He was pulled into questioning which unfortunately did take all day, but by the time paperwork was finalized and evidence collected by evening the next day, they were on their way home to spend Christmas Eve night with their families.

The jet ride back that night was nothing remarkable, everyone choosing to sleep or keep to themselves this trip. And he was right. Spencer Reid did sleep on the jet the whole way back to Quantico. But the warmth he found in his sleep on the jet would soon vanish as the cool Virginia air greeted him with a vengeance that night, just as the team shuffled from the jet to the SUVs. The ride back to the office was quiet, but no one could continue their naps from the jet. All anyone could do was think about the families waiting for them back home, families waiting to start the holiday festivities.

“Look.” JJ had whispered to Reid at one point in the drive, her hand extending her phone to him in the backseat from her spot in the passenger seat. “Will and I agreed the boys should open one present tonight.” The video, once Spencer held the phone in his hands, was of Henry helping baby Michael open a box that sat on the floor between the two. He didn’t quite catch the content of the present with the shaky filming and glitching pixels, but he smiled over his godsons nonetheless.

“Wow.” Spencer let himself marvel aloud as he passed the phone back to JJ, trying to fight the yawn that was lingering at the back of his mouth. “Are they waiting up for you?”

“Henry is but Michael fell asleep early tonight. Will said they’d watch Elf and the Grinch until I get home though.”

“That’s not going to delay Santa Clause?” The look in his eye was one of knowing, a near twinkle of mischief.

“As long as milk and cookies are out, Santa will be fine.” Spencer could see the fond smile on JJ’s face in the light from her phone screen before she put it away in her pocket, looking back to him then. “What about your house? Do you think they’ll be awake when you get home?” Spencer tried not to think too hard on the possibility. He knew the schedules, he knew the odds, but part of him hoped he would get what was left of Christmas Eve with them, even if it just meant a five minute bed time story with Autumn and then one mistletoe kiss with his wife before they both passed out for the night.

“I hope they’re awake. But it’s late anyway so they’re probably asleep.” He felt how the possible reality affected him, but he hoped against everything he would get to see them just once before Christmas morning.

-

Normally when they got back to the office building, they were dismissed until the next business day. And he thought Hotch would especially excuse them as they both had kids at home. But something wasn’t right. As they piled out of the vehicles, Hotch required everyone to return to the 6th floor. He wouldn’t say why, and if anyone had a chance to ask, all they were told was “some paperwork cant wait for the next day.”

Spencer was the first one off the elevator, noticing how the time clock over the bullpen read the time to him, almost mocking him. 10:43. He did take a moment to glare at the ticking thing, setting his satchel down into his computer chair as he rubbed at his eyes. They opened to notice one thing was different, one thing that didnt sit right in his mind. He couldve sworn the roundtable room blinds were always open, never closed unless there was an important meeting. And he could've also sworn the picture frame on his desk with their family Christmas photo had been on the right of the computer, not centered along the right side. “Hey, H-“ He couldn’t finish calling to his boss, a commotion behind him taking his attention.

“DADDY!” His head spun trying to find her voice, knowing it anywhere. The one voice that could get him to shed his FBI exterior and leave his heart open. Turning around, he saw the blur of her hair and holiday dress as she ran down the steps to him, his body immediately bending down to scoop her up. “Daddy you’re back!” Her voice cheered into his shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head, spinning them around for effect. She giggled profusely as he looked back to the roundtable room, now seeing (Y/N) waiting just outside the door, hand over her heart as the scene unfolded. He motioned for her to come join them, quick to notice how she wiped away tears as she rushed to be with them by his desk. Holding tighter to Autumn, he pulled his wife in for a hug, also placing a kiss to her hair before deeply inhaling, renewing his memory of her scent.

“You’re here.” He breathed out in a whisper, squeezing her body to his.

“Penelope called. She wanted you to have your family for the holidays.” Looking once more to the roundtable room, he saw Penelope as she stood along the railing, a gentle wave to Spencer as he held his girls in his arms.

He mouthed a thank you to her before pressing another kiss to (Y/N)’s head, Autumn resting her head against his.

“Daddy?”

“Yes sugar plum?”

“Can we go home now? We’re going to miss Santa.” They both laughed as they hugged her closer in their little family huddle, evermore appreciative that they got one more Christmas as a family.

-

The drive home was exceptionally quiet, Autumn running out of energy before they even left headquarters. Spencer’s hand didn’t let go of (Y/N), thumb rubbing slow circles into the top of her hand as he watched her driving. “I love you.” He mumbled, in such a tired daze from the last few days.

“I know.” Squeezing his hand, she spared a look at him at the red light, no other cars at the intersection. “I love you Spencer.” Just as the light turned green, she noticed how his eyes fluttered to a close, the smile still present on his lips. “Seriously?”

“I’m just so happy.” He hummed, opening his tired eyes to look at her in the passing street light.

“Yeah, and you can’t fall asleep right now because you’re carrying her inside. I can’t carry both of you into the house.”

And he did just that. When she parked their car in the parking lot, Spencer was quick to get out to open (Y/N)’s door and then gently opened the door where Autumn’s seat was, careful not to wake her. While he carried her into the building, (Y/N) made sure to get all the doors in their way, hoping Autumn would stay asleep from the car to her bed. As soon as she hit the matress, her hands did reach up for Spencer as he gently removed himself from her hold, but he quickly reached for the custom teddy bear they had gifted her for when he was away on a case, and she snuggled up to it like it was good enough. Holding (Y/N)’s hand, they both tried to commit to memory the serenity and peace of their daughters room before closing it for the night, quietly walking towards their room now. “What time do you think Santa will come?” She asked as she took off her evening clothes to get into her pajamas, sitting on the bench at the foot of their bed as she waited for Spencer to finish getting ready.

“I was thinking maybe 3:00, maybe 4:00?” She didn’t shy away from letting out a groan as she came up behind him to hug his back, only having successfully put on his pajama pants for the night.

“Maybe 5:00.”

“Do you think she’ll get up and check?” His hands came to rest over hers, holding them close to his stomach.

“No, she didn’t get her afternoon nap so she’s extra tired tonight.” She placed a kiss to the back of his shoulder blade, and he tried his best not to melt into her touch.

“I missed you.”

“Missed you more.” She mumbled out before Spencer turned around in her hold, bringing his arms around her as she settled against his chest.

It was such a simple thing, to be in each other's arms, but it was the one thing they both craved when they were apart. It was the one thing in their relationship that hadn’t changed, the need for physical touch but only from each other. Like many times before, Spencer’s mind seemed to stall with the concept of time, unable to differentiate the seconds from minutes in her arms, resting his cheek against her head. “Let’s go to bed.” One more kiss was pressed to her hair before she let go of him, turning to climb into their bed.

As they made their way under the covers, Spencer moving to lay behind her, his arm slipped over her waist, her back to his chest, and it was then he lost the strength to hold back the lingering thoughts in his mind. “I thought I wouldn’t get tonight with you.”

“You did. It’s our own Christmas miracle.”

“You’re my miracle.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, lips lingering over the surface. “My dream I never have to wake from.”

“You, Dr. Reid, are exceptionally cheesy.” A laugh had burst from her lips but he didn’t even flinch or pull away from her. Her laughter settled back into the quiet of their room, eyelids starting to grow heavy as she felt her heartbeat synchronize to his breathing behind her. “Santa’s at 5:00?” The response he offered was just a small hum of acknowledgment, squeezing her body tighter to his before they both surrendered to the attractive lure, falling into a blissful sleep (if only for a few hours).

~

Tell me what you think here!

[andreafmn]

Speak | Chapter 9

Word Count: 3.6K Story Description: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf. Chapter: 9/? A/N: one day I'll upload early, y'all. but I am truly trying to keep to the schedule I posted, as hard as it is. But thank you for bearing with me. You guys have no idea how much it means to me 🥰🤍 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in this or any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!  Taglists for Twilight get filled quick and Tumblr only lets me tag up to a certain point. Notifications are your best bet.

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Chapter 9

The Swan sisters had been raised with a misconstrued idea that the new year meant a fresh start, a clean slate. That it could magically erase any and all afflictions the year before had caused. That it truly was the first page of a new chapter.

And maybe that’s all that (Y/N) was hoping for that New Year’s Eve. That the coming year would be the first page of her new chapter in Forks. That whatever was happening with Paul would die that December night. That Bella would finally turn over a new leaf and forget Edward. That she could move forward with her relationship with Jake.

Because that’s what she wanted.

That’s what she had always wanted.

The thing she most needed was to get over whatever fluke it was that had made its way into her life. Whatever breach into her timeline that had decided to make her heart flutter out the sound of someone else’s name. It had been too sudden and unexplainable to not be a mistake.

Paul Lahote had no business settling into her heart in the way he had, and she would stop at nothing to pluck him as quickly as he had attached himself. Even if she looked forward to seeing him in her dreams at night, even if her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of him, even if all she wanted was to get as close to him as possible.

(Y/N) wanted —at least she thought she wanted— to go back to being excited that Jacob had finally set his sights on her. She wanted the same thrill she got about Paul with Jake. He had been the crush that had withstood the trials of time. It could not be trampled over by a guy she barely knew.

Yet, she could not stop thinking how his favorite color was red, how he moved to La Push after his parent’s divorced when he was eight, how he didn’t remember much of his mother even though he had been old enough to, how he had never been in love but desperately wanted to know what it felt like. (Y/N) could not stop picturing the way his eyes would shine under the warm glow of the setting sun, how his smile would grow as he listened intently to every word she spoke. Nor could she shake off the feeling of his warm skin against hers, how soft his hands had felt where she believed they’d be rough and calloused. He was everything and nothing like she had thought, but she knew that was as far as she could go to know him.

“Well, don’t you look mighty nice?” Charlie’s voice broke his daughter out of thought. “I think you’ve been to more bonfires this month than I have been to in years. People might start forgetting the sheriff’s face around there.”

“I doubt that’s even possible, dad,” she chuckled, smoothing over a piece of hair that had been unruly for the better part of the day. “Really wish you could join us, though. Since Bella won’t be making it out there, I wanted a Swan there for moral support.”

“This about that Paul fella?”

The question took (Y/N) aback. She had thought no one but Jake knew about that whole fiasco, and she was certain he had not said anything to her dad. “How do you…?” she stammered.

“Bella muttered a thing or two about him. Said he was the one you had been with the other night,” her father said. “Something happen with you and Jake?”

“Nothing happened,” she muttered. “I’m just making new friends seeing as my stay in Forks might be longer than anticipated.”

“Well, that’s a good idea. Just be careful of the people you keep in your company.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Jake might have mentioned this Paul Lahote character is not the greatest influence,” Charlie added. “He thinks he might not have the purest of intentions with you, (Y/N). I just don’t wanna see you get hurt.”  

“Well, I can tell you right now that you have nothing to worry about,” (Y/N) smiled comfortingly.  The last thing she wanted was for her father to worry about her when his other daughter was still no more than a statue in their home.  “I have only hung out with him that one time and I don’t think it’ll happen again. But thanks for checking in.”

“Just wanna make sure your transition back here is as smooth as possible, kiddo,” he responded warmly. “I know it’s gonna be hard to settle back here after being with your mom for so long. Forks might be a bit slow but it’s truly home.”

“I’m actually excited about staying. Even if it wasn’t the plan originally, there’s something about this town that’s just begging for me to stay,” she confessed. “Even if I came to help with Bella, I’m glad I decided to stay. It will also keep mom from taking us both back to Florida —at least for a while.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” The older Swan said before she nodded in response. “I’m just glad you two wanted to spend time with your old man. Even if I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing good, dad,” (Y/N) chuckled. “I will say you got the shortest end of the stick having to be the one dealing with this breakup but I know you’re doing the absolute best you can. Hopefully, this new year brings us all the fresh start we so desperately need.”

“I hope so too, kiddo,” he sighed in defeat. “But have fun tonight, (Y/N), and make good choices.”

“Have I ever done anything else?”

“Very funny, kid,” Charlie chuckled. “Well, I’m off to work. I’ll probably not be here yet when you get back, so happy new year, (Y/N). And have fun.”

“Happy New Year, dad.”

Everything in Forks seemed to move at a punishingly fast pace, even if at times it felt like the town was stuck in time. But (Y/N) had been there almost four weeks which had already felt like a lifetime.

In comparison to living with Phil and her mother, in the midst of travel and adventures that she had loved for a time, (Y/N) had forgotten the calmness of remaining stagnant, of going to sleep and waking in the same home. She had forgotten what walking the halls of a school felt like, of having a group of friends that lasted more than a year.

Forks would give her that opportunity, or at least she hoped it would. The town had already started to change her and given her more than she could’ve hoped for. And that night she truly believed would set everything in the correct motion. Everything she had wished for with no more flukes.

An hour later and from the street she heard the honk of a horn. She gave herself a once over, not feeling completely comfortable with the way she looked that night. In part, she felt it was merely the nerves of seeing Jacob after the altercation with Paul.

But there was another part, the bigger part, that knew it was because of Paul. There was a calming thrill to him that she couldn’t explain. Even the juxtaposition of the thought made no sense to her. As much as she wanted to stay away from him, she wanted to get closer. It scared and excited her all at once.

Yet, the person that was waiting for her was not him. It was Jake, waiting impatiently behind the wheel of his truck.

“What took you so long?” Jacob grumbled as (Y/N) got into the car. “We’re already late as it is.”

“Sorry, Jake. I couldn’t find my jacket.”

“It’s fine, (Y/N). It’s just that Quil came back from his trip, and I wanted to catch up with him before school starts,” he said. “I also haven’t seen Embry since last weekend since he was with his mom visiting some family.”  

“Yeah, I get that,” (Y/N) responded meekly, sinking into her seat. “At least we have the rest of the night to hang out with them.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he smiled forcefully. “What about Bella? Is she not coming?”

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “She wasn’t up to coming. Still bummed about this Edward guy.”

“What a shame,” Jake sighed. “Being around people would be good for her.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she mumbled. “But I can’t really force her. This guy did a number on her and nothing dad and I are doing is working. I’ve even decided to…”

“Maybe you guys don’t know her as well as you thought,” he blurted. “I mean, no offense but she’s not the same girl that left Arizona. She’s not even the same girl that came to Forks.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t help her, Jake. And that’s what we have been doing this whole time. Still, we can’t help someone that doesn’t want to help themselves.”

“I’m not trying to start a fight, (Y/N),” he grumbled. “I’m just saying that  maybe your efforts have not worked because she’s not the same Bella you knew.”

The girl remained quiet, anger filling her body instantly. Bella remained a sore subject in the new relationship, always being brought up by Jacob, reminding (Y/N) that he had liked her sister first –and, deep down, she knew he probably still did. Still, wanted to remain in the delusion that he had chosen her for as long as she could.

“It’s fine. Let’s just drop this, okay?” (Y/N) pleaded. “I just want to enjoy tonight. Please.”

“Alright, yeah. Whatever.”

The rest of the ride went by in silence, a heavy tension filling the air and suffocating her. At that moment, more than ever before in her life, she needed to believe that the new year was truly a fresh start. A new beginning for her sister, a new beginning for her relationship, and a new beginning for her life in Forks.

As soon as the truck rolled to a stop, Jake was out of the car and heading to the beach, mumbling something to (Y/N) that he was gonna see his friends and that he’d catch up to her soon enough. Then, he left her in between the small sea of cars that lined the border of the beach.

The younger Swan was left dumbfounded, completely perplexed at Jake’s reaction. His outburst had made her feel small and unwanted. And as she stood frozen at her spot, watching the community celebrate before her, she wondered if there was any reason for her to be there. Because maybe the best thing she could do, for everyone, was leave.

“I’m glad you came, (Y/N),” a voice startled her. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Paul, hi,” she blushed, looking down at the black jumpsuit she wore under a white coat. “Thank you. You look great too. Especially with my sweater.”

“Oh, it was cold tonight and it was the first thing I grabbed,” he chuckled. “I promise I was gonna bring it back to you, not use it like it was mine.”

“Honestly, it looks better on you than it does me. Sometimes I feel like I drown in it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Your look great in a paper bag,” he grinned. “But I really am glad you came tonight.”

“And why is that, Paul Lahote?”

“Because I wanted to apologize for the other day. I never wanted things to end the way they did,” he said. His eyes searched hers in the darkness, wanting nothing more than for his hands to reach her, to feel her skin against his once more. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble between you and Jacob. The last thing I would have ever wanted was for you to be blamed for my actions. You don’t deserve that.”

“Thank you, Paul,” she smiled, her hand unconsciously reaching for his, giving it a comforting squeeze. “But it’s not your fault. I was the one that agreed to spend time with you knowing that Jake would blow off the handle. If anyone is to blame for what happened that night, it’s me.”

Paul couldn’t help himself as his free hand flew to rest on her cheek, cradling her face in a soothing manner. “Nothing that happened was your fault, (Y/N),” he said. “Jake simply showed you who he is. You never did anything wrong. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

In that split second, (Y/N) remembered Jake’s words. She broke away from his contact, as though his touch had burned her skin, turning away from the enchanting trance his eyes held over her.

“What’s wrong?”

“It's just that Jake said something about you and… your past,” she sighed. “He said I was just an attempt to make your body count higher.”

“I hope you know how untrue that is,” he said, seething on the inside but not daring to show it to her. “You are special, (Y/N), and I would never do anything that would make you feel otherwise.”

“But why, Paul? What is so special about me? To everyone, I’m just Bella’s little sister.”

“You have to know that that is the least interesting thing about you,” he said. He reached out to her, needing to look her in the eye again. “You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re smart and witty. And that’s merely the tip of the iceberg. I may not have known you for long but I know there’s so much more to you than you let on. And all I’ve wanted was to learn about those parts that you hide from everyone else.”

“I still don’t know why!” (Y/N) responded, frustration pooling beads of tears in the corners of her eyes. “How can I trust someone that somehow says everything I want to hear but won’t give me a straightforward answer? Why me, Paul? Out of all the people in the world, why do you want to know me?”

At that moment, he felt he would spill everything. He wanted her to know just why it was her, why the universe had decided that it had to be her. Paul wanted to confess what bonded them and would keep them for the rest of their lives.

And he would have, but the fear of putting her in any danger could not let him say the words. He could not bring himself to utter any of the words that would throw her life up in shambles. “Why not you, (Y/N)?” he asked her, biting his tongue to keep what he wanted to say from spilling. “Is it so hard to believe that I could have seen you and be intrigued by you?”

“You saw me for a split second, Paul. Someone you’ve never known of cannot be worth all this trouble.”

“You are worth it, (Y/N).”

“And you are frustratingly vague,” she finally cracked a smile. “Why can’t you just answer me? What is it that you’re hiding?”

“You’d never believe me if I told you,” he copied her smile. “And isn’t a little mystery fun?”

“It could be if it didn’t get me in trouble with my boyfriend.”

“That could be fixed by breaking up with him, you know,” Paul teased. “A lot of things could be fixed if Jake was gone.”

“Are you threatening my boyfriend, Paul Lahote?”

“I would never,” he laughed. “But I still believe that he doesn’t deserve you, (Y/N).”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“Don’t think I can.”

And maybe she knew he was right but it was too hard to admit it, to him or to herself. She had wanted Jake for the better part of her life and one night could not change that. She wouldn’t let it. “Then you’re gonna have to if there’s ever gonna be some sort of friendship between us,” she said. “Might be hard to spend time with someone that’s always trashing their boyfriend.”

“I mean, you’ve only got a couple more weeks before you have to go back to Florida, right? I think I can control myself in that time.”

“Actually, I decided to move to Forks with my dad,” she smiled. “Bella isn’t getting better and I’ve honestly gotten attached to this town. It might be that some people have made this place so enchanting.”

“Then I guess I’m gonna have to work harder on pretending that I like Jake,” he grinned. “But I am glad you’re staying. The town wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I’ve only been here for three weeks, Paul,” she laughed.

“And nothing has been the same since.”

“You’re something else.”

“I could say the same about you,” Paul added before noticing Jared calling him over. “And on that note, I will have to leave you. I’ve got a couple of things I have to do. But not before you give me your phone number.”

“My number?”

“That way I’d we ever wanna see each other it doesn’t have to be by me showing up at your house or running into each other at a bonfire.”

“Right,” she chuckled, handing him her phone. “That’s smart.”

 “I’ll see you around, (Y/N),” he smiled before kissing her on the cheek and disappearing down the beach.

As soon as he was out of sight, (Y/N) looked around, hoping that no one had witnessed what had just happened. As innocent as everything could have been, in such a small town, everything was known.

Once she had calmed down, she finally walked toward the commotion of the beach. Feeling as confused as she had been since meeting Paul, but at peace. Being around him made her feel serene, tranquility spreading through her veins. Though he made her heart race, he didn’t make her chest feel tight. It was a feeling that made her feel equal parts uneasy and calm.

“Where were you?” Jake asked as she joined him and his friends, a hint of annoyance dancing between his words.

“Just around,” she smiled. “I was actually planning to get something to drink. Do you guys want anything?”

“We’re good,” Embry smiled kindly. “But thank you.”

“Just hurry,” Jake added before becoming more interested in the conversations he was having before she had gotten close. “And bring me back a water, thanks.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

(Y/N) left him quickly, needing to compose herself before heading back toward him. She could feel how annoyed he was at her. Ever since that afternoon with Paul, Jake had become distant and rather cold toward her but she could understand why. As much as it pained her, she knew why and that she had to do something to make it up to him while keeping what angered him a secret.

“It’s good to see you around, (Y/N),” Billy said as he joined the girl’s side at the refreshment table. “I was wondering when I would see you again.”

“Hi, uncle Billy,” she smiled. “I’ve been meaning to go by the house but I’ve been busy these couple of days.”

“And things have been heated between you and my son.”

“How did you…?”

“Small town,” he smiled softly. “But I’ve already had some words with my son about his behavior toward you. It was completely unacceptable.”

“It might have been an overreaction but it was warranted,” she said looking down. “I knew what I did would anger him but I still did it.”

“That doesn’t mean he can chastise you in the middle of town. My son is young and can be quick-tempered,” Billy sighed, taking one of (Y/N)’s hands in his. “He says and does things that he doesn’t know he will regret one day, and you don’t deserve to be in the receiving end of that.”

“Thank you, Billy,” (Y/N) smiled, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “But I’m sure he’s sorry for that night and we’ll work through it together.”

“You know, I love my son, but he can be quite stubborn when he wants to. Even at his own detriment. Still, I hope this new year brings you both clarity and growth. Both personally, and if the gods want it, in your relationship as well.”

“I hope so too, uncle Billy.”

“My son is lucky to have you by his side. Even if he doesn’t know it.”

(Y/N) felt a new surge of confidence as he joined Jake and his friends once more. Knowing Billy was watching her back made her feel stronger about her relationship with Jacob and that it was worth investing her heart and time into. She knew her heart yearned for Jake and all she felt toward Paul was a strong sense of friendship.

As the hours passed and the tension between her and Jake seemed to dissipate, her resolve simply solidified itself. She would do anything possible to fix her relationship with her boyfriend and keep her friendship with Paul separate from Jacob.

But there was the smallest part in her that replayed Paul’s voice. He kept telling her how she deserved better and that Jake was not the right person for her, even if that was who she had wanted for so long.

Still, when the clock struck twelve, Jake was the one she kissed, and wished things would work out between them. She wished for him to only see Bella as a friend and finally give his whole heart to her. Wrapped in his arms as they cheered the new year, she begged the universe to give her the chance to have everything she had wished for.

Yet as her eyes found Paul’s in the crowd, she doubted if it was what she truly wanted or if she was holding onto a silly childhood dream.

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[seresinhangmanjake]

And, Honey, I’ll Make It All Okay

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: Jake might be getting used to his mother being around you and his baby girl, but he still had zero interest in allowing his father within a hundred miles of his family. Sometimes, though, things happen that aren’t in his control, despite how desperately he needs them to be. 

Warnings: Alcohol, hints of alcoholism and past abuse (not physical), cursing. Protective Seresins working together like the damn power rangers. 

Notes: Suggested by an anon / Part of the Oh, Baby Universe. A follow up to It’s What You Make It

Words: 4060

------

“So, this little one is a Seresin, huh?”

Jake looked up from the book in his lap—the one he’d bought when he realized he was two whole months behind you in parenting knowledge and felt a desperation to catch up quickly before he ruined his daughter's childhood. He set it aside, meeting his mother's raised brow. 

“I was told you legally changed her name,” she continued as she bounced Eve on her lap, gentle jolts up and down making the girl giggle.

The memory of his birthday present that held within it so many promises of the future you’d share was still strong. He thought of it every morning, loving how it entered his mind like clockwork the second he looked down at your sleeping face beside him. You were in it with him for the long haul—you and Eve—and you’d made it so wonderfully known in a way that could not be outdone. 

Jake smiled, not just at the reminder of your gift, but for many reasons. For the happiness on his daughter’s face as she sat with her grandmother, for the ease with which you and his mother got along, for the way she proved to so seamlessly blend into his family over the last four days. He smiled because he had every right to. Just as he had every right not to tell her about his daughter’s change of name. 

Despite obviously gaining your trust, she had yet to fully gain his. He wanted to let that door stay open, but she’d be back in Texas within a day, and there was no guarantee she could keep his secrets upon her return home. And if his father knew the choice made over Eve’s name, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away. 

That was the last thing Jake needed. The last thing you needed. 

“Yea,” he said, swallowing, sitting up a bit straighter in the leather armchair. “We did.”

“Anyone else’s name you plan to change soon?”

Jake hesitated. He hadn’t planned to tell his parents. Not about any of it. Not where or how or when he chose to propose. Not about the ring he had made months ago. Not about his wedding, his marriage. Not anything about the details of his life after the bridge they’d set aflame. And he still wasn’t sure his mother had earned the knowledge, but Jake couldn’t deny how obvious he made his intentions without so much as uttering a single word about it. He wanted you, forever, and not a soul with two eyes would think otherwise. 

“Um—I’m working on it.”

“Do you have a ring?”

“I do.”

“Good.” His mother gave a firm nod. “She’s perfect for you.”

That was an understatement, he thought. It was not enough. Perfect for him, truly, but somehow more, too.

Shaking his head, he said, “She’s everything. She and my baby girl are absolutely everything.”

His mother was silent. Her wide grin traveled from her son to the girl in her arms when a tiny hand reached high to touch her cheek. 

“Sweet girl,” she sighed, taking the little hand in hers. 

Eve was the first to accept his mother. 

From the moment their eyes connected a bond was formed that Jake could never fairly break, whether he eventually learned to give his complete trust to his mother or not. Though Eve was so young, there was no doubt in Jake’s mind that she would feel the absence of his mother if they were no longer in one another’s lives. But maintaining that relationship would come with conditions—requirements—mostly along the lines of keeping his father away from you and Eve at all times, in every way possible.

Of course, there was an additional possibility; one his Gram had suggested despite it going against the will of her own son. And you hadn’t argued it, instead leaving the choice to him. A choice that once offered, he really couldn’t go back on. But it was also an opportunity that if taken would actually mean something—a massive leap in the right direction. 

Jake leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on the tips of his knees and clasping his hands. They wrung slowly, nerves exposed through the subtle act. 

“Mom,” he began. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled lightly on the chapped skin. She took her eyes off the girl. He released his lip. “You should stay,” he finally said.

There was a brief flash across her irises. She was just as surprised at hearing his suggestion as he was when deciding to speak it. Her lips quirked a tad, but a moment later they fell back into their natural line, the slight downturned shape making the pinch between her brows seem all the more disheartening.

“Sweetheart…” She sighed again before hugging her granddaughter closer. 

“Let me help you. I can find you a place close by,” he said, finding himself rushing his words from a sudden need to convince her. “You and Dad separated once. You can—”

“Jake, stop.” She stood fast, sharply, impressively without stirring Eve, and closed the few steps between her spot on the couch and Jake’s chair. Carefully handing the infant over, she said, “I think I’ll find your Gram and take her to lunch.”

Her voice was meek on that last bit, too much like her approach with him days before when she showed up out of nowhere begging to be a part of his life. She smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles of her skirt and turned on her heel.

“Just think about it,” Jake said to her back, and from her stuttered step he knew she heard him. “Alright?”

She said nothing. And walked on.

—

You’d been itching to get him alone all day. Jake saw it in your consistent stare that wandered from his grandmother to him whenever he was in range of his mother. But his Gram had occupied your time—his mother Eve’s—and he wasn’t able to give you the chance to drag him away like you had so clearly wanted. In your shared room, though, nothing kept the two of you apart. And while Jake had plans—plans that would definitely require him holding his hand over your mouth from your inability to keep quiet (which, without his mother and grandmother in his house, he would’ve loved)---you had other ideas. 

“Did you ask?”

His brow arched at the childlike curiosity you were trying to contain; at how you were a fraction away from bouncing on your toes in anticipation for the answer. Not with excitement, but with an anxious intensity that seeped through the innocence of your question. He nodded. “She didn’t give me an answer.”

And in that same childlike theme, your face fell into a pout. You sighed and plopped down on the mattress, the nightie that barely covered your mid-thighs rising higher. Jake’s fingers twitched to slide along the smooth expanse of skin, but you sighed again and your hands slapped down on those thighs in some odd form of defeat that Jake didn’t understand, and he couldn’t help but notice the distress on your face. 

His mind switched within an instant. Your worry his worry. And he crouched in front of you, taking one of your hands in his. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head but he didn’t buy it.

“You really want her to stay?” He examined your face. The frown, the pinched brows, the bitten lip. It was not a look he ever cared to see. “Why so badly?”

You rose quickly, unintentionally knocking him off kilter. You reached a hand out to help steady him, which he took and refused to release even as you tried to begin your pacing. It was only one step that you took before Jake twisted you, wrapping you in his arms to calm you down. 

“Honey…”

You were staring up at him, waiting; for what, he didn’t know, but he waited just the same. Until you were ready.

“Jake, with Eve I felt so alone. I had her and I loved her so much—so much—but my mother wasn’t easy on me. Living with her wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be with you. I wanted my family to be with you. And I just…” You took a breath, looking away from him. His knuckle under your chin made gazes lock again. “I see that in your mother,” you continued. “She’s told me about your dad, and I thought if she had the choice she would stay here, with us…with Eve.”

The tenseness in his shoulders from your distress loosened a tad. “It was your idea? I thought—”

You shrugged. “Your Gram knows your mother better than I do. I figured if she was the one to mention the idea then you’d be more likely to consider it.”

He couldn’t find his words. Jake's heartbeat sped at a pace he instantly recognized. The pace he'd felt when he first saw you behind the bar at the Hard Deck. The same pace when you walked into Rooster's house with Eve. The pace that told him he was in love with you, then and now. 

He pulled you closer, and with a hand sliding behind your neck, he kissed you. You squeaked into the unexpectedness before settling into it, letting your fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt at his waist. Jake was thorough, savoring. Your lips sweet against his, tongue lightly teasing, hand weaving into your hair the way he knew you liked. He wanted to give you everything in that kiss. Because in you was that “more” he wasn’t quite able to explain. Perfect for him…but somehow more. It was the part of you that other people didn’t have. The part that took on responsibilities that weren't yours, and tried to protect people that hadn’t done the same for you. A kindness that was so fucking rare. So unbelievable.

You broke the kiss well before he was ready, a question on your face.

“I love you," he said, cupping your jaw, thumbs stroking your cheeks. He shook his head, like he always did when he paused for a moment to take in his life. Never would he have imagined the luck that had washed over him. The luck to have found you, to have you want him as much as he did you, to share a daughter with you. Jake wasn’t known for picturing much of a future with any woman until he saw you, and the very idea of not having met was a tight knot in his chest. It was impossible now. No one could go back in time and change the course set, but even the thought of what might not have been was too much for him to take. "You are so—"

A knock on a door silenced him. 

Jake counted three seconds and the sound repeated. He hadn’t misheard.

His hands fell away from your face as both your heads whipped to the bedroom door. 

His daughter was asleep—that was his first concern. His baby girl was trying to get her rest and that booming through the walls of the house might've been enough to wake her. 

Then he recalled the hour. 

"Who in the—"

"Stay here," Jake ordered as he stepped toward the door, a hand extended behind him, palm up and facing you to try to stop what he knew was coming. 

"No way." You were already tying the strings of your silk robe at your waist.

He sighed, looking back. "Honey—"

"No."

It boomed again. 

Jake winced, waiting for the high-pitched wails from down the hall. They didn't come so he left the room and began down the stairs with you at his heels. 

"Will you at least stay in the kitchen?"

"No, Jake."

"Jesus, woman,” he huffed. The hall?"

He could feel your glare at the back of his head. "...Fine."

"Thank you."

That created at least twenty paces between you and whatever was on the other side of that door. He wouldn't be able to get you any farther away, so that would have to do. 

The noise grew louder with each bang—a beast trying to break through the door as Jake walked closer and wrapped his fingers around the knob. A piece of him screamed to turn back, pretend it wasn't there until it went away, but the territorial part in him said this was his house, his woman, his baby, his family, and he wasn’t going to be hiding in his own home. 

He eased it open just the slightest. But even that was too much. 

His father shoved his way into the house in such a flash of movement that there wasn’t time to react. Jake stumbled, his back hitting hard against the wall. He grunted and looked up. His father stood still, chest rising and falling heavily under a tailored, buttoned jacket while his eyes scanned over the length of you. 

Jake didn't have a second to take in the shock of his father's presence. He shifted into defense. "Don't you dare look at her," he growled.

His father gestured lazily in your direction before meeting Jake's murderous stare. "Your whore, I'm guessing?" 

The hitch of your breath practically echoed, the soft whisper somehow strong enough to bounce off the walls. 

Jake instantly felt the shame of it; of failing to keep the secret of his father's disgusting opinions from revealing. And that sound that left your throat cracked his heart right down the middle. 

His father tsked. "So transparent."

Jake stepped forward and slammed his hand into the older man's shoulder, forcing his stance away from you and towards him. "Get the fuck out of my house."

"Nope," he chuckled, or something mildly akin. It was sloppy, jumbled together. An odd sound barely recognizable as a laugh. 

And then Jake could see it. He could hear it. Could practically feel it. "You've been drinking," he said.

"Airlines are generous for men like me; you know that. Now, I'm here for your mother." He cupped his hands around his mouth. Took a deep breath. "Eliza!"

"Jake…" 

Your voice quivered, drawing Jake's eye. Eve began sobbing upstairs from the incessant screams of his mother's name. Panic coursed through his veins at a rapid rate.

"Honey, go to Eve."

"But—"

"Please," he begged, but you hesitated. "Honey, please."

You'd barely made a move before his mother was walking into the room, her granddaughter tucked in her arms and mother-in-law following behind. His mother's face didn't alter at the sight 

of her husband.

"Here," she said, handing you a hiccupping, wet-faced Eve. "She needs her mother." 

She made her way down the hall and smiled sadly when she reached Jake. Her hand rested on his bicep and she lightly squeezed. "And they need you." She nudged her head in your direction.

"Mom—"

"Go to your family. This is not your responsibility."

Jake glanced at his father; at the smug look on his face ever so slightly veiled by an alcohol-induced haze. 

Looking back at his mother, he said, "It's not yours, either."

"We're leaving, Eliza." 

His father was growing impatient, and his mother continued on as though she wasn't concerned with the ticking time bomb just feet away from her. She was, as usual, handling him the way she did best. Calmly. Cleverly. A true professional in an art no one would ever have ambitions to hone. 

She nudged Jake over until he relented and did as she asked. "John," she sighed, turning to him, "you do not want to be arrested in a different state. You'll be fired within the week."

"You're not calling the police."

"Jake will," she replied. "He won't give it a second thought. You're scaring his family."

"His family." Jake's father scoffed, crossing his arms. "An insignificant woman and a child that isn't his."

Your eyes snapped up to Jake's and he hugged you tighter, Eve nestled between your bodies. He knew he'd have to explain it all because you'd undoubtedly demand it of him. And he owed you that, at the very least. Even though the very thought of speaking it aloud stirred his stomach and made him wish there was something, anything, he could sacrifice in return for not having to tell you. He’d willingly snap one of his own bones if it meant he didn’t have to see your face twist in pain and anger and shame, but it was too late for that. 

"She's his, John," his mother insisted. "And you need to go."

"Then get your things."

"I'm staying."

"The hell you are!"

It was then that Gram shot herself out from the sideline, a short ball of fiery fury, hands clenched at her sides. "Enough!"

Jake’s father squinted as if there were a true flame assaulting his vision, but when his altered brain caught up with him, his eyes widened, his head jerked back, he stared at his own mother like he was seeing her for the very first time. As he was, Jake understood then. His father hadn’t sensed her there amidst the scene he was making. 

Jake didn’t know how his father came to learn of where his wife had gone, but he clearly hadn’t expected the same betrayal from the woman who raised him. And such an older man—a man who had always embodied power and force, determination and demand—was just barely restraining himself from shrinking where he stood. 

“I tried so hard,” Gram said, practically shaking, from anger or angst Jake couldn’t say, “to keep you from being like this. I didn’t want you to be like him. I tried so hard and I failed so greatly, and I don’t know how, because I put everything I had into it,” Tears were streaming down her cheeks, one of them dropping onto the hardwood floor. She sniffled. “Jake is not like you, or the men who came before you. And thank god he has always been strong enough to keep you from ruining that.” You buried your face into Jake’s neck as she spoke. “He’s a protector; He does his job. And I will do mine. So you aren’t taking anyone home, I am taking you home.”

Shock fell across her son’s face too quickly to have the chance to be concealed. His lips parted, then they curved to form words. “You don’t—”

“Jake, dear,” his Gram started, head turned to the side to help carry her voice over her shoulder, “Would you call us a car? Surely there is still one available at this hour.”

You took a sudden step forward and Jake instinctually wrapped his fingers around your arm to keep you and his daughter close. “Eve, we aren’t going to let you sit in an airport until you find a flight back to Texas,” you said.

“Eliza I and were leaving first thing in the morning anyway. We will take her ticket. She will stay. We will go.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jake’s father snapped. He hadn’t bothered to notice his wife making her way closer to their son. He hadn’t so much as glanced at his new granddaughter. Jake wasn’t surprised. His father rarely paid attention to anything. Giving something attention meant acknowledging it was real which meant deciding whether or not to care. He didn’t care. He never did. And it had been decades since much attention had been paid to anything other than himself and the control he refused to relinquish. 

“Then Jake can call the cops instead,” Gram stated. The tears were gone, dried in lengthy lines down her face, but her tone conveyed her heartbreak. “As your mother, that is not what I would prefer, but one way or another you are leaving this house. Tonight.” She inhaled, expelling the heaviest of sighs through her nose. “So, what is it going to be, son?”

—

He watched you from the doorway as you leaned over your daughter’s crib, brushing her wispy hairs out of her face before running your finger softly along the plush cheek. You hadn’t said a word when his Gram and father left. You let him kiss your temple and the top of his baby girl’s head, then you were slipping from his arms to put your child back to sleep as if the night were any other. 

Jake felt lost in the mess—everything he didn’t want you to witness accompanied by the man he never wanted you to meet. The man he came from that he was terrified would make you question just who the father of your daughter might be capable of one day becoming. It would kill him…losing you. Like pliers yanking out chunks of his heart bit by bit until he was left with nothing.

You finally straightened your spine and Jake stepped up behind you, curling his arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest. Need your touch, he thought. As much of your body against his as could be managed. Your hand settled on his forearm when he began to press slow, gentle kisses from your jaw to your neck to your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between each meeting of lips and skin. “I’m so sorry.”

Leaning your head back into his shoulder, eyelids closing, you said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“He came into our home. Insulted you. Scared our daughter.” His hold on you tightened. He inhaled you. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t let anything like that happen.”

Your eyes opened and your head lifted and you met his close gaze. “Baby, we’re alright,” you swore. “We’re safe.” 

He wanted to shake his head. 

“Look at her,” you said, shifting your line of vision to the baby girl in her crib. “She’s safe. She’s perfect.”

“And you?”

Lightly chuckling, you said, “Intact, if you can’t tell.”

Any other day, he would’ve laughed with you. He would have smiled. He would’ve kissed you and taken your teasing for unintentionally getting carried away. He would’ve led you back to your shared bedroom and you’d have fallen atop the mattress and continued kissing and stripping clothes, and you’d get lost in enjoying one another as you so often easily did.

But this wasn’t any other day. 

“I’m not like him,” Jake whispered. “I won’t ever be.”

Despite his hold on you, you spun harshly in his arms. Your brow furrowed. Anger? Confusion? He guessed both. “No, you won’t,” you stressed. “That goes without saying, Jake.”  

When he didn't respond, your hands cupped his cheeks. “Jake, I know you better than anyone. Had that man not shared your eyes, I would never have believed you came from him. Do you understand me?"  

Your soft palms, warm and gentle, and your sweet words, nice and thick like a coating of honey over his body, completely threw him off the edge of the cliff he’d been teetering on all night. His nose stung. His eyes felt pressure under the threat of tears. So many tears were shed in his home in such a short period of time. A new one escaped and your face shattered. 

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, swiping the droplet away with your thumb. “Come here.”

You unraveled yourself from him and he hated it, but then you took his hand and encouraged his steps closer to the crib. Reaching in, you lifted your sleeping daughter, nestling her against your breast. “Kiss our girl,” you said, “Because she’s safe.”

Jake sniffed and swallowed and leaned down to press a long kiss to Eve’s forehead. You nodded and returned her to her little bed, then took his hand again and led him to your bedroom. When you closed the door you faced him, dropped your robe, and walked back into his space, into the cocoon of his arms. 

“Now kiss me.” Your voice was low in the nonexistent space between you. But there was a neediness woven through the words. A neediness he understood incredibly well. “Because I’m safe.”

Lips met. Your arms circled his neck. His fingers slipped under the hem of the silken fabric you wore, thin material rising as his hands moved further up your body. More skin, that’s all he wanted. Just…more. 

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead on yours. 

“We’re always safe with you Jake,” you muttered. "And we won’t forget it."

----

A/N: Turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing :)

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 17/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Back in business, y'all!

It finally arrived on this part. I'm excited what you all think of this development.

The italics at the end are flashbacks Lucifer is having on that particularly familiar convo.

-----------------------------------------

Lucifer didn't know what he expected to see beyond the entrance to the tree. He had assumed it would be like the outside- plastered with evil and decay and suffocation. Hell, he expected that he would die the second he steps inside because he may be the King of Hell but this is a being as old, possibly older, than his Father.

He didn't expect this though.

Cotton clouds walking along the vibrant blue skies like a herd of sheep. Towering trees, adorned with leaves as shining like the finest emerald, dance gracefully in the soft breeze. There's crystal-clear waters acting like a mirror for the heavens, tranquil movements reflecting the azure sky above. Animals, predator and prey are frolicking without a care in the world as if the circle of life simply does not exist.

And at the heart of it all, in the place where time stands still, lies an apple tree. The clouds make way for the sun above to shine its golden rays, helping Lucifer's brain solidify where he is.

There is no way.

Lucifer: Eden?

The Sin of Pride hears humming behind the tree. He moves closer to inspect and gets his second shock of the day. He chokes up a little.

Lucifer: Lily?

It was Lilith? That can't be right. The woman smiles at him but it doesn't look like Lilith. Her smile was always warm, serene, and full of life- this was not his ex-wife and wow, did that thought just made him start to lose it.

Lucifer: W̶͇͚̫̻͂̄́̽̽͗ẖ̷̮̩̄͂͛̊̓̕͠à̵̯̪͇̝t̵̘͔̪̱̤̗̙̂ ̸̨̡̻̰̼͖̈́̀͐̒̏̕t̶̡̛̼̺̱̳̮̍͌͐͠ͅh̸̫̔͒͠͝ę̶̱̩̪̝̪̏͌͆̾̕ ̶̟̥̒́̎h̵̑̉͜ë̵̹̓l̵͉̘̗̆͑̏͝͝l̸̘̹͔̣̓́̂̚ ̸͉͖͑́̑̋ả̷̹̩̰r̸̩̖̼̔͊̽̈́̈͐̕ͅë̵̡͓ ̵̠͚̝̜̾̒̃́y̸̭͒̽̋̈́̋ȯ̸̘̈́̍̃ͅu̴̪̫͉̯͍̬̠̐̆́ ̷̞͈͒̄̔̑͐͋͝d̴̢̦͚̐̊̓̍͌õ̵̝͍͉͉͔̲͑̇̎͌͋̀į̸̥̮͔̊̾̚ṇ̴̣̬̀̈́̈́̓̎̕̚͜ǵ̵̼̖̄ ̸̹̬͍̓̑́͆̎w̶̛̲̮͓̤̩̗͕̒̌̄̆̈͝ė̴̖̏̀͆̊͑͝ạ̶̺͍̥͌̽̀̒r̸̨̞̣̖̺̱̐̃̔ͅį̸͙͔̈́͐̆ņ̵̺̟̠̏͑̒̚ḡ̵̜͛̆̒͌ ̴̧̞̮̰̦̲̇̄̽̋͆̄ͅt̵̘̓͆͗h̷̳̗̖͘ã̴̘͉̹̘̯͚͠t̵̳̂͝ ̴̨̦̭̳̒͂́͌̓͋͝f̷̢͚̀͐à̷̢̩c̷̤̝̼̞͙̮̄̾́̽̅̀͐͜ẻ̸̛͈͝?̴̮̗͎͓͑̒̈́̈́̿ͅ��̱!̴̩͍̭͕̳̳̭̉̆

Roo: Well, I can't let you see my true form now, could I? It would likely burn your eyes where you stand. Soooo, I picked something you're... a little bit more familiar with. You like it?~

Lucifer: Y̸̦̥̥̱̞̓̌͐͜͠o̶̥͍̊̈́̋͠ü̶̢̠̩̙͎̈́ ̶̛̮͙̜͔̋͋̽̇̈́ḣ̸̫̈̓̔͂͠a̵̰̤̳̅͒̉̆̕v̵̡̖̰̺̂̂͒̎̀͑͠ḙ̸̟̥́̃̈́̄͝ ̸͎͙̳͎̖̀̍̎͜n̵̢̩̪͉͔̗͈̈́͘o̷̗̻͕̯͋̄̃͝ͅͅ ̷̞̹̥̻̤̥̋r̶̨̫̳͔̀͌̓͊͊͜i̵̧̲̪͍̻̹͍͆̍̈́g̷͚̑h̴̨͎̰̀̀́͗̿͜͝ṱ̵̠̍́͆̃̎̏!̶̢̧͉̻̺̣̬̊

Roo: And who are you to tell me what to do, fallen? You're a mere speck in my sight. Besides, didn't my sister use that other woman's face? What was her name? Eve?

Lucifer: F̶̤͍̪̭̾̑̈͊͠ù̴͈̫̚c̵͇̎́̍̽̚͠k̵̳̩̞̖̝̤̀̒͋͌̉í̶̧͚̟̠̚̚ň̸̨̘̖̳̳̆̐͗̋-̴̮́̾͒̔͆

Lucifer lunges but the fact that it is his ex-wife's face made him hesitate enough for Roo summon roots, essentially pinning him against the Tree of Knowledge.

Roo: Can't have that, dear fallen. Hmm, how can I make you behave? Perhaps this look is a bit outdated. How abouuttt...

Lilith's face was enveloped in red and black, smile morphing into an all too familiar grin. One moment he was staring at Lilith's beautiful face, now he found himself locked in a gaze with the unmistakable form of Alastor.

Roo: This is more your style now right, sire? I must say, this one looks more outdated and tacky.

Anger must still be all over his face because Roo made a pondering look. The Root of All Evil pretended to contemplate before obnoxiously letting out an excited squeal.

Roo: Oh! I got it!

Alastor shrinks, his red bob cut lengthens, turning blond from the roots. Gray skin became porcelain white with red circles appearing on the cheeks.

He's going to kill her.

Roo: Perfect, no?

He's going to kill this fucking bitch for using his daughter's face!-

He breaks free from his restraints in a flurry of rage, hand immediately grasping Roo's (NOT HIS DAUGHTER) neck. Charlie (NO IT IS NOT HER) struggles, sending the roots back to get him but his hellfire is preventing them to get closer.

Lucifer pries Roo's mouth open and began reciting an incantation- runes physically manifest themselves, entering Roo. Lucifer can feel the power of Goodie's seal flow out of him, draining him of his strength. He start coughing up blood but pushes through.

This is for Charlie. For everyone.

By the end of it, Roo is motionless and Lucifer slumps on the tree, exhausted beyond belief. He's holding his throat as golden blood drip from is mouth. Goodie didn't say it was this bad.

He tries not to look at Roo's body. She's still wearing Charlie's whole being and he doesn't want to see an almost dead version of his daughter's face.

Lucifer thought it was over until there was a chuckle. He looks on in horror as the mangled body of Roo sat up in manic laughter. His daughter's lovely smile turned more broken, so much that it's tearing her face apart.

Roo: Surprise!!!

Lucifer: What...? You're supposed to be sealed now. I was inches away. It was supposed to work!

Roo bursts into more laughter like he just said the dumbest thing ever. She looks up to the sky.

Roo: Oh man, you're really that stupid?? This ritual was never going to work and Goodie knew it! All this ancient thing does is barely prick my finger.

Lucifer: I don't understand. I- why?

Roo: Because Goodie knew what I needed and sent you to give it.

Lucifer thinks back to his first conversation with Goodie and feels this sense of dread.

Goodie: I can lend you something that shall be enough to contain her. But for this to work, I need one thing.

Lucifer: And what do you need?

Lucifer: What is it?

Beautiful Eden disappeared and now replaced with a decaying forest. The green grass turned into the red flowers from outside as they continue to excrete miasma.

Lucifer never felt so breathless.

Roo and Goodie: You

[blackangelism]

Born to Die

hey, so, basically, i was writing this fanfiction called born to die based upon kurt cobain and an original character called nirvana lacey anhedönia and, well, i never finished it and i think i’ve lost the inspiration to. but, i still want it to see the light of day because i think it’s beautiful (sort of). so, here we are.

Gibson Girl.

1480 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ You wanna… ]

Lovelace.

That’s what I’m fucking carving into my arm. With that oh-so-American size of the knife, the cut was deep and my handwriting as unhinged as it could be, probably and possibly worse than the cruel (upon me!) variety of forms it takes; like it was in my journal (I’ve always adored the copulation of the words probably and possibly as it tends so well to my seeming lack of sincerity and existential confusion), but worse, worse. Tingling all over I was in not an aroused, sexual way—but in the way it tingles when the high becomes scary, when the swirly faces start to scratch at you and when your belly feels scarily pregnant (everyone whom I know wants children; I wonder, am I sociopathic or a prophetess? Probably both, they’re primarily synonymous anyway). I knew so damnéd well I was addicted to this shit, the little, translucent, hallucinatory blotters (I prefer ’em trippy on both the outside and in, and pink; but I’m an addict! I’ll take whatever anyways) I get by shaking my ass to the guy whose name I do not wish to have my married brain clouded with. He still cut into my head like the knife that was working with all it’s effort and my inputs carving that v on my plump, ripe forearm. I was addicted as fuck; and I fucking loved it. At the very fucking least, I was pumping out poems like a heroine of the fifties. It’s what it was: the fifties had Sylvia Plath and the eighties had me. Downright iconic. The blood by now—I felt like a lamb, but I knew I was the dragon—was flooding my lap on which that forearm of mine was settled. I apologise if my writing, grammer, thoughts, anything else is fucked up in this or don’t make sense—I’m drugged up into Cloud Nineteen (ten blotters, two packs of Marlboro Reds over this evening).

I know I sound fucking insane and I probably am, and I treat myself to pain Virgin Mary couldn’t have dreamt off—but, I promise I’m not mean. Just a hard, excessive exterior and a tight, eager posterior in this dollhood of mine. Does that even make sense…? I don’t fucking know shit… “Ah, fuck…” I whispered with the most disappointing one I could muster when I fucked up the second l of Lovelace.

Lovelace, Lovelace… Great, I have to recall him.

The fucker who got me into this.

Norwegian trucker in India who was friends with my greaser pa, Norman Anhedönia, called Gibson Lovelace. The chap had forty years worth of oxygen wasted in his shallow breathing (he always breathed shallow, even when he came; I had noticed), a nine-incher monster of a dick, pedophilia, a drunkard wife and an obsession with me. I’d always been what Nabokovian terms would term nymphet, and I do say I’m split on it. I’m a shit daughter and a demon child, or am I? Maybe I’m just depressed and suicidal, or I’m fucking divine and the reincarnation of Eve meant to meet her Adam through a senseless act of violence upon myself (I didn’t know at the time, but I was fucking foreshadowing; go me.). Every girl needs a senseless act of violence properly upon herself but rarely upon the other to discover her one and only cult leader.

Anywho, Gibson led me into his truck away from my father who was too busy cleaning his shades listening to Elvis on the records: January of ’77, I was seven going to turn eight in the November of that year. He fucked me raw, smashed my head so hard into the steering wheel that I bled (I was questioning too much), kissed my cuts and made me promise I wouldn’t pick up a knife again but didn’t do shit about what I actually felt; he told me to stick my tongue out and placed this thin translucent sheet of pink from a little booklet he kept in his glovebox. And I decided that I loved it. I’m at fault, I’m at fault… Fuck Waheguru.

I’m finished. I squeezed my arm as hard as I could, the blood spraying over the marble floor (I had tucked the rug away; I can’t let Mumma see). My incisors with the utmost force to keep my vocal chords at bay dug into my chapped bottom lip and drew blood there too. It trickled down to my chin and came to nirvana at my lap resting amongst the other red molecules; it left a ferric taste on the tip of my tongue, slightly bitter and quite sweet. Bittersweet. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood… Blood, everywhere. Gibson would’ve rubbed it all over my nipples and told me to lick it up like it was his sperm all over my asscheeks or, well, just cheeks. I did have quite big tits for an almost twelve-year-old, I must admit… I’ve always had more estrogen and my estrogen was also more sensitive: susceptible. Susceptible to manipulation, fuckery, religion, what not… Finally, I could fucking feel something except for the stimuli of my g-spot and the irritation in my nostrils that still blossomed when I chainsmoked indoors or that itching feeling in me when I go too much time without my LSD. I have this delusion that I only pump men good or pump out good stuff when I’m pumped on those little squares: He said that LSD would be good for me when I told him that I write; I’ve been pumpin’ poetry for my baby ever since. I hate children, and I sincerely wish that all babies die alongside their parents and the doctors and the nurses and the medical’s parents and me…

My disorders kicked in (Borderline Personality Disorder, majorly untreated) and I fucking panicked. After so much shit, I fucking panicked. Panicked. Jumping up almost to slam my head to the sink I was cutting up like ham under, I had to hold onto the sink to make myself stand actually. I slowly experienced my hand creep up to switch on the faucet (like Gibby did to the faucet in my eyes everytime he crossed my neurocircuitry) and my other arm (I’m right-handed) creep to wash the blood from Lovelace off. Thankfully, I had a few bottles of peroxide, a pack of Reds, a babydoll dress all set up, razor and men’s shaving cream, my skincare, makeup—all of that set up, and the shower prepped as well. Today, I was to die.

The same year as Gibson’s arrival to me, I spiralled and ended up flinging my curvy body down the roof of some pretentious hotel in Seattle. I didn’t die, unfortunately. Then, well, I was transferred to a crazy people place for four years until I got out in March of ’81 (this year!) equally, if not more, fucked up. I had glowed so much surrounded by my little hellspawns, my creatures... My paradise is dying in the arms of nobody. But, I couldn’t care when the blotters kicked in and helped my cerebrum in distorting so fucking shittily my face into some eldritch horror that passed the likes of werewolves mid-transformation and golems. I giggled manically at the twistings of my eyes into the hair and my ears into halo, my mouth stretched through the giggle was transmuted to the petrified image of a dog and a lady and what fucking not. Oh, I need my pen… Pen, pen, pen, pen,... pen!

The lad

I tried to write into the journal page I had kept open on the small settee of my bathroom that I had also made sure to drip some of my essence onto (not like that, pervs; the blood, I’m saying) but my mouth wouldn’t co-operate with my cerebellum or my cerebrum. The giggles just wouldn’t stop and they just got more and more distorted like guitars fitted into amps and amps and shredding. I fell back on the ground, it cushioned by my ass, and held my head in my arms, shaking my head as if to curate outside of my all the fogginess and to shake out of my trip. I wanted to write, write! Not whatever the fuck this was. My eyes were squeezed so hard, I was crying. And, I couldn’t fucking stop laughing like a shitshow.

“Oh, God, stop, stop, stop, just fucking stop…!” Hadn’t even realised I was sobbing but in that moment that epiphany hit me like a freight train (whatever the fuck a freight train is; I just picked up on the writing tool from whatever I read using this). My arm was still bleeding, smearing blood over my cheeks; my lip was still cut from my teeth, bleeding the smaller bits too; I was shaking like a fucking banyan leaf in the rainstorms of Wash.

• • •

Strangers.

5010 words.

July 6, 1981.

Aberdeen.

Washington.

[ Don’t talk to strangers, or you might fall in love ]

Even the isolation, deprave, and mesophilia of our fucked-up, Lacey, crazies hospital was better than this drenched, little town. What was better than any of those two fucking disasters, though, was my stance on the railway tracks. Sittin’ there like teke-teke, waitin’ for my gorgeous guts to be smashed over, destroyed, violated, clawed out by the grinders of the train. I’d never seen starry nights—the ladies at Lacey would never have enough testicles to let me watch a shooting star and hope that it crash into me, the fuckin’ meteorite. My years at Cawnpore already were quite less in number, and it eternally was too polluted for us to see something more than the dhruv star and a few other killers; I’d never seen starry nights. According to this astronomical magazine I picked up while the nurses took us out to the local stores of Lacey for us teenage girls to detoxify our battlefields for minds, today was a meteor shower and I was thoroughly intrigued by blazing space rocks in the skies, so I bluffed and fucked my way out of the hospital. My egg and sperm donors did not believe for a major nanosecond that I was cured. At two years of pained age, I was standing in the middle of the gray-like-me roads, conscious of the act; at four, I burnt my pierced earlobe on purpose, using the steam-fuelled iron to; at six, any blade I pranced upon would find it’s metallic way to scent the room in the aroma of my equally metally blood, I only wished for one to kiss those marks and draw about them, to be what the lyre was to Apollo; at eight, this curvy brain of mine finally snapped into her hemispheres and told me to fling my curvy body down the highest story of our hotel. At eight, my suppliers abandoned their Catholic mistake of a dolly into a mental hospital in my Americana birthplace, Lacey.

There, I morphed myself like the blesséd Phoenix, curse, profanity I am into The Mother. Mother Lace, Mother Nirvana, Messiah of thee, and the literary combo of Three. One of the only times I shall ever cherish are my years with those six girls… My girls: my loves, only ones who would ever succeed in enveloping me with so much heat that the outward exterior, the exoskeleton of middle fingers and catty hisses, melts into a puddle of rot beneath me and the inner delicacy of my wretched fragility and mortality is on display for all those mental fuckers to eat.

Needless to say…, I missed my bundle of little women, my packets of compressed, oppressed joy. So, I lay there longing with my arms stretched onward craving hiraeth in the Heavens—now that I look back, it never was hiraeth. I knew exactly what my home was: the browned mental hospital where I spent four formative years of my Jim Morrison's life in. I longed for the hug of my collected daughters, their soft digits brushing my hair as they softly inquired escape from the hellhole I promised to save them from. My girls... I loved them, like the mother they never received. I had promised, I had promised… I was a betrayer. What mother to those girls…

On instinct I experienced my hands reach to the crown of my head, relief coursing through my blood the moment a thorn stung me. Their entity had crafted for me a crown of thorns to relish me as their Lady and Saviour. I did feel blood seep from the pinch, but I stuck my finger between my lips and thrashed my tongue around, gazing at the dying glows of the starry night.

I pretended to be Jesus.

I am Judas, or am I?

I don’t even know what I’m writing. You’re hallucinating while interpreting strange symbols written left-to-right in lead and antimony compounds upon thin, delicate tablet-like structures made of tree sap, so I guess we two are never too far apart in our crazy.

Well, to them (my girls: Laine Jean Ray, Bonita Ana Dios, Aurora May-Belle Long, Theresa Midge Check, Verbena de Baïa Voisin, Margaret Sarah Check), I still remain Yeshua. Yet, I feel a wolf in lamb’s skin as myself; a panther in the throes of the night sky that I stare emptily, tearily, upon. I fake it so real, I am beyond fake (translation: you people are fucking dumb).

In my convulsing tubule of thoughts birthed by my cerebral quality, I failed in my life to notice movement, possibly a metre from me. I was laid over the railway track like a corpse, eyes empty yet body warm for no reason at all. It truly seems bizarre how the movement noticed me neither—maybe dissolved so much in the grief were they that they were as heady as me, as crazy as I! Trapped inside the fever dream of their own thoughts, vowed to never spit it out, bit tongues and summertimes spent in clawing bedsheets and clamping hands over the own lips so as to refrain from the awareness that might spread. That might say…: I am iron. I am usable, extremely so. Exploit me, as if you have not already. Though, I might have not warneth thou… I rot as vigorously as I am used, keep me out in the world and I will break down and become ash of myself. In the velvet night, a puff of air as a sigh crawled out of me, liquid dripping down the corneas of I, ruining not the night (this was to be, I planned to die today for fuck’s sake) but my precious mascara and eyeliner. Oh, how I worked on that lining to accentuate my inherited, unwanted, auto-appreciated felinity. I’d be the prettiest girl in the morgue.

Someday you will ache like I ache.

Anyhow, the shower from the atmosphere had concluded a few minutes prior. And, well, finally, the train I was waiting for to scramble and crumble my guts into nothing but wasted potential, like I already was, had arrived… Only, it arrived wrong. It ran over the steel beside me, beside us (counting in the movement I am). A severe monsoon bummer filled my chest, the void in my heart had been concealed tightly and packed with Lyssa, Eris, what not. I craved to screech at the tyrant Father for his sin, for his fucking disruptive mercy on me—I did not want mercy! I needed death to fuck me like his personal, unpaid, loyal servant-girl; I needed it violent! So, as soon as all registered in my voluminous cerebrum, I recoiled in my pose, resorting to the protection of a foetal position as I screamed out my sobs and muffled them by staining my shaved thighs with my lipstick and drool smelling of minty chew-gum that I chewed last minute, tears of brown-black from my mascara and liner, hitting my head against my knees and punching the bloody rails that I was once moonbathing over until I experienced my knuckles burn and bruise, actual slivers of blood peek through the skin. I continued then too, but was too passionate in my quiet wailing to keep up the aggression.

And, thence, I swiped my tears with my bleeding knuckles, unrealising in my little girl’s misery of the fact, and smeared blood over my eyes and mascara over my blood. By some distance, I could hear some twigs crunching, maybe it was the movement I hadn’t noticed beforehand. When I did notice in that current moment, fear struck my gut like Cupid’s arrow when I had seen Priscilla Presley for the first time in forever. Naturally, a response occurred within the fatty mass of electric muscle in my head and I recoiled within myself, burying my face in my knees that I had pulled to my tits, only my eyes blinking up like a defensing cat—if I had been a cat, my pupils would have shrunken to that reptilian, creepy glare. I saw that the thing was lighting a cigarette, my cravings relit alongside (the appearance of the thing was half-revealed in the dim spark).

Stupidly as I ever could be, I murmured from my coil, “Do you have a light?” However softly I did speak, the boy did hear because it was the death of the night in wherever we were, the railroad was as quiet as could be with the crickets around chirping and inaudible bats may or may not be sauntering about. Dim moonlight that I somedays worshipped (as a witch, I did) proved herself, and I saw him. The first predicament was that he’s cute: blond, ice eyes, hopeless swagger, shaky legs. He paused himself in his trek, and slowly but mildly clumsily, turned to see my form. Perhaps cold moonlight proved her importance to hallucinatory pages of dead sap’s inkéd words of feel-good love. Wow, fuck, I went overboard on there. So, he scrutinised me for a moment, squinting to gaze at me carefully.

I’ll never forget what came out of my future husband’s mouth the first time he spoke a single thing to me…: You look very pretty when you’re crying; tears suit you. I don’t think that I can emphasise the moan that was nearly to escape me at that very moment, it was a shockwave of whatever down my spine to my ladyness. My knees dropped to become flat, just legs, and I did acknowledge the gashes in my doll heart bleeding so vigorously, it matched my swallowed drool.

“You don’t mean that, you’re drunk.”

His honeyed voice, sort of scratchy as I observed he was pubescent and hormonal in his blue jeans, white striped shirt—walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn!—and black-y jacket he kept open, pushed me to experience the yayo-type, giggly joy of his chuckle, he shook his head in amuséd denial of his drunkenness. He was poetic, he had a slur, he had his thin lips wrapped around a cigarette—shit, I needed them wrapped around mine… And, I loved it. Why the fuck was I enamoured? “You’re a hypocrite,” He paused for a moment, maintaining that smile. Two distinct holes, punctures in muscle, were noticed by thee truly, myself, at that very moment; I felt my ribcaged heart palpitate. “You’re bawling your eyes out here like Virgin Mary.”

“Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful.” The moan that was slowly and gradually, steadily and irresistibly, mountaineering up my throat finally escaped in the form of this: *Oh, fuck me, that’s beautiful*. Which, I did mean—how could I not mean *this*? I’m not Lisa Rowe, you buzz (although I wish to be—have you not read the sheer charisma produced from the description Kaysen emits of her? She was definitely the prettiest girl in the morgue!).

Hands of his extended to mine, both, and I took them, shakingly wobbling from my psych-out. I felt drunk. As terror-inducin’ it seems, drugs had exhilarated me, no cock of a man who had money this nymphet had onlooked had been left out, I was such a La Lolita for my crazy desires—but I had never had a swig before. Smelling the booze off my falling, twisted guy as he pulled me up from my literal and mental death—I only knew that my heart was hitting at my sinews, she felt a depraved wanderlust. Some wanderlust it was to, like a man in a Prime Minister pose, mark that free, angel Earth mine with maybe a flag (a tattoo) or a hole (a lovebite), something, somewhat. I held onto his shoulders for both metaphorical and literal support, he held onto the curve of the lower back I possessed, though the fabric of his jackie didn’t benefit friction and he kept slipping his arm off accidentally because, one, he adorned too much weight on; two, the fabircs intermingled like our forms, the cheap satin and whatever the fuck his jacket was made of. “Why am I a hypocrite, though?” I finally asked this little blond dude what had been pestering me (I am not to blame for this worthy-of-disdain obsessiveness, I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I am Cool Girl: I am nothing in my soul if not obsessive) for how millennium long. His ocean eyes matched mine for a moment, and he seemed to think through for a momento before he permitted the giggle of a hyena break out of him: Because you’re pretty when you cry, and I’m not.

“Yes, you are.” No hesitation was laced through me, none of that unaware uncertainty that I usually experienced leaking through my tune when I comforted one of my girls—my girls...—and instead was there an ignorant stubbornness. I was always stubborn, but what the fuck? I, having registered in my still plush cerebrum that my crown of thorns (gifted to me by Laine specifically, although all the girls worked on it) had fallen like my Lucifer when I had risen, thence I bent to grab my status, injuring my already injured hand thus further as the thorns pierced and pricked into my skin. And, I didn’t even cry…

He recoiled almost physically at my olden compliment (remember the first dialogue of the previous paragraphed rambling?) and I was due a breakdown of my psyche in that very singular fraction of a minute when my man suddenly perked up, “I only have this cig,”, changing the subject. Yahweh, my knuckles burnt. I ohed a tiny bit, and chuckled, extending one of my quivering, weak limbs and bending to wrap my lipstickéd lips on the ass of that cigarette, same one he took a drag from not fifteen seconds ago. His Atlantic eyes widened for a twiddling momentous, and, possibly and probably in drunken stupor and marijuana heights of his death wish, he giggled—I physically felt my pupils dilate, what the fuck? Maybe it was the nicotine, maybe it was the aftershocks of my tiny-teeny mental breakdown on the rail, maybe it was hisself… Damn, I think I understood Grant so well in that miniscule moment: Heaven is a place on Earth with you.

The world was built for two.

Delusional, I was convinced that it was us two the moment he grabbed the cigarette from me for his chance, and he examined the matte, messy mark of my lip stamped on it.

With the dumbest smile he could muster in my damnéd opinion, this little, blond, territorial, underdeveloped man adjusted his lips on the exact place I had left my shine, suckling it like it was some part of me. He knew what he was doing, I could pluck it from the glitter in his pretty orbs that told me shit he’d never be able to spit out in our tragic, magic relationship of some thirteen years. We kissed in death like we kissed in that moment, he blew smoke into my mouth and I giggled, almost extracting the alcohol of his from the roof of his mouth as my tongue felt her way around. We parted for perhaps, well, a second (I don’t remember the details, I’m writing this after our wedding sex, 1988. We’re in our flight back to Olympia from Honolulu, and he’s sleeping on my tits), and rejoint as I adjusted the angle to kiss-fuck this virginal Cherub better. “Darling, is this your first?”, he nodded, responsive—to be frank, that was adorable...! I’m pretty sure I squeaked out of sheer kiddy excitement, squeezing the sides of his face (cheeks). My grip migrated to around his neck, form bent for he was teenier than I. I didn’t even know his name and we were kissing in the blue dark…

Parting, I only gazed into his oceanic gaze and breathlessly giggled, “Oh, wow, fuck,... That was…, yeah.” A grand total of seven partners (three females, four males) I had engaged in before this merman, and I had never felt myself stolen of breathe ever in my existence after a mere kiss. Possibly was it the intoxication, the nicotine fucking over my senses so that my taste buds tickled with the enriching experience of his glazed cavern, but was it not thrilling, oh Mary! I had enchanted outward the sweetest giggle, and he in his still stupor snuggled his head inside the curve of my shoulder and chest; he was only that much tall. I was not lanky in any aspect, neither I am still—on the flipside, truth is that my mother repeatedly insisted upon me to not drown in my head and force her to onlook, rather to go outside, soak some tan (I am racially brown, thence I don’t require a tan) and run some. I decline profusely, tangling in blankets again and writing what, if discovered, would have positively filed me into the South Sound Behavioral Hospital yet again for a term not of four years now but of God-knows-how-long.

Eventually, I figured: some other day, this nymph may or may not have only prolonged my life now, and I told myself it. By the railway roads were grasses uncared for (like most daughters were; the human was their mother and the stain’d, tall grasses were the lost), we decided unconsciously to sit by those and talk the dimlight of the night off the clouds, to dawn we conversed. As unbelievable as it may sound considering the turbulence not even Athena might have dreamt of that had plagued the twisty courses of my lifetime, I had not sipped upon the liver eater yet: alcohol! With my newfound darling, that was precisely what I did.

We were dwelling inside uncanny synchronisation with our acts: we looked around at the same time, fixated on the same piece of cement, reached to gasp one another’s hands the same moment. I didn’t flinch, neither did the blond darling. Which..., was quite, well, it was especially choking as I... Usually froze at contact of the physique from someone whom I loved. Around this time, with my drink-induced lover, it felt good.

We curled up by grass, against a gray boulder-like structure, perhaps a part of a rotten or demolished building of some sort, debris. There, I suckled upon the lengthy cancerstick and inquired like an owl: “Why were you here, anyway?” In a casual tone I did, as if it was something so normal that I was nonchalant. “Oh, y’know, to kill myself.” The answer delivered by this sweetness would dwelling in me a day or so afterward (take that very literally) was just as nonchalant, confirming the suspicion conjured by my despaired subconscious that he was just as heady as me, as crazy as me, someone who would rot along me like iron all the while fearing the rot, hiding from something murmuring within thyself and teetering about; aura as a nymphic call and melancholia as the default ring of the mood. GOD is a teenaged girl of grunge and glitter, and I am a doll (soulless, empty, pretty with no matter on the inside yet pretty from the back—it matched!).

“No, no, like, why?” I repeated with an accentuated tone and my regular gestures of hand and eye, “The reason you wanted to kill yourself. I don’t judge, promise.” I shrugged, chuckling a bit as I passed the miniature cancer to him for a drag. “Clearly.” He chuckled too, widening his eyes momentarily to allude to my appearance; as I remember it, that elicited out from me a little giggle. I mean, it was the factual; darling, not lying. A girl; a girl dressed in a pearly babydoll dress with lacy tights (opaque white-like, frilled, a bow on top of each, knee-high) and no footwear with mascara smeared down her face from a clear breakdown of her battlefield for mind, manic brown eyes with a grape-coloured lipstick on pouty heart-shaped lips, blood and dirt also staining her optic area due to her bleeding knuckles from which she punched the steel of the rails because the train did not run over her? Paired alongside the fresh wounds on display littered across that fatty arm of hers? Oh, she was a crazy chick—and I could tell that this little guy loved it. He loved my mania, he loved my blood, he loved my crazy, he loved everything that I loved about myself. Maybe it was his alcohol that urged him this way, but I loved him for he loved what he saw.

But is she pretty on the inside?

“Well,” I spaced back in with the thrill of his voice curling the air around us; I wish we were plunged into steel. Sound travels best in something like steel… What would his voice be in steel? The thought messaged down my spine a shiver. “’s mostly everything about my life. Wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but all I do these days is mope and get high, or drink. I’ve been this since last month. Last year, I saw this… This dead boy who hung himself in the woods. That really affected me, I think; I’ve got suicide genes.” He paused a bit, sighing as he was passed the smokestick again. I puckered up a bit and drew closer to his pretty face, rounding my lips out and pushing out a ring of cigarette smoke. On impulse, he stuck nose through the centre of the dissipating smoke ring which drew from me another giggle—he was just like me! I did that too! I’d never thought someone else would…? What the fuck is going on?

Taking a drag, he then resuméd: “My parents are divorced… I’m really embarrassed of that.” He added a bit hesitantly, I could gauge that he still felt the shame of it all; which perplexed me. A divorce is shameful? How so? It’s a fucking life decision… But, that’s okay because this little one was clearly less mature and emotionally developed than I, although that amount still was remarkable considering his physique and my presumé of his age (which I thought to be elder to me, but still not too much so). “Why?”

“I want my real family back. My dad promised me he wouldn’t remarry, and he fucking did; to a bitch nonetheless. I hate her and her children are so… Phoney…!” Humming at his hurt words, I was analysing him: eyes gliding over the pasty, smooth contours of his vanilla face; staring into the trench of his pupils surrounded by his ocean eyes as he passed back the almost dead cigarette to me. The guard he wore over his exterior again was forming as he read that I was reading him without contempt (he thought I was feeling that, but I was simply analysing him emotionlessly—as if he was a labrat and I was dissecting him to figure out the following: what the fuck is this little shit?). But, I got him before he leaned away or apologised: Don’t worry, go on. Say it. I hate my cousins too. He relaxed yet again, I could see his shoulders come down and he leaned into me again,. Our heads were almost leaning against each other’s, breathes intermixing with each intake and out. “Go on.” I repeated, tapping his knee to accentuate my point.

He snapped out of whatever daze (he was reading me too, perhaps; mentally dissecting my Barbie body too, perhaps) and his hand came to clasp mine. I bit back a giggle and a smile at the contact, he did notice the corner of my lips tilt upward so he took that as a positive for further lacing of his fingers with mine. I, now a bit assured in myself, squeezed his hand and nudged him again: go on.

“Right,” He chuckled, “So, well, I just feel… Alien. You know, when I was little, I used to look at the stars,” He pointed briefly to the stars that were shining above the both of us, “And imagine my real family because I just felt like I wasn’t from here, like I was from another planet. I think I like that feeling, I was homesick for a place that didn’t even exist. And, to be honest, you’re the only other alien I’ve met.” That made me giggle after I muttered hiraeth at the sentence spoken second to the last. I found in my nicotined mindscape that this… Theory, was almost verbatim of a theory I myself had gardened in my meadow for mind. “Y’know…! I felt like that too, still do actually. I just used different terms for it. I called whatever the fuck our species are Earth Angels, angels on Earth. I read somewhere once that a person with scars of cuts on their arms was called an angel by a kid, and I think I really internalised… That.”

He chuckled, “Your mind is divine, Pretty. Yeah, I think my family is also a reason in why… I want to kill myself, y’know?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love them so much so I do what they want and they hate me for every speck of originality; I don’t know if it’s my mental disorders or it’s my hormones, but every small inconvenience makes me wanna kill myself. I’m also a hater! I hate everything and I do nothing to change it which, admittedly, makes me an arsehole—but, fuck it.” We both had laughter crawling up our throats and I could tell it wasn’t actual laughter. Oh, no. It was mania, laughing not because it threatened to spill; laughing because you had nothing else to do. Like crazy people (I do think that I am insane, in some way, shape or form. But, I also think that I’m supersane. Who fucking knows? I think a lot, don’t I?).

The cigarette had gone out by now, I think I had stubbed it out by pressing to the moist ground after he had truly started opening the shells of himself, not wishing to be distracted by drugs when I had the most addictive and healthy sedative offering his lifestory to a little shit like me. “Well, what’s it for you? I haven’t ever seen… You around…” He slurred out as we jumped down from our maniacal, little, episodic bursts of sacrilege or insanity… Well, are they not synonyms?

“Ah, so, I just moved here about a… Maybe a few days ago? I think a week or so. I moved from Lacey, though I’m actually Indian. Well… It’s a fucked-up fairytale, really. My whole ancestry and family is the following: sexist, racist, extremist to Sikhism, religious, doomed, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, very, very Indian. It’s only my grandmother who acknowledges the sexism floating between our family; she dreamt high and was ambition incarnate but her marriage to this horrible fucking man led her to be so oppressed she couldn't speak a word of English without being thoroughly taunted for it.” His face clearly contorted into a gnarly grimace, and I felt my nose start to itch and burn again remembering all this up… Never had I ever trauma-puked this well or been so comfortable vomiting it out to someone I did not know.

“’s just… Fuckin’ Hell. I can’t translate it into words, I can only feel.” Shaking my head in a paternal sort of disappointment (no matter how much I despise the fact, I am my father’s daughter; his copy of carbon) at my inability, I felt myself pulled in again… How? How was he doing this shit? Being so fucking kind? It made me anxious, admittedly. Why was he so kind? What did the fucker want?

I’m being too cynical. I wanted to cry; instead I accepted his tentative comfort and shoved my face into the nook of his neck, breathing down it like a vampire in the night. I had the purely feminine, feline urge to wrap myself around him like Sarin and never let go to slowly dissolve into him even if maggots eat us out. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why…? For a few minutes I think, we stayed in that exact position, in a sort of silence that neutered my turmoil. His arms were gel onto my wounds, and I, terrified, readily crept in like the Dutch beetle on the elm.

“Don’t.” I eventually muttered out into the tender, pale, untouched flesh of temptation on his neck; I don’t know why I did it, don’t decipher or discover the root at all. What is a girl to do when offered love on a silver spoon when she only possesses a forked tongue of venom caused from licking slivers of love off a parental knife? I was a black, not racially but spiritually. I was corrupt, disgust, free-use trash for swollen cocks with zero semblance of any soul and only a pretty body. It’s my pretty power which is my ugly. I am disgusting… I sometimes feel the scorching need to cleanse myself, to face redemption, to hurry to salvation; and other days I revel in the hellfire of lust that would surround me once I am liberated of this uséd body.

[raplinesmoon]

hi everyone, i just wanted to come on here and make this post. like a lot of you, i’ve been deeply affected by what’s been going on in Gaza the past few weeks. It has quite literally altered my brain and the way i’ve been able to live my life day-to-day. even though i’m not Palestinian, i’ve grown up learning about the fight for Palestinian liberation. my real name (bless my parents), literally references the land of Palestine.

i know there’s a lot of grief in our hearts, watching genocide happen live on our screens in front of our very eyes. It’s heavy and it’s traumatic and the human body isn’t built to withstand this much grief and trauma without it fundamentally altering us. I’ve been struggling a lot with my grief recently, and how to make sense of it, and in doing so, i’ve tried to challenge myself that whenever i need a “break” from the news, or i just need to do something that makes me fundamentally human (like watching a movie, listening to music, making food), i’m going to try and engage with content from Palestinian creatives as a way to stay dialed in and to never stop speaking up. i thought i’d share some of what i’ve been engaging with in order to keep learning about Palestine and its people, and to make sure their voices are always heard.

disclaimer: this list is not meant to be comprehensive or exhaustive, as I still have a lot to look through, but feel free to reblog with your own additions!

Read:

A Woman Is No Man by Etaf Rum - In Brooklyn, eighteen-year-old Deya is starting to meet with suitors. Though she doesn’t want to get married, her grandparents give her no choice. History is repeating itself: Deya’s mother, Isra, also had no choice when she left Palestine as a teenager to marry Adam. Though Deya was raised to believe her parents died in a car accident, a secret note from a mysterious, yet familiar-looking woman makes Deya question everything she was told about her past. As the narrative alternates between the lives of Deya and Isra, she begins to understand the dark, complex secrets behind her community.

The author just released a new novel, Evil Eye, which is also on my to-read list.

Against The Loveless World by Susan Abulhawa - As Nahr sits, locked away in solitary confinement, she spends her days reflecting on the dramatic events that landed her in prison in a country she barely knows. Born in Kuwait in the 70s to Palestinian refugees, she dreamed of falling in love with the perfect man, raising children, and possibly opening her own beauty salon. Instead, the man she thinks she loves jilts her after a brief marriage, her family teeters on the brink of poverty, she’s forced to prostitute herself, and the US invasion of Iraq makes her a refugee, as her parents had been. After trekking through another temporary home in Jordan, she lands in Palestine, where she finally makes a home, falls in love, and her destiny unfolds under Israeli occupation.

Susan Abulhawa is also the author of Mornings in Jenin, a fantastic novel that describes the Nakba (Catastrophe) of 1948, in which 750,000 Palestinians were expelled from their homes by the Occupation Forces, and The Blue Between Sky and Water, a story about four generations of a Palestinian family in a refugee camp in Gaza.

Salt Houses by Hala Aylan - On the eve of her daughter Alia’s wedding, Salma reads the girl’s future in a cup of coffee dregs. She sees an unsettled life for Alia and her children; she also sees travel, and luck. While she chooses to keep her predictions to herself that day, they will all soon come to pass when the family is uprooted in the wake of the Six-Day War of 1967.  Salma is forced to leave her home in Nablus; Alia’s brother gets pulled into a politically militarized world he can’t escape; and Alia and her gentle-spirited husband move to Kuwait City, where they reluctantly build a life with their three children. When Saddam Hussein invades Kuwait in 1990, Alia and her family once again lose their home, their land, and their story as they know it, scattering to Beirut, Paris, Boston, and beyond. Soon Alia’s children begin families of their own, once again navigating the burdens (and blessings) of assimilation in foreign cities.

The Beauty of Your Face by Sahar Mustahfah - Afaf Rahman, the daughter of Palestinian immigrants, is the principal of a Muslim school in the Chicago suburbs. One morning, a shooter—radicalized by the online alt-right—attacks the school. As Afaf listens to his terrifying progress, we are swept back through her memories, and into a profound and “moving” (Bustle) exploration of one woman’s life in a nation at odds with its ideals.

Light In Gaza (anthology) - Light in Gaza is a seminal, moving and wide-ranging anthology of Palestinian writers and artists. It constitutes a collective effort to organize and center Palestinian voices in the ongoing struggle. As political discourse shifts toward futurism as a means of reimagining a better way of living, beyond the violence and limitations of colonialism, Light in Gaza is an urgent and powerful intervention into an important political moment.

E-Book is available for free on Haymarket Books’ website!

The Butterfly’s Burden by Mahmoud Darwish - The Butterfly's Burden combines the complete text of Darwish's two most recent full-length volumes, linked by the stunning memoir-witness poem “A State of Siege.” Love poems, sonnets, journal-like distillations, and interlaced lyrics balance old literary traditions with new forms, highlighting loving reflections alongside bitter longing.

Orientalism by Edward Saïd - In this wide-ranging, intellectually vigorous study, Said traces the origins of "orientalism" to the centuries-long period during which Europe dominated the Middle and Near East and, from its position of power, defined "the orient" simply as "other than" the occident. This entrenched view continues to dominate western ideas and, because it does not allow the East to represent itself, prevents true understanding.

THIS IS LITERALLY ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS I’VE EVER READ

Watch:

Farha (2021) - After persuading her father to continue her education in the city, a Palestinian girl's dream is shattered by the harrowing developments of the Nakba.

Born In Gaza (2014) - The documentary follows the story of about ten children who tell what their daily life is like after the horror of the war on Gaza in the summer of 2014.

Omar (2013) - Arrested after the death of an Israeli soldier, a Palestinian baker agrees to work as an informant, but his true motives and alliances remain hidden.

Mo (2022) - Mo Najjar straddles the line between two cultures, three languages and a ton of foolishness as a Palestinian refugee constantly living one step away from asylum on the path to U.S. citizenship.

Listen: 

Saint Levant - born Marwan Abdelhamid, is a Palestinian/French/Algerian/Serbian artist based in California. He was born in Jerusalem during the second Intifada due to complications in the city where he would eventually spend his childhood years – the Gaza Strip.

Check out: From Gaza, With Love

Nehmasis - Nemahsis is the stage name of Nemah Hasan, a Palestinian Canadian pop singer from Toronto, Ontario

Check out: i wanna be your right hand

Zeyne - Zeyne is a Jordanian/Palestinian singer, songwriter and musician. A voice passed down from her grandmother down to her mother and then to her, 'songbird' zeyne seeks to create music that shares her truths and perspectives in the hopes of connecting with others worldwide.

Check out: Balak

Belly -Ahmad Balshe, known professionally as Belly, is a Palestinian-Canadian rapper, singer, songwriter, and record producer. Born in Jenin, Balshe was raised in Ottawa.

Check out: Xion

Eat:

Mxriyum - Mariam is a Palestinian home cook behind the ever popular account TikTok and Instagram, Mxriyum. 

Heifa (fufuinthekitchen) - I’m a first-generation Palestinian American raised in NJ but now calls Chicago home. I am the founder, recipe developer, and food photographer behind Fufu’s Kitchen. And if you are wondering, Fufu is my nickname-it just stuck!

Hanan Saeed (palestinianfoodie)

Joudie Kalla - Joudie Kalla is a Palestinian-British chef and food writer. She is the author of two prizewinning cookbooks, Palestine on a Plate: Memories from My Mother’s Kitchen, and Baladi: A Celebration of Food from Land and Sea, and has featured in venues like The New York Times, The Guardian, and Al Jazeera

Shop:

Nominal - co-founded by Lena Sarsour, a Palestinian, Nominal creates Arabic-inspired jewelry. They are currently donating 100% of proceeds to Pious Projects, an on-the-ground aid organization working in Gaza, until October 31, 2023. 

PaliRoots - Founded in 2016, the PaliRoots mission is to bring awareness to the world about the Palestinian culture by crafting specialty products inspired by its people and identity. They work with Middle East Children’s Alliance (MECA), to donate a meal to children in Gaza for every order.

West Bank Apparel - West Bank Apparel was established in 2014, guided by a singular mission: to offer our customers products that resonate with a sense of purpose and contribution to a greater cause. They work with Islamic Relief USA to donate a portion of each sale to various charities providing meals and aid in Palestine.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Great! You watched it so that means I don’t have to hold back! Mwahahaha you activated my hidden trapcard 😈

Jk jk but anyway LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR RIGHT??

Like, first they HAD to reinvent the whole Bible Genesis story to make him as freaking sympathetic as possible. I mean, a little dreamer whose ideas were dismissed? Who falls in love with a woman because he admired her “fierce independence”, then freaking gifts humanity in general and Eve in particular with FREE WILL? (I have so many headcanons about them btw; Adam being the way he is I think he and Lilith wanted Eve to have the chance to make decisions regarding her own body, relationship, and future that a life under Adam’s thumb as heaven had inteded would’ve denied her. I think they were very good friends once upon a time., and it kills me that we never see Eve again. Did she blame them for being kicked out of Eden? Or was she grateful to them? I’d love to know, I hope we see her next time). That’s all so freaking good already as a backstory, but then they add this:

At this moment my mind just, imploded with the implications. He gifted humanity with free will presumably because, as a joyous dreamer, he had firmly believed that they would create wonderful things and bring about a better world if they were allowed to think for themselves, but gradually over hundreds and thousands of years seeing only the absolute worst that humanity had to offer he seems to think that it was a mistake, and that’s so sad 🥺 He never got to see the good that came from his actions and became depressed as a consequence, probably blaming himself a bit for every ill-action and sin committed.

I was already primed to love him after that backstory right? But then they imply that he’s a neglectful, distant father to Charlie and she is such a good, pure girl that I started thinking maybe I was wrong to start liking him, maybe there was something off about him that the intro had left out since it was Charlie telling her parent’s story. But then we meet him and he’s just:

A cute, awkward little man? One who clearly loves his family to death if the ring still on his finger (after SEVEN FREAKING YEARS OF ABSCENCE, dear god) and the multiple, gigantic family portraits strewn about his room say anything?

Also, he seems like 2 steps away from an anxiety attack at any given time, especially when asked to speak over the phone. He just like me fr fr

And that, along with the fact that he says “this is the first time she’s called you in YEARS”, and that he seems so freaking happy and excited at even the insinuation that she wants to spend time with him,

Leads me to believe that his absence from Charlie’s life was caused by a mutual misunderstanding born of a similar thought process (namely “what if I’m bothering them? What if they think I’m annoying by calling when I don’t need anything? I should wait until I have a good reason to call, or until they call me”) or willfully by someone (Lilith does seem to take Charlie away from her father awfully quick during that one flashback, right? It’s not just me?). I mean, ^that’s not the face of a father who wants to stay away from his daughter because she reminds him of her mom, or even the face of a father who stayed away on purpose for some time and is now willing to reconnect. That looks more to me like the face of someone who has been eagerly awaiting even a single hint that he’s wanted before daring to appear before his daughter, and has now finally been given that chance after a long time and is ECSTATIC. And even then, it seems that even through his self-deprecation and depression he does do his best to reach out, at least more frequently than Charlie does (he called her 5 months ago, she hadn’t called in years, etc etc).

And then he gets to the hotel and he’s so small and cute and awkward and good with animals and I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I already did but I COULD. HOW DID THEY MAKE A CHARACTER SO APPEALING TO ME SPECIFICALLY THIS IS UNFAIR

Which leads me to my other big headcanon: I firmly believe Lucifer tried to get to know sinners in the beginning, and that he tried some kind of “redeem sinners” effort at some point, just like Charlie’s doing - Perhaps for hundreds of years. But he failed, time and time again, until his dreams were absolutely crushed and he ended up giving up on them for good. I mean, those lines:

“You invite people in and offer them everything and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep. It doesn’t matter how well-intentioned you are. They’re always gonna disappoint you!”

“Sinners are violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. There’s really no point in trying”

^They all sound not like something he’s saying to rub it in Charlie’s face that he was right (which would be cruel and out of character for someone who seems to love his daughter so much), but more like a cautionary tale coming from a deeply ingrained experience, or like things he’s repeatedly told himself before.

And then during More Than Anything he says this:

“You didn’t know that when I tried this all before *gestures around him with his arms as if gesturing towards the hotel as a whole* my dreams were too hard to defend”

That just cemented that belief for me.

On another note, MORE THAN ANYTHING IS SO FREAKING GOOD?? I CRY EVERY TIME GODDAMMIT AFTER THAT SONG I WENT FROM “AW I LOVE THIS LITTLE MAN” TO “I’D DIE FOR HIM, IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HIM I’LL KILL EVERYONE IN THE ROOM AND THEN MYSELF”. HE’S JUST So- asfgctrdhfdg

AND I HAVEN!T EVEN TALKED ABOUT HOW BADASS HE IS FIGHTING ADAM OR HOW CUTE AND SWEET HE WAS COMFORTING CHARLIE DURING THE FINALE LOOK AT HIMMM

Or about Radioapple (aka DuckieDeer lol), the ship that has had me in a fucking chokehold since I watched episode 5. There are so many things I love about it that I’d need like 3 whole pages to explain but for now have all this absolutely fantastic fanart instead ❤️

Once again thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. Btw any thoughts on Radioapple?

Oh oh Lucifer is such an interesting character and he absolutely makes me eager to see and learn more about the verse and the finer points of what is/has happened in it.

Personally, RadioDust grabbed me by the heart more than anything, since Alastor is my favorite with Angel Dust as a close second, but I do hands down see the appeal of Radioapple.

[pruneunfair]

Oc's for my Au.

Malori Hemsley, Age:20

one of the many maids working at the palace of the Fahlgren empire (I renamed the eastern empire). Former slave of Nian and her husband, her job doubles as security since she knows how to use a sword but isn't allowed to join the military due to her past. Photo on the left is when she's at work and photo on the right is when she crossdresses to crash balls/banquets

Evalie Claude, Age:16

Duke Ergis wife and Maloris lost younger sister. The duchess who pushed a trend of regency styled dresses for women

Disclaimer: just gotta clear a few things up first. For anyone concerned for the age difference between Evalie and Ergi, he does not do anything to her, Ergi is a monster but he has standards and I will explain below why they got married to begin with. Also she has nothing to do with the Evalie from the original story, I just really like the name and I thought it would still fit since several historical figures shared a name at the same time period, still to avoid confusion I will call her Eva.

LORE DUMP: Malori and Eva's father, Sandro was a fallen Baron who was stripped of his title after going bankrupt from the consequences of schemes, scams and general white collar crime,though many think he just got sloppy it was actually because his partner at the time (Ergi) had screwed him over in trial by delivering the evidence. He and his wife changed their surnames in order not to be recognized and had 3 daughters, M+E being the older sisters to the baby Claire. The Hemsleys had little money to spare considering most of it went to the girls so Malori already had work experience as the oldest by wandering the streets to look for jobs such as chimney sweep or apprenticeships. As the years went on, Sandro grew to see all his daughters as burdens since it was harder for Malori and Eva to work as girls and Claire was too young and sickly and while he would rather not get rid of the daughter that did the most work, Malori would be more desired since she already has a track record of being able to perform most simple jobs. On Christmas eve, Sandro gave Malori extra food and let her stay home instead of working as a sort of compensation for what he was about to do. He doesn't tell Malori about what he's and her mother are going to do and shortly after, he sells Malori to a slave trader when she's 13 for enough money to last 3 years if spent wisely.

She winds up in the Tuania estate and becomes a slave. As a result, Malori starts to despise the noble class the older she gets but she also knows survival comes first and even after she escapes by burning the place down she still appealed to the higher class in order to manipulate some of them for her own gain such as becoming a rich man's mistress so she can take advantage of his eagarness by convincing him to let her get swordsmanship lessons. Once she abandons him Malori goes on a 2 month long journey of going out under a different name drinking at taverns, engaging in duels and even writting a few poems. After those months of utter depravity, she is inevitably caught and sent to be judged by Sovieshu himself after she attacks a nobleman, but instead of imprisoning Malori, Sovieshu was impressed that someone like her could defeat some of the imperial knights and even another noble, he decides to give her an ultimatum: live here as extra security while also doing maid work or be sent to prison for 30 years. Naturally she chooses the former.

As for Eva, she and her remaining family lived off the money Sandro got for selling her older sister for the time being, she and Clarie was told that Malori had died during the blizzard in a carriage accident and as the new oldest, Eva had to pick up the slack and go out for work. This time however Sandro had a new scheme to rise back in the ranks by looking to marry Eva off to a wealthy/powerful man starting as soon as possible. By now Clarie was dying of tuberculosis and the desperation for Eva to get married was not just for status reasons but also so Sandro wouldn't have to raise anymore children. What was not expected however was Duke Ergi to show himself after all this time much to Sandros fury. He offers to marry Eva with the promise letting the parents live in their own little home with fertile land to live off of. There wasn't much choice left and they might as well let Claire have a little happiness before she dies so Eva gets married off when she's 14.

On their wedding night, Ergi makes it clear to Eva that he is not a good man and does not plan to be loyal to her and that she shouldn't see him as some sort of savior who rescued her from poverty. While he doesn't sexually abuse Eva that doesn't mean he's nice to her either. The real reason he married at all was because it was the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the situation and have a perfect tool to sacrifice in the future. I wouldn't say he's full on toxic to her either.. it's a weird relationship where they mostly ignore each other but on occasion can have a decent conversation. She's not totally alone either since she has other friends thanks to her popularity in the fashion area.

Eva also suffers from endometriosis, due to the time period set, no one really knows what's happening to her and some even accuse her of faking it for attention, to ease this pain, Eva is given potions made up of opium and the nerves of certain monsters as a painkiller everyday during her times of the month, the side affects cause her to become disoriented and exhausted which keep her docile and obedient. Effectively killing 2 birds with one stone not just for Ergi but also the house of Lazlo in the future.

[realcatalina]

Stained glass windows with Habsburg females

Photo by Michel Lefrancq, wikipedia bears fallowing description:

A part of the stained glass windows of the Assumption in collegiate church Sainte Waudru (Mons, Belgium) by Eve Claix, Ca 1510 depicting Holy Queens Elizabeth of Hungary, Catherine of Alexandria and Queen Juanna of Castille.

I mostly agree but I will clerify few points. The window depicts Queen Joanna of Castile with all four daughters depicted behind her:

surounded by several saints. The woman before them is probably Virgin Mary.

Above Joanna is is probably her namesake saint John the Baptist(holding lamb), above girls is St. Queen Elizabeth of Hungary(holding two crowns), then St. Catherine of Alexandria holding bridal veil and bit of her wheel is behind head of one of the girls:

Thus only one missing her namesake saint is Eleanor. But i tried to find if saint Eleanor existed and the google proved unconclusive.

According to one webpage it is another name for St. Helena, the rest seem to think the name has french origin, with nothing to do with St. Helana or any other saint.

However, the name might not derive from female saint at all but from male saint(like Joanna's is). In Eleanor's case probably St. Leonard of Noblac. He is usually depicted as an abbot holding some type of chains, often also with a book. Thus he is not here.

This is how it would look if we made the gaps smaller:

After i tried fixing the damage, removed the gaps and backrground:

(the damage was right across Joanna's face, i tried guys.) I believe the fashion points to late 1500s, or extremely early into 1510s, long before girls were of the age they are depicted at.

(This is kind of typical of this type of depictions-daughters behind their mother). Thus after Joanna left, probably after she got locked up, and the youngest-Catherine seems as an afterthought.

She was born in 1507. I would date this aproximately 1507-1510. Which is not far from c.1510 estimate.

Closest match is this portrait of Margaret, but in stained glass you see later shapes of netherlandish subtype of french hood.

(Problem is that experts disagree upon when it was created. It used to be dated as c.1505, c.1506, but for example now museum of fine arts Gent-which owns it- has it as 15/16 century. I think the reason for 15th century notion is that it got atributed to artist called Master of 1499. But obviously the artist was active for more than one year!)

But Joanna and girls are not the only Habsburg royals depicted.

I will get to Habsburg men in Saint Waltrude when i find good closeup of them. I keep finding bad ones. But there are more royal ladies.

Photo from same place(Saint-Waltrude) can be found on pinterest:

It is thought to depict Mary of Burgundy and Margaret of Austia.

Reason for it is that the mother(on right) is beneath St. Mary Magdalene(holding a jar), while the daughter(on left) is beneath St. Margaret(atribute is ment to be the dragon by her feet-it is more of a weird lizard thing).

This is best i could come up with(it is photoshopped):

(because the gowns were not fitting together when you removed the gaps).

Obviously Mary of Burgundy is depicted posthumously in outfit not from her lifetime-but possibly using portrait for the face. Imo, this window was created tiny bit after the previous, but it might be just a year or two. It leans a tiny bit more towards 1510s. I think the artist finished one window then moved to the next one, which Habsburgs commissioned.

I hope you have enjoyed this. Tell me what you think.

[dandelion-blues]

#1 What if...

Percy Jackson and Adrien Agreste were related?

Eyes the color of water, from the deepest depths of the ocean, to the crystalline lakes, to the frothy seafoam; eyes the color of life, from the rich greens of leaves, to the emerald gems beneath the ground, to the rich browns of woods; eyes that shift to every imaginable color on Earth like a kaleidoscope - everchanging and enchanting; these eyes that look down upon the Earth, upon her.

She remembered those eyes on her, the most beautiful sight she's ever seen. More beautiful than those curves, those lips, those legs, that face. Those eyes were the siren call that dragged her down, down, down into their grasp. Falling for those eyes. It was a forbidden thing: the tantalizing fruit always tempting her to taste.

Oh, and taste divine they did, dripping down her chin as she gave into those eyes’ seductions. She was Eve, and the eyes were the Devil, but even the Devil was once an angel - beautiful and divine. Those eyes could never have belonged to Hell, but still, they brought her to her own personal Hell, just as they ascended her to Heaven.

She fell harder than she thought possible. Forgetting about him. Forgetting about everything except Her. But like all good things, they must end. Céline knew this. She knew just as God left Jesus to His own path, helping in the indirect ways only He could, that the divine and mortal world were meant to stay separate, but still her heart longed for what it could not have.

Thus, Céline, the lover of the Goddess Venus, went back to only being known as ‘wife’ to Athanase Agreste and ‘mother’ to her two year old son Donatien. Still, she was left a reminder of Her love in her unborn child, the child of a Goddess and a mortal.

The Agreste patriarch never did suspect her of infidelity, and when her daughter was born, she was named Estelle Agreste, the daughter of Athanase and Céline Agreste.

Notes:

Yep! This is a Percy Jackson and Miraculous Ladybug crossover idea that I've started where Estelle is not only the daughter of Venus but part of the Agreste family (even if not by blood). Estelle also happens to be Percy's maternal grandmother. Well, I'm sure Percy will never find out, and definitely won't have an unforeseen trip to France to visit his maternal side of the family in the future *wink* *wink*.

Also, I purposely capitalized "Her" for Venus since it is from Céline's perspective, and she not only loves Venus but she worships her.

Hope you guys enjoyed it, and I'll hopefully continue to update this story and eventually post it on ao3. ❤️

Also, interestingly enough, Céline comes from the Roman name Celelius, which means “heaven” in latin.

BTW, I got Donatien and Ananase’s names from Adrien's full name (on fandom): Adrien Émile Gabriel Donatien Athanase Agreste. Which has very Greek/Roman names in it.

And here's a drawing and description of Percy Jackson's Miraculous

Next "What if...?"