#then a few years later shed call Herself sensitive and tear up after some of the worse fights and then cry to her mom about it for sympathy

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[january31st]

Ablaze: Chapter 8 / Epilogue

Cruella (2021) x reader

A/N: well hello dearest ones, here we are alas. It has been a journey, but be not alarmed for more is on it’s way! (in other fics) also, if parts of this just make no sense, are written poorly, i would like to explain that i wrote this mostly on the mornings after going out (because if you go to sleep for two hours you might as well say goodbye to the rest of your day) so i’ve only been writing because of my wild party nights (or...almost that), yaaay!

Warnings: some religion talk (as in hate talk), might be a sensitive topic and I do not mean to offend anyone, these are not my opinions, just what i needed the character to feel. Religion and homophobia related to it (christianity i guess)

|| Masterlist || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Wattpad link ||

~2400 words

“Tell me your story, Cruella De Vil.”

And with that, also with a little encouragement and some “pretty please”s, she told you about her. All of her. Both? Of her. From Estella Miller and her supposed mother, Catherine, to the way Cruella started out. She told you about how her mum died and how she met the boys, about the life they had for so long, and about the way it would change forever. Just knowing that first part made your heart ache so much you couldn’t help but shed a tear or two, you had no idea she had lived like that. But then of course, the second part, working at liberty, and then later on for the Baroness herself! She was the girl with the red hair! She conjured the brilliant idea to let herself be pushed off a cliff, just like her mum??? And the whole double life of being Cruella and Estella at the same time, you had suspected something like that, but nothing of this magnitude, no wonder she took it so seriously!

But then to blow your mind one last time, she told you she was the Baroness's daughter. She was, by birth, a Von Hellman. You stared at her dumbfounded. No reaction felt enough for the story she had just told you.

“What the fuck. How do you even- Wh- I mean. Just, how? You did all that!”

She sighed and leaned back on her chair, you stared at her without blinking, processing the whole story.

“Well, yes, after that it’s just been business things, the few collections of this past year until you also came along. That’s pretty much it.”

You scoffed at her jokingly “Uh yeah I was wondering if you wanted to add anything else to that, didn’t have enough twists”

She poked at your leg playfully and said “Well, now it’s your turn”

Your laugh quickly turned into a grimace “Oh, it’s not half as interesting as yours, not worth it. Just me and Artie, you know.”

She turned her head to the side, noticing how uncomfortable you became. “Well, it doesn’t have to be interesting, it’s just that I know almost nothing about you darling.”

“If you know about Artie’s past then you should know the gist of mine, not too much to discuss.” you said as you played with the hospital bed sheet.

“I know he’s been on the move with you, he’s just never explained the circumstances.”

“Oh, then there might be a bit more to tell” you took a deep breath as you decided what parts you would tell her, but as you looked at her, from the wave of her hair to the red of her lipstick, and given that she trusted you to break her character, she opened up to you like that, it only felt fair to do the same. Even though it hurt to think about your past, and even though no one aside from Artie really knew about it, you went on.

“So, well. Um- I don’t even know where to start really. I guess my family, that’s usually the start. So my father was an Anglican priest, or a pastor, just, you know, a church man, I never understood any of it. He and my mother were all about duty, and honor and being right by the eyes of God. Bunch of lies, all of it. Our family was of course always involved in everything that happened in the parish, because it was a community, or that’s what they decided to call it, another lie.”

“It was all appearances, from everyone. Just looking perfect all the time. The idea was to seem as devoted to God and His word as possible, but that’s all it was. Because when it came to following those ideals it was all shit. We just had to look like we followed them. Because a leather jacket or black eyeliner are things from the devil, no Y/N you can’t disgrace your family by looking like that!” you exclaimed, hands in the air, trying to replicate what little you remembered of your mother. Cruella merely shook her head in understanding, giving you the space to talk.

“But the way I wanted to dress was just the beginning of the mess. When I was about 14? I think? I don’t even really remember how most things happened. That was when I told them I didn’t want to marry a man. If I had to marry anyone, it would have to be a girl.” She placed her hand under her chin, looking at you through her lashes, though you were too busy talking to even notice.

”They lost their shit, threw me out on the spot. They said something along the lines of me being a sinner beyond salvation, and I get that it was the way they thought about it, but as a kid that’s a bit harsh to hear from the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally.”

“Yeah, so after that I ran to Artie’s. He lived a bit off town with his mum, he had moved in recently. I’m not sure if he’s told you this, I don’t want to tell his story for him but he’s just the main part of mine, I have to. It was just the two of them, Artie’s father was unknown, and well, his mum had an illness, it was complicated, and it was killing her slowly, so they came to our town because this old man was supposed to know the cure to her issue. And just a heads up, it was all bullshit, all lies, like everything else in that town.”

“We met by accident really, crossed each other on the street before I was kicked out. And in case you’re wondering, yes, he looked stunning. Not quite the way he looks now, but for the time, and for the town we were in, Artie stood up like a rose in a grass field. I knew right away he was the type of person I needed. And sure enough, when my time came, and I knocked on his door, he just opened it for me and let me in, no questions asked, to never really leave apparently.”

By now she had leaned in again, your hand in hers as she listened. “His mum was the loveliest person I’ve ever met. She was just so encouraging, she raised Artie to be who he was, and nothing else. She just poured her love onto people, she made you feel right you know? Like you belonged in the world. She was an absolute angel. It was her that made me realise what a parent was supposed to make you feel. Safe. Loved. My parents didn’t raise me out of love, they raised me out of duty. And our parish was supposed to be about communion. Yeah, love thy neighbour? All crap, the most devoted ones were the first to throw you under the bus. But with Artie and his mum? I could be whoever I wanted. The sky was the limit.”

“And then of course, the day came when we had to say goodbye to her. It would always be too soon but I only really had a couple of months. And then it was me and Artie driving the kingdom. Well, I did the driving mostly, between you and Artie I couldn’t say who would flip a car first”

She took her hand to her chest, acting offended, but failing as you both broke into laughter. When you caught your breath you continued.

“But the story doesn’t really end there. There’s a detail I can’t just not mention. So, after a couple months, two kids on the road, of course we would come back. It was Artie, he really insisted on it. I told him not to do it, but he just wouldn’t listen to me. He felt like he had to go digging about my family after I told him one too many stories. He was so mad, you’d never imagine. He was ready to flip the whole damn house, he thought it was unacceptable, the way they threw me out. So he went in alone to go digging, I wanted nothing to do with it, and all he found was the ashes of that house. Not weeks after we left town, there was a fire. My parents were both home that night.”

She put her hand over her mouth, and you shook your head in affirmation. “I can’t believe it! That this has to be one of the things we have in common. And I understand that they threw you out but I can’t imagine the feeling of knowing they’re gone gone” she said.

“Well yeah, both of them were home but also my little brother. His name was Pietro. The only thing I miss about my life before Artie is him. And I miss him more than anything. He never deserved any of that. Not that stupid family or what happened after I left. And for a really long time I felt guilty that I never went back for him. I could have taken him with us, raise him myself, you know? Because with Artie and his mum I found what love is, like, unconditional, consistent love. But I just never had the courage to do that, I was afraid of going back. Because I could see two scenarios and honestly I haven’t decided which would hurt more. I would either find him completely mistreated, I wouldn’t put it beside them to abandon him, because I was the one taking care of him, they didn’t do shit, they really sucked at being parents. The other option was that they would actually magically realise how that works. Parenting, I mean. I was terrified to go back and find him living what we should have lived before, because I would of course be angry that I never had that, because they thought I didn’t deserve it, but I would be mad at myself and feel guilty that I was the one stopping him from having that life. But either way, I never really forgave myself for not going back, even though I was still a kid essentially, and I couldn’t have done much, I was just surviving with Artie, and barely, just going from village to village, travelling the whole country. The reality is probably that I wouldn’t have been able to raise him at all that way. Living on the move like that was no life for a kid.”

“And how was it a life for you? You shouldn’t have had to live like that either. You know darling, I think you just explained why you always need to move on. You never stayed in place for long, of course you’re used to running away” she said, and you narrowed your eyes at her as you thought about it.

“I guess… Well, it’s all this guilt, I don’t know how to deal with it, I just ignore it and try to think about something else. Because the thoughts just start balling up and it gets really hard to breathe sometimes? And I- Well, I can’t even really remember what he looked like, it was so long ago, and I never kept any photographs, all there was got lost in the fire. But I tried and tried and I just can’t stop hearing him sometimes, I can’t forget about him, I can’t erase his laughter from my mind.”

You smiled sadly as you got to the next part “And he used to love singing. I only really picked up music because of him, to entertain him, because he loved it when I played. He used to sing all the time. Yeah, then for all those years when Artie and I were travelling I just put music in the back of my mind, to try and forget about him. And it worked, for a bit. A couple years ago was when we decided to settle down here in London. Artie opened the shop and I worked and tried to study something, just to try to find myself away from art, and music and all that reminded me of Pietro. I like the stuff I study, but it just doesn’t flow the same way, I can’t really be away from music or the rest of it.”

“And you should absolutely not be away from it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though she apologised and explained herself, she didn’t stop telling you how guilty she felt about ruining your chance with that record label until she found you a bigger and better deal. Being Cruella De Vil, of course she put you in touch with the best people in the field, and eventually you released your first of many successful albums.

The night was chilly as the two of you walked with your arms linked, going to Regent's park after the party that celebrated the first year of your first single. You could tell by the pink on her cheeks that she was quite drunk, but so were you. The walk was a bit more of a wobble, accompanied with giggles and knowing glances at each other. Once you got to the fountain, you both sat down, taking a few seconds to catch your breath, her head leaning on your shoulder.

“I have to tell you something” you said.

“What is it?”

“I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet”

She sat back up, looking at you with a serious face at first, but then softened when she saw the drunk smile you had.

“You wrote Ablaze”

“What?”

“My single. You actually wrote it”

“No I didn’t darling, I’m a bit drunk but I think I’d remember”

“Well, that’s because you wrote it in my dream.”

She looked at you still confused.

“Yeah, remember that awful morning at the shop? After the spring collection? I was even drunker than now, and I had a weird ass dream, and you were singing the song in it. I never really got it out of my head.”

“Wow, I wrote a song so good in your dream that you couldn’t forget it? I really am a genius”

“That you are dear, that you are”

|| Masterlist || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Wattpad link ||

taglist: @witchy-o @follows-the-life-ahead @newtshairdryer @interstellarpumpkin

if you want to be added to a taglist for the other cruella things i have on the way, feel free to reach out however you prefer :)

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

Secret baby ch20

Dabi wakes up due to Kiyoko smacking his face, she’s attempting to grab one of his piercings he knows but it still ends up with her chubby little hands hitting his face. Having at least one of her missions succeed she gives a loud happy screech. She usually wanted food when she screeched like that. Otherwise Kiyoko greeted Dabi with a sweet chirp or a “Dada”, the latter becoming more common as time went on.

He starts making a mental list of the things he had to do before dropping off Kiyoko at her sitters. It was enough to make him groan and bury his face in the pillow.  He knew he needed to get up and get started soon or he wouldn't have time to go fetch the extra money for Kiyoko’s babysitter. Still he lets his face rest in the pillow as his thoughts start racing to plan a time efficient day. Kiyoko baps his face again, trying to close her tiny hands around the bar piercing in his ear. He gently grabs her hand , kissing it, before he gives her his finger instead and she immediately sticks it in her mouth getting her baby spit all over it. 

“My fingers just taste good or something baby?” he mumbles into the pillow. Kiyoko responds with a loud chirp, he has about one or two chirps before she lets loose with another screech in his ear to get him up.

“DADA!” she yells at him, waves sweetly at him when he turns his face to look at her. Her bright gold eyes wide open and her hair sticking up in every direction possible. Wings still shedding baby feathers flutter and add to the litter of down in the nest. Happy and bright eyed after being up and down all night. Dada was still about the only thing she said to him, the chirping a common enough occurrence. He shoves himself up, he still has to do laundry today and drop off rent preferably before the meeting with the league of villains. 

He sat upright cursing as it clicked that he was meeting Toga and the League today. An alarm went off on his phone, moving to swipe it off, he saw it was a later one and started cursing as he untangled himself from blankets. He wouldn't have time to get it until later, possibly tomorrow depending on how long the meeting took. He was already running late this morning.

Kiyoko let out a series of chirps and tilted her head back until she fell over when she saw him clumsy roll out of bed. Dabi had figured out that this was her way of laughing for now. Kiyoko let out more human giggles as well, usually when she was looking for when she was joining Dabi in laughing at something. Dabi laughed at her falling over and she tilted her head back and looked at him with shocked wide golden eyes.

“Stop making Dada laugh princess, I have to get us ready, we’ve got a lot to do today.” He scooped her up, wrinkling his nose as he did so, Kiyoko’s diaper needed to be changed as well and he only had so much time to do everything.

Kiyoko let out a low chirp and started crying when Dabi absentmindedly hushed her as he laid her on her on the bathroom counter. He’d noticed she didn’t like her wings being stuck under her but he didn’t have time to ease her into laying on them today. 

“Baby girl no, Let's be good for Dada today please?’ he begged as he threw the dirty diaper in the trash, setting her on the floor of the shower as he stripped. He caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror as he stepped in the shower. He paused blinking at how much he had changed. Red hair dyed inky black, piercings decorating his face. There was a scar from where Kiyoko was removed from him and he had deep bags under his eyes. He was no longer gaunt and skinny, instead he was fleshed out and almost muscular. All in all he didn't look bad, tired yes, but nothing like he had when he had first started working for Girian. He didn’t look sick, weak or scared anymore. 

Kiyoko yelled to get his attention and he picked her back up, turning on the shower. There was no time to contemplate how far he had come since leaving his old life behind. He had no regrets, beyond leaving his siblings behind.

Kiyoko started crying and despite not a single tear falling it tugged at Dabi’s heart. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she didn’t know she was going to the sitters today. She knew she was being dropped off with her babysitter and was trying her usual tactics to delay him. But he didn't have time to indulge her today and turn her tears to giggles and happy shrieks. Kiyoko cried through breakfast and Dabi couldn't get her to eat more than a couple bites of food. She whimpered and kept saying Dada mournfully when he plopped her into the nest so he could get dressed in his villain outfit. It was what he used for shovel jobs with Girian. He finished yanking a comb through his hair and swallowing his scent pill before he turned to get Kiyoko ready. 

He dressed Kiyoko in a pumpkin themed outfit. Checking his phone and letting out more curses. Kiyoko chirped shrilly at him as he dived into the closet, and babbled happily at him when he came out, blowing spit bubbles. Grabbing a coat for himself and making a note that Kiyoko would need one this year as well when he had time to take her shopping.

He cursed and grabbed her bag of snacks off the counter on his way out the door. Kiyoko had a weird fondness for spicy peppers and mostly ate jerky. At her last checkup Dabi had been given guidelines on what kinds of things she would be able to eat as she got older and developed more. and what one she wouldn't. He dropped her off with a promise to her sitter that no, she did not have to feed Kiyoko bugs, just her regular snacks and he would be back with her promised raise when he picked her up that night.

The bar where he was meeting the “league of villains “ leader was just like his apartment building, old with cracks in the wall and a musty unpleasant smell.  Broken beer bottles in the alleyway he came down and cigarettes outside the entrance. Unlike his apartment the smell wasn't strong enough to make him gag due to his sensitive nose. Almost like they were old. Maybe it had been the rain a few days prior that watered down the smell.

 He exited the alleyway and came over to where Girian was standing with a girl in a school uniform. Girian gave a nod at him and he decided to save his excuses for being late, it didn’t matter when he was here now and this was a villain job anyways. He’d learned in the past months that he rarely had to be exactly on time for these.

“Dabi, you ready? Princess over here already is.” He tugged at one of Toga’s space buns lightly and caught the wrist that came at him with a knife. Dabi raised an eyebrow at the knife in her hand and the grin on her face when she tried to stab Girian.

“How old are you even brat? 12? You’re not even old enough to enter this bar?” He glared at her, shoulders back and preparing to disarm her if she decided that he was her next stabbing target.

“I’m 17 and want to meet the guys who knew Mr.stainy. Are you a fan of him too? Don’t you just want to cut him open and be him?” She gushed and let Girian keep hold of her arm, peering at Dabi around him.

He hadn’t given Stain too much thought honestly. He saw the video just like everyone else,as well as the news from when enji supposedly took him down. While he agreed the hero’s should be taken out and taken off their pedistels, the seemingly random murder hadn’t been the way to do it. All it did was put false Heroes in the narrative of having been so brave for dying in the line of duty. The news repeatedly asking how sorry their families must feel. How many families had grown up like him Dabi had wondered as they televised a newly paralyzed hero.

He shoved the thoughts out of his mind before he could start questioning if his family was okay. If Natsou was still studying to be a doctor, if Fuyumi still wanted to teach brats. If Shouto was still just a brat in general. He would see them soon enough if he could get his plans to go through.

“He had the right idea.” Dabi shrugged and faced the door, it was time to meet the boss anyways they had been waiting on him. “Sorry I'm late Girian, late morning today.” he drawled.

“I’m sure you had a good reason for being late.” Giran pulled the door open and swaggered in. Toga following him inside, she swayed a little as she bounced on her toes after him and Dabi frowned. Maybe it was natural, maybe she was dizzy and not getting enough protein.

He followed behind the both of them, letting his steel toed boots fall a little heavier and standing up straight. He had to stay focused here, had to go home at the end of the day and had to subtly push his own agenda.

A guy in plain sweats sat at a bar counter and had a hand over his face. The place was coated in the boss’s omega’s scent, not overpowering but definitely noticeable. Looking around he noticed that the inside of the bar was very clean. It had a subtle orange and smoke smell. The guy in sweats was playing some sort of handheld game and he scowled at them when they came in. Toga giggled at nothing and he started growling, fuck they didnt even have the guys name yet and Toga was causing problems. The only other person in the place was an older man at the bar, a beta by the smell of him, who looked up at them but didn’t do anything.

“Shigaraki, Kuroguri, I’ve brought you some more members.” Girian waved his hand at Dabi and Toga who stepped out from behind him at the cue. He stayed off to the side of the room, making it clear if things went down he wouldn’t get in the way.

“I’m Toga Himiko! I like to drink blood and I just love stains and other cute things!” She excitedly gushed out, letting a child's undefined scent come off her as she did. Maybe she thought she was introducing herself better with it but Dabi could already feel the headache forming as Shigaraki’s lip curled and he deepened his growl.

“You can call me Dabi.” He edged himself closer to Toga prepared to shove her behind him if the temperamental omega, their soon to be boss, lunged for them. This wasn’t a club introduction like she seemed to think it was and Shigaraki didn’t need to know anything else about him.

Shigaraki stood up and lunged at them while letting his scent loose, the damp earth smell matched the one all around the bar. Must live here, Dabi guessed as he threw up his arm to cast a plume of flames. Toga ducked out from behind him with her knife out while Dabi snagged the back of her shirt with his free hand, yanking her back. Then there was a portal in front of his face, his hand was sticking out of it, he narrowed his eyes and gave his fingers a twitch. There were now portals all around the room, made of the same blackmist the bartender was. Toga giggled and liked the end of her own knife which was now inches from her face. Shigaraki hissed at him but didn’t move, his own hands sticking out from portals away from them all.

“Young Tomura, please calm down.” the man at the bar, Kuroguri, asked in a calm polite tone. Dabi rolled his eyes, what exactly did mistman think that was going to do?

“Fucking bratty manchild.” Dabi hissed at the red-eyed omega in front of him. “If you're going to be  a possessive bastard don’t hold meetings in your house you fucking creep.”

“I’m 20 thanks. At least the girl over there can introduce herself properly, what’s your name?” He hissed, slowly edging back from Dabi. “ And why can’t i smell you? Got something to hide?”

“I’ll tell you if it comes up, until then you don’t need to know.” Dabi held Shigaraki’s eyes with his own blue ones. Shigaraki curled his scared lip and when Dabi didn’t back down or break his stare pulled his hands back through the portals they had been sent through. Dabi followed and took a couple steps back, letting go of Toga’s sweater.

“If you stretched it out you're getting me a new one.” Toga sniped at him.

“I probably just saved your skin from the manchild over there brat, I'm not getting you shit.” he grumbled and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“I’m going out for a walk, and we are not with Stain. If you still want to join, fine welcome to the league of villains.” Shigaraki ripped a coat off the wall and stormed out.

“Sounds like you kids made the cut, I’ll be going. “ Girian smirked and walked out after Shigaraki. Leaving Dabi and Toga in the company of the bartender.

“I’m kuroguri. I apologize for Shigaraki’s behavior. Would you like a drink?” Kuroguri at least seemed polite, if not overly polite for a villain compared to what Dabi was used to.

“Can I have wine?” Toga hopped up onto the barstool and sunk her knife into the top, not noticing Kuroguri’s wince when she did so.

“If you would like I can give you a little, as a welcoming gift.” Kuroguri grabbed a bottle from under the counter and poured some in a short glass he pushed over to her. Dabi took a deep sniff of the air and noticed the sour rotten notes of alcohol were absent. Kuroguri had probably given her sparkling juice then like most bartenders did for kids. He and Fuyumi used to pour it in fancy glasses at home and pretend they were old enough to drink as they did their homework.

“I’ll pass on the drink thanks, can you tell us what’s expected of us here? Or do we have to leave that for the creep to tell us about our jobs when he gets back from walking off his tantrum?” He walked over and sat down on a stool. 

“Young Tomura is still planning out his next move. For now he is more focused on laying low and gathering numbers. The overall goal however, is the complete collapse of hero society.” He picked up the cleaning cloth he had been using earlier. “ I understand young Himiko is to be staying here at the bar with us while we wait to make our moves, are you going to be needing accommodations as well Dabi?”

“No. Just text me when the next meeting is.” He scrawled his number down twice on a pad of paper he pulled from his pocket and tearing the page, slid one copy over to Toga. “You, this isn’t a game. Save my number for if you need me. Kuroguri let me know when the creep gets his act together, I’ve got other things to do if my time is going to be wasted here.”  

Kuroguri took the number with a comment about passing it on to Shigaraki when he came back. Dabi didn’t catch all of it as his phone went off in his pocket and he saw Kiyoko’s sitter had been texting him the entire time Shigaraki had been throwing a tantrum. 

It Looked like he was going to have to pick Kiyoko up early as well, based on the texts the sitter was sending him. Kiyoko was being fussy and the sitter didn’t want to watch her for much longer. He sent a text reminding her that he was stopping by with more money tonight when he picked up Kiyoko and looked back up at Kuroguri. 

“Something urgent Dabi? I was just asking if you would like to stick around and meet the other members, we usually have dinner together since many of the current members live here.” Kuroguri was looking at him with almost an air of concern.

“Yeah something came up, I appreciate the offer Kuroguri. I just don’t have time to stick around and meet everyone.” He stood up and stretched, back cracking in several spots and sauntered out the door.

From there it was another bus ride to a bus stop a couple blocks from a grocery store. Then a walk to an atm when the store didn’t have one. Withdrawing money for his rent, groceries and babysitting. He sighed and then withdrew a little more for the next time he saw the league. Toga’s sweater had been stretched out by him grabbing it and she probably couldn’t replace it. Not to mention she needed a coat. 

The trip to the grocery store only worsened Dabi’s headache due to the fluorescent lights and employees hovering.  He made a stop over in the babies section and picked up another blanket for Kiyoko. She needed a new one after the original had gone through so many washes it was wearing thin.

He came out of the store feeling exhausted, he still had to walk back to the bus station and from there transfer buses and walk a couple blocks until he could get home. Then the sitter still needed to be paid and was texting him again, Kiyoko had gotten sick so she needed him to come pick her up. Then he still had to make supper for them both and schedule an appointment for Kiyoko now that she was sick. He stepped on the bus and his phone pinged with a new text. An unknown number asking why the hell he didn't stay for dinner. Dabi ignored the text itself and saved the contact under ‘crusty face’ in his contacts.

This was all going to worth it if he could get enji in a grave and see his siblings again. Hawks had probably forgotten about him with all the time that had passed and the lack of a relationship they’d had in the first place, not to mention he was busy being a big shot hero these days. He let his head rest against the cool glass of the window and soothe his headache.

@mostladylikeladythateverladied @ruelukas22 @i-like-to-shruggy @xxsnowchildxx @drxgonstone

[cyrusxdukeofmaine]

Aftermath | The Chateau

Parties: Annick Berthou and Cyrus Tanet

Location: The Chateau du Maine

Date: Night of August 22nd

Triggers: References to the shooting, trauma and blood. 

@annickxberthou

Cyrus had never before felt so numb, not even after losing his parents. He held onto Annick’s hand like a lifeline the entirety of the journey back to the Chateau. Tomorrow would be interviews with officials and dealing with the intrusive press. Another scandal in their small kingdom. The entire year it seemed they had ricocheted from one disaster to another. As the door to his private suite closed behind him, he noticed for the first time that his clothing, his hands, were stained with Adelaide’s blood. He had even gotten some on Annick and her beautiful dress. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t even have said precisely what he was apologizing for - embroiling her in his messy life, the blood, taking her to an event where he nearly died. Where he nearly died. Stepping back, he glanced down at his clothing and began to fumble with the buttons. He needed the clothes off but the shock was now wearing off and his limbs felt out of his control.

To her credit, Annick had not completely panicked, though she may have screamed when Adelaide had fallen. And now was not the time to fall apart. “Cyrus, stop,” Annick said calmly, stepping closer again and moving his hands so she could undress him herself. “I won’t accept an apology for something not remotely your fault.” She didn’t regret being there and didn’t regret being here now. Once she managed to get his jacket and shirt off, she held his face between her hands. “I want to be at your side, no matter what. I’m strong enough to withstand the storm, let me help.”

It felt better when she was closer, which was probably a terrible sign but she made him feel things he had never experienced with another. “You could have died.” He whispered gruffly. “If ….” He swallowed the words, unwilling to give voice to them. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in closely but over the scent that he had come to associate with this beautiful submissive, he could only smell that heavy coppery metal of drying blood. “I need to get clean. I must ….” He nodded toward the washroom. “Join me, my Annick.”

Annick felt calmer when he wrapped his arms around her. “But I didn’t,” she reminded quietly. She would take the time to examine what all those words meant later. Right now, it was enough to help in any way she could. “Of course,” she nodded, stepping out of his embrace and taking his hand. 

Still the if felt large and uncomfortable. What if she had been on the stage with him, what if she had been the one to step forward, what if … what if … what if … his mind seemed frozen, fixed on this terrible idea of horrible possibilities. The tug of her hand drew him out of this train of thought. He followed her to the washroom. If he had been his ordinary self, he would have been trying to peel off her beautiful dress but the idea of touching her with his blood-stained hands felt wrong. He needed to feel clean and he needed to hold her. And at some point a drink … goddamnit he could use a damn drink.

Nick knew that for the moment at least, she needed to provide direction. In the washroom, she started the shower and then turned to finish removing Cyrus’ clothing. It occurred to her that burning them might be better than trying to clean them. Her dress came next before she took his hand and pulled him into the shower. The warm water helped to wash away the blood though it did little to wash away the trauma. That, she hoped, could be helped by her gentle hands as she washed him.

As the water poured over him, he processed that at some point his girl had undressed him and gotten him into the shower. He reached forward to cup her face, tipping up her head and claimed her lips in a soft kiss. “Thank you, mon amour. I adore you.” He whispered against her full lips. “I think I love you.” He continued and then a small smile flickered over his lips as he realized how silly that sounded, “I love you.” he repeated, removing the careful attempt to protect himself. 

Annick smiled at the whispered adoration about to chide him about being sappy until he whispered again. She stared, quite sure she’d heard him wrong. Cyrus had just been through tremendous trauma and hadn’t he in the recent past not believed her confession. Still, her own stubborn heart refused to be logical. She twined his arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his smiling lips. “I love you, too.” And she did. It was no longer a hidden crush but real and present. “But tell me again tomorrow.”

“Every day…. I promise.” He whispered before pressing another soft kiss to her lips. He knew there were many things he needed to do. Check on the members of his House. Some of them were hard as nails, tougher than he could ever be but others were soft. Lin. Liana. Henri. Even Asa would lose his mind if anything happened to Nate or Liana, the two that had kept that old man’s heart going after losing his own beloved daughters. He couldn’t bear another loss. Still, in this moment, he just wanted to hold the woman he loved and let the hot water wash away the blood of a sweet young woman who had taken a bullet he suspected was meant for him. His arms tightened around her, pulling her to him and he just let the heated water pour over them, entwined together.

Promises were not something Annick took lightly and she was positive that the same was true for Cyrus. Sensing that the time for discussion was over, Annick let herself be held close, taking comfort in Cyrus’ arms. She laid her head on his chest and listened carefully to his heartbeat, whispering a prayer of thanks that he was still alive and here with her for another day. Her own hold tightened as well. Tomorrow, or later, when he was busy dealing with the aftermath, she’d allow herself the tears she knew needed to be shed. For now, he needed her stability and she would gratefully give it to him.

When he finally felt steady, he unwove himself slightly from his beautiful submissive and began to finish washing them both down. He felt himself steady and became calm again, drawing from her calm composure. He flicked off the water with a quick turn of one hand and guided his beauty out of the shower stall. He dried off her damp skin and used the fluffy towel most of the moisture from her hair before tending to himself. “Come...I need you tonight, my woman.” 

Nick could feel the shift in his demeanor as he calmed. Whatever frayed nerves she hid from him, were soothed as he settled. She took his hand as he finished drying himself. “Lead the way. I’m yours…” It was the first time she’d let herself say that and believe it. 

Delicious words. His soul consumed them. She was his - something wonderful happening here between them. Later doubts would cause him pause. If he was a target, having her in his life was dangerous to her. A conversation for another day, another time. Right now, he needed to 

sink into her. He needed her. Folding his hand over hers, he pulled her forward and out of the well-appointed bathing room into the broad expanse of the suite. 

Drawing her forward, he pulled her into a kiss as his hand slid down her back to cup the curve of her bottom. “Remind me to warm you up here later … my wild woman has not been spanked in far too long.” He teased against the submissive’s lips. His kisses trailed down her throat and over the curve of her clavicle until he could press heated caresses to her shoulder. He smoothed her hands to her side and murmured, “Be still …. I’ll let you know when you are permitted to move.”

Despite all they’d been through that evening, a smile formed against his lips at his teasing. Not that he needed any but she was sure to give him reason at some point in the near future. It occurred to her to tease him back but those thoughts were erased by the trail of his lips and the heat of his body against hers. Apparently she needed him too.

There was the briefest of nods in acknowledgement of his words and a murmured, ‘yes, Sir,” as she stilled. Stillness didn’t come naturally. Part of that wildness, she supposed. But her will to obey was stronger, so she stood as still as possible, her only movement the rise and fall of her chest.

Lower and lower his lips trailed, heated flicks against the silken skin, cooling after the shower in the late summer air. He slipped gracefully to his knees before her, his kisses now trailing over the curve of her abdomen and along the line of her hip. His fingertips traced up from her narrow ankles, along the curve of her calves to the silk of her inner thigh. His mouth pressed to her sex, tongue flicking over that heated core, tasting her, lightly at first and then feverishly, possessively, drawing out her heat, wanting her to call his name and beg, even with merely the twist of her hips and the pants of her breath. 

Annick lowered her eyes to watch Cyrus move. Her desire grew as lips and fingers grazed her sensitive skin. His movements were as graceful as they were seductive. It was all she could do to leave her hands at her sides. She longed to thread her fingers through his hair, to tug at those dark strands. God, but he was skilled with that wicked mouth that he used to charm and beguile. No longer was her thoughts on the trauma of the evening. Her world had narrowed to only him. “Cyrus!” she cried, legs trembling as she fought to stay still.

“Be still, my wild woman … show me what a good girl you are.” He teased before placing a few damp kisses along the smooth skin of one inner thigh, his hair tickling the other as he moved. Cyrus continued upward again, reclaiming her pussy. One finger pressed into her, not enough to satisfy, just to tease the woman’s sex. She was wet now, drenching his hand, the flavours of her dancing over his tongue. A delicious distraction from the events of the night.  His possessive hold and her obedience settling and satisfying his Dominant urge to claim the submissive before him, the woman he loved. He broke contact and before his hand fell away, he gave her thigh a sharp pinch. “Hands and knees on the bed, arch your back, no touching yourself.” he demanded gruffly.

And wasn’t that what she had always wanted? To be his good girl and earn that praise. She resolved to stay still as he continued his assault, though the brush of lips and hair made that particularly difficult as she stifled a laugh. She gasped as he slip a finger inside her, a desperate mewling noise following. Fuck, but she wanted to rock against the intrusion. Her eyes fluttered closed as she concentrated on obeying. “Fuck!” The pinch had startled her more than hurt. She colored hotly as she scrambled to obey, moving not nearly so gracefully as she positioned herself on the bed. It was not even a little bit hard not to touch herself. She far preferred being touched by him.

He loved the blush, the fire in her cheeks as she was a good girl and got into position on the bed. With careful hands and gentle caresses, he adjusted her position, her sex spread from the part of her knees. The position one of a supplicant, framed perfectly on his bed. Her wetness decorated her thighs. There wasn’t a mark on her aside from the rapidly fading spot where he had pinched her. Ordinarily he would be seeking to leave his mark on her pale skin, to marr her perfection with his possession. But at this moment he reveled in her beauty, unmarred by anyone, including him. Tracing his fingers over her dripping core, he murmured, “That’s a good girl. You are so beautiful. And mine. All mine. Say it … pledge it … Say I am yours and you are mine.” His instructions were accompanied by the rough press of two fingers into her channel, filling her before pulling almost all the way out before filling her again. “Tell me.”

Annick thrilled to his gentleness as much as when he was far rougher. She was his to command either way. In this position, open and vulnerable, she’d never felt safer. “Yours!” she cried as his fingers drove into her. Her silken walls tightened around him as he thrust into her roughly, long fingers sinful but not what she was desperate for. “Cyrus.” Her voice was cracked with emotion. “I’m yours and you are mine. Always. Please…” She’d never felt such all encompassing need.

Her words were delicious and filled up places with him that ached in ways he could not describe. “That’s a good girl.” He murmured huskily as he smoothed a free hand up and down her slim back, feeling her quiver beneath the gentle touch. His fingers continued to slow fuck the girl, drawing out her heat until it dripped down her thighs. His cock lay hard against his thigh, rising in desire, craving her as she craved him. He wrapped his free hand around his length and stroked. He withdrew his fingers and before she could whimper for their loss, she was filled again by his cock. His hands wrapped around her narrow hips, the grip almost punishingly brutal as he held her still.  

It always astonished her that his simple praise was so effective. It pressed her lower, arched her back more, sent a new flood of wetness to the apex of her thighs. The slow movement of his fingers was beginning to border on torture as he prolonged the inevitable. When Cyrus finally broke down and replaced his fingers with his cock, she cried out his name. Her hands curled into fists, clutching the sheets beneath her. If not for his powerful grip, she wasn’t sure she could have remained still.

Cyrus pressed forward, filling her slowly, torturing even himself at this moment but unconcerned. He wanted her begging for release and he was determined to get it. It was a much needed distraction from the day that proceeded. His hand slid from her hip to trace over her abdomen, a fingertip seeking out her clit. He teased the bundle of nerves, circling gently before pressing more roughly against her. “You belong to me.” He grumbled quietly, more to himself than her really, his breaths becoming soft pants as he fucked into her again and again. His pace increased, fucking her harder and harder.

The moan that escaped Annick as she was filled was nothing short of wanton. She wanted to press back, take more. His quiet rumble of words was met with a not nearly so quiet reply of “Yours!” as his finger pressed against her clit. It was just the right amount of gentle and roughness that sent liquid fire through her veins. Her body tightened in response to his harsher pace, back arching nearly painfully in an effort to get more.

The terror of the night’s events felt distant and forgotten in the heat of this moment and the intensity of the connection. What he felt for Annick was unrivaled in his personal history, although he knew that was likely not the case for her as she had been engaged before.  Regardless, she was his now and he wasn’t planning to part with her. 

Pressing his fingers into her core, he gave her clit a rough pinch. “Cum for me, my little wild woman.” He groaned out as he started to shake just a little, a symptom of the restraint. He wanted to fill her, watch her cum on his cock before he allowed himself the pleasure of release. He put all his effort into teasing her body, in drawing out her heat and pleasure. “Cum.” he demanded again, aching for her and wanting to finish within.

A gasp left her at the pinch, the tell-tale tightening of her stomach as she neared her peak. It was the order more than the physicality of the moment that sent her over the edge, though feeling Cyrus holding back added to the rush. She cried out his name as she came, body shaking with the intensity of the moment. 

Her voice crying out his name provided the rush he needed. His hands tightened on her slim hips and his rhythm faltered as he fucked into the beautiful brunette, claiming her in that primal heat given by her silken body beneath him. Her submission to his will satisfied the Dominant at the core of the man. Weaving his hand into her dark hair, he tugged her upward and claimed her lips in a long, heated kiss before pulling them both down onto the bed in a collapsed heap of limbs and naked, satiated flesh. “My wild woman … my Annick ….” He murmured against her throat before applying a gentle kiss beneath her ear. “I love you.” 

[the-marvel-imagines-blog]

Madness | Chpt. 26

Chapter Title: “The Greatest Failure”

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character (Eva)

Word Count: 12,324

Warnings: Fluffy, Big Brother Hjalmar, angst, fluff, just general feelings

Name Pronunciations: Hjalmar: “He-all-mar” | Aaldir: “All-deer” | Ephinea: “Eh-fin-ee-uh”

Summary: Aurora.

A/N: Thank you all so, so, so much for reading <3

Tagged: @teddyboobear @alledeglyfunny @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @itsknife2meetu @mynameisyara @j-j-ehlby-writes @jillilama-blog (anyone who wants to be tagged can message me and ask. It’s not a problem at all)

We were nearing her first nameday, but Aurora had already grown significantly. At only a few months old, she was running around as if she were a child, and after almost an entire year, it seemed as if we were preparing to celebrate her 12th nameday instead of her first. While Asgardians had a much different youth than humans, we tended to age much slower; however, our youth passed us by just as quickly until we reached our later “teen” years. Then, the process would slow to a crawl. Everyone who knew of her existence-my father, Hjalmar, Sif, Ephinea, Heimdall, Thor, and Frigga-had all tried to make reason of her strange aging pattern. The accelerated nature of it worried me because I couldn’t bear to outlive her. I refused to live a single day without her. It was a discussion that plagued many of my conversations with Heimdall, who spoke of the possibility that the occurrence could have been linked to the nature of her birth. She had been kissed by death but was given the essence of life, which could have caused her to age abnormally. Still, I couldn’t think of it for too long without the unknown nature of it bringing about sorrow.

I sat beneath the tree of life and death, watching her run through the tall grass of the meadow surrounding it, her raven hair flowing behind her. It was wild and untamed, just as her father’s had once been. She reminded me of him more and more each passing day. Each time she laughed, I could hear him. She looked at me with the same admiration that he once had. She would sit with me beneath the tree and allow me to braid her wild hair back, and all the while, she would sing to me the same beautiful melodies that only Loki and I had known. There was something within her that just knew him, and I loved her all the more for it. She latched onto every single story I told her, and she was never afraid to ask questions about him, her vocabulary being just as colorful and beautiful as his had been.

After a few weeks of me discovering motherhood, Thor and Ephinea sat down to tell me what had transpired with Loki. They told me everything from the devious plotting and the betrayal to the madness that seemed to swallow him. I didn’t believe a single word of it until Thor allowed me to look into his mind and see his last memories of my trickster. The man I saw was nothing like the man I knew. He was crazed-thirsty for power and control. He was desperate, and it pained me to see the man I cared so deeply for in such a light. That wasn’t the Loki I loved for a millenia. The man in Thor’s memory was a stranger, and Aurora would never know of him. Instead, I told her often about her father, the man I fell in love with, the man who whispered words of love and support directly to my soul, the man I knew Loki was.

She was exactly what I imagined. Her fair skin held only the smallest imperfections-a light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that matched the pattern of my own. However, while I was often self-conscious because of mine when Loki wasn’t around to silence those insecurities, I saw those same imperfections as some of the most glorious, beautiful pieces of my daughter. They made her all the more beautiful. Her eyes became even more vibrant in the months following her birth. It was like I could see the very essence of life in her eyes. When I looked into them, I saw myself reflected in them, and I felt invincible. I felt like the woman she saw me as. In her eyes, I witnessed a version of myself that I never had before. I was her hero. I was her strong foundation, and she looked at me as if I were the most powerful force in all the universe. She looked at me like I was the most beautiful part of every day, like I was the sun that lit up her world, and I saw her in the same light. We shared the deepest connection possible, and Frigga noted that it was likely due to the gift I had given her.

She was feral, just as I had hoped for. She was a princess by right, but she had a wildness about her. Instead of descending the stairs of our home, she would find herself swinging off the railings and jumping down to the ground floor of the cottage before bursting out the door and running through the woods. She had a wild spirit within her that brought me back to my youth, a wildness that shone in her eyes. She climbed trees and made friends with the animals in the forest. Whenever she called out to Eldfinn, the wolf with eyes that matched the fire in his soul, he came to her. He was a massive beast-much like the ones I often made friends with-and donned a coat that danced with the colors of a fire long dead-blacks and greys-but his eyes were truly captivating with hints of gold, red, and orange mixing together. She called him her “wandering fire” and named him thus.

She wasn’t lacking human contact, but her wild nature came from her constant need to explore. The only restrictions I had for her were that she wasn’t to leave my sight without me, and she wasn’t to leave the forest no matter what. I knew what Odin would do with her if he learned of her existence, so I kept her hidden with me. He would never know of her. He would never know her face or her name because if he did, he would try to take her from me. She would be charged with the crimes of her father, and I would commit the greatest treason. I would spill blood in the throne room, and I didn’t feel guilty saying it. If anyone tried to take her from me, they would be met with fire. She was my secret, a treasure that didn’t belong to anyone, not the world...not even me. She was as free as the wind that blew through her hair. She blossomed like the life around her.

The mornings were met with beautiful songs because of her. Even though I would often find my way outside in the early hours of the morning to sing to the trees, Aurora had woken up every morning before the sun rose over the horizon, and she stood outside, watching the horizon through the trees. The moment before the sun peeked over the horizon, she would begin her sweet call, a melody that awoke the day. It was like she brought about the very dawn itself, singing out the song that the bright star knew, a song she seemed to be born with the knowledge of. In those early hours, when the world was just waking up, life blossomed in her presence. The flowers bloomed, the birds sang their sweetest songs, and the branches of the trees seemed to dance in tandem with her airy melody.

Upon finishing the crown of flowers and leaves I had been constructing for her as I sat beneath the tree her father and I fell in love beneath, I gazed back over at her, watching as the dress Frigga had made for her rippled in the light breeze. She looked like a little princess. She was the girl I used to be. She worried about nothing. She feared nothing except the occasional storm that would leave her crawling into bed with me, nestling her body as close to mine as possible until she fell asleep. She never slept during a thunderstorm unless she was with me, and that had been unchanging all throughout her life. She was the girl I missed, but that girl came to life in her eyes. She looked at me like I was still that girl, like she knew who I was deep down inside, “Aurora!” I called out to her, catching her lighthearted gaze with my own. I gestured her over to me, watching every move she made as she pranced over to sit between my legs, her back facing me. She knew exactly what I was requesting.

Setting the crown of flowers onto the ground beside me, I picked up the brush and raked it through her hair, careful to not hurt her. She was strong but sensitive all at once. She felt the pain, but she rarely voiced her discomfort. I could vividly remember every scrape, scratch, bruise, and cut she received from playing too hard, and she would shrug it off. I knew that they were painful because as I transferred them over to myself, they would sting, and I couldn’t imagine how amplified that was for a child. Gently brushing through her raven black hair, I envisioned my Loki again. This was something we partook in countless times over the millennia we were together. He would sit in front of me, his back facing me, and I would brush his hair and braid it back to give me a better view of that beautiful visage, features Aurora seemed to inherit. She reminded me of the gentleness I saw in Loki, and I found myself shedding tears at the moments of remembrance. She would say something or do something-the light could catch her in just the right way-and it would remind me of her father, a man I still felt inexplicably connected to. It was like the flame in my heart didn’t die out like I thought it would if he made the journey before me, which he did.

Once every tangle was brushed from her hair, I braided two strands from her temples to meet at the back of her head where I tied them together with a blue ribbon that matched Loki’s eyes. Her hair was long, reaching the middle of her back. She liked to keep it long after I told her how fond her father had been of my long hair. He would’ve been so impressed with her, so infatuated with every little thing she did. She would’ve been his light when I was unable to be. Dragging the brush through her hair once more to ensure the tangles were completely gone, mindful of the braids I had already created, her voice emerged from the silence, “do you think that we could perhaps...go into town today?” she asked, her voice just as soft and sweet as she was.

The question pained me each time she asked it, but it wasn’t because it was hard to hear, it was because of how hard my response was to formulate. She wasn’t allowed into the world outside for my fear that people would uncover the secret I had kept hidden away. She was a gift that I desired to share with the world, but it was a gift that could be tainted so quickly if people knew of her origin. It took some time for the Asgardians to see me as more than just another orphan girl. I had to prove myself, and my mistreatment ended in my youth when I began to blossom into a young woman. Loki, however, continued to suffer the mistreatment until people saw how taken we were by each other, which took much longer than I liked. People began to realize how willing I was to argue on his behalf, how offended I became when they spoke ill of him or toward him, how angry I was when they even looked at him the wrong way. They saw how deeply I loved him, and in time, their opinion of him changed. He was no longer cast aside as much, and the people began to love him when they saw how much he loved me.

Even though the people of Asgard came around, I saw how their actions and words had affected him in the centuries that followed. He didn’t feel worthy of anything he deemed to be good, and I was at the center of it. He looked at me as if I was an unattainable gift even when I promised my heart and soul to him. The words of others had torn him apart, and I was left picking up those pieces, trying to rebuild the boy I once knew, a boy who loved freely, a boy who sang to the trees with me, a boy who kissed me and didn’t feel ashamed of the blush that overcame his cheeks and nose, a boy who drowned out the world that said we weren’t meant for each other. He was a boy who knew his worth, but as we grew, he questioned it because of the years of being mistreated. I wouldn’t allow our daughter to experience the same thing. I wouldn’t allow them to prosecute her because of her father’s actions. I wouldn’t force upon her the pain of feeling unwanted, unloved, or unappreciated when her reality was so different in those woods. I stroked her hair back with my hand as she turned to face me, “oh, my sweet little wolf, you know you mustn’t explore the world outside this forest,” I murmured, pulling her closer to me.

“But why mustn’t I?” she asked that similar question. It was the one that always followed my insistence that she couldn’t travel into town with me. She often asked Hjalmar and my father, but they gave her the same answer, knowing that it was for the best that she remain a secret. Her big green eyes cut through me and shattered my heart, “Hjalmar and Grandfather get to explore all the time! You go out into the world all the time! Why is it that I’m kept hidden away in the forest? Why can’t I see the world as you do? Why am I not allowed to do as you do?”

I pressed a kiss to her forehead before nuzzling my face against hers, “you have no idea how badly I wish for you to be able to explore as much as you desire, Aurora. I want you to be as free as anyone else, but the world outside these woods can be cold and harsh. The people of Asgard won’t understand you,” I explained once more, sounding too much like my father.

“But they’ll never understand me if I’m locked away,” she replied, her voice filled with so much sorrow. Those words. I knew those words. I spoke those words as a child. I could vividly remember my burning desire to explore the villages outside the forest. I wanted to know what the world had in store for me, but my father kept me hidden away like I had done to Aurora. I remembered how devastating it was each time he would deny my request to venture too far from the house, how disheartened I would become when he would deny my request to go into town with him and Hjalmar. I had been kept a secret once, too, so the pain that came with it wasn’t lost on me. I knew what she was feeling because I felt it myself at one point. I had hoped for so long that I’d be able to give my child a different life, a life without constraints. She shouldn’t have to understand the injustices of the world, but she was forced to.

I sighed, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I had to remain strong for her sake, “the forest and our home is the safest place for you, little one. I know that it’s unfair. I want you to explore more than my own desire to explore the universe itself, but it’s just not the right time for such things. Perhaps when you’re older, we can discuss it again,” I spoke the harsh words as gently as possible, holding her close to me as I felt the very heart within her breaking at the unfair truth. Odin was the one I was truly afraid of. He was the one who could tear my life apart. It didn’t sit well with me that Loki and I had a beautiful relationship up until the point that he spoke to his father, so whatever that conversation had been about, I blamed Odin for the fate of our relationship. I also blamed myself. Perhaps if I had told Loki that I was pregnant before he left to speak with his father, which was something I was on the brink of telling him before he left, he would be here to witness his daughter’s beauty, grace, and wild nature.

Hjalmar’s unannounced presence beside me startled me, but he didn’t catch me completely off guard as Aurora’s eyes locked on him before he spoke in my defense, “the outside world is a big place with small people who don’t know how to treat those who aren’t...dull like them!” he noted, a grin playing on his lips that seemed to bleed onto Aurora’s. They were close. They were just as inseparable as Hjalmar and I had been as children and harbored a love for one another that was only strengthened by their protective instincts over each other. When Hjalmar readied himself to ride out into battle, she would fight him to stay, shedding tears as she begged him not to leave. I saw myself in her. His words in that moment, however, shocked me, and my jaw hung slack as I processed what he said. My eyes locked with his blue ones, and he shrugged his shoulders, feeling my playful judgement, “what? I speak the truth!” he defended himself, raising his hands to surrender.

I snickered before turning my gaze back to the emerald eyes that matched mine, ones I regarded as far more beautiful than any sight I’d ever had the honor of gazing upon, “Asgard can be a dangerous place for people who go against the grain. You didn’t choose your name or who you were born to, but people can hold prejudices against others for who their parents are,” I murmured, knowing those injustices firsthand. It was a difficult concept to grasp, one I still couldn’t understand. Too many nights, I’d lay awake and wish for the ability to create a world just for her, but wishing never brought me anything in life. I would have to change the world for her, and I was prepared to do so.

Her voice pulled me from my feelings of guilt, “but I want to be like you! I want to be like father!” she insisted, her voice cracking as it often had when she brought him up. We spoke of him, and I knew that she had an innate love for a man she never even met. She loved him so deeply and so freely that his loss hurt her just as much as it hurt me, a woman who was in love with him for a millennia. Hearing her speak of him, hearing how eager she was to be like us, brought tears to my eyes, “I would never do anything to taint our family name, and if the Asgardians hold prejudices against me for who my family is, it will be clear to me that they don’t know you well enough. I just want to be someone who would make you proud, someone my father would be proud of,” she sniffled, a few stray tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Aurora,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. Hjalmar lowered himself onto the ground beside me as I held her to my chest. I fought back the tears, finding my strength in my brother just as I had for so long, “I am so proud of the little woman you’ve become. I am so proud of the woman you will become. I’ve loved you since before you were born, since before you were even conceived. Your father and I spoke of our future children all the time, and you’re exactly what we always dreamed of. If he could see you right now-” my voice cracked as the tears stung my eyes. My bottom lip quivered as I thought of the future we had planned, a future I was living without him. I pulled away just enough to tilt her head up to look at me, “if he could see you right now...he would be so proud,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her forehead as her bottom lip continued to tremble. It broke my heart that she was hurting. If I could take that pain away, I would have done so in a heartbeat. I would take on every ounce of heartbreak if it meant she experienced none of it. That was the truth, though. Loki would have been enthralled by her. I thought I knew what love was with just him. He showed me a romantic love that I was still learning to live without, and I never imagined I could love another living thing more than him, but she came along and opened a new window into my soul. She was everything, and he would’ve loved her more than he ever could’ve loved me. She would’ve been our pride and joy, but I was forced to value such a beauty all on my own.

“Your father was one of my closest friends growing up, and I can tell you something right now, princess, he would have been your best friend, too,” Hjalmar grinned, trying to lighten the mood, “he used to create these illusions and place them around the cottage in order to scare me. He even shapeshifted into grandfather at one point to find a way to get your mother out of the house. Your father was a ball of mischief, but he was one of the kindest men I knew, and I know how proud he would be to have a daughter like you. Wherever he is, his heart is full because of your mere existence,” he continued, tears appearing even in those blue eyes that had been so strong through all of this. Hjalmar mourned Loki just as my father did, but there was a special connection the two of them share. I could still vividly remember Hjalmar’s threat to Loki that should my love hurt me, he’d be dead by dawn. If Loki had been anyone else, Hjalmar would’ve kept his promise, and I had no doubt in my mind, but when I came home crying that day, Hjalmar held me all through the night and shed tears with me.

I pressed one more kiss into her hair before placing the crown of flowers and leaves upon her head. It was so similar to the one Loki and I used to make for each other. He would spend hours putting together the perfect crown, telling me that it must be suited for the queen of the forest. He placed so much love and admiration upon me. Every moment we were together, he looked at me as so much more than just an orphaned girl with no name, no home, no claims. He called me a princess, a goddess, a queen, and he treated me like a woman with such power that even I doubted. I didn’t see myself the way he saw me, and he never saw himself through my eyes, either. I always believed it was because love blinded us, but he was aware of my flaws, too, just as I was with his. He was too cold sometimes, and when he was angry, he would become much more calculating. He would bottle up his frustrations until he began bursting at the seams, and there were moments when it lead to arguments between the two of us. He had flaws-just as we all did-but they were met with such beautiful, perfect parts of him. He could be cold and calculating in his frustration and anger, but the rest of the time, he was sweet and warm. He could bottle up his frustrations until they burst out of him, but he knew how to apologize, and he always meant it.

The crown I made for Aurora was fitting for a princess, which she was by right. She had a claim to the throne, but it would’ve been passed along to Thor at some point, and should he have children, they would be his successor. Still, she was a princess. As she stood up and took off toward the woods, calling out for Eldfinn, Hjalmar and I continued to sit by the tree in silent remembrance of the pieces of our hearts that had been lost in Loki’s absence. We both watched as the massive wolf emerged from the tree line, his grey and black coat shimmering in the sunlight. He made his way over to Aurora, and she pressed her forehead against his, running a hand through his fur. He stood just as tall as she was, just a bit smaller than some of our horses, but she was never afraid of him. The were close friends, much like the wolves I surrounded myself with growing up. They never caused me any harm, and Eldfinn wouldn’t hurt Aurora. The animals of the forest understood me, and they understood the boundaries of their wild nature. My family wasn’t their prey, and neither was I. They were peaceful to us, and with time, they became our protectors.

“You two are so similar,” he mused, catching my gaze. He watched her play with Eldfinn, and I watched as his eyes sparkled with memories that seemed so long ago. His words were a compliment for me. She was the most precious thing in my life, and for him to compare her to me brought me so much pride, “every time I look at her, I see you. It’s not just because she has your eyes, either. It’s because she has your heart,” he added, his blue eyes finally meeting mine. It was the similar clash of when the land finally met the sea. There was a gold ring around his pupils that bled out into the blue of his irises that matched the shores of Midgard, so his eyes looked eerily similar to the beaches Loki and I would frequent. Hjalmar had occasionally accompanied the two of us, but it often took much convincing, since he didn’t want to intrude on my time with Loki.

The smile that pulled at his full lips was contagious, and I found myself grinning up at him, “I look at her, and I feel like I’m a boy again, watching you run through this same meadow, playing with the wolves you named against Father’s wishes. It’s as if I’m reliving my most precious memories. She looks at me the way you do, too, like I’m somehow I man worthy of the world even after all the mistakes I’ve made, after all the lives I’ve taken in battle. You two look at me with a love I’ve never deserved but one I could never turn away no matter how guilty I feel accepting it. She reminds me of the girl that never died within you. That girl, the one who’s still curious, the one who still wishes to explore, the one who is capable of bringing about change, she’s still there within you. She never died. She never even retired or cast herself into the deep recesses of your heart. She’s always been at the surface, and I see her from time to time. I see her when you smile, when you laugh, when you admire the branches of the trees because they look like arms reaching out to hold each other, when you tease me for being clumsier than just about any other Asgardian, and when I watch you love. I still know that girl so well,” he smiled, leaning over to bump me with his shoulder.

“And what of the boy within you?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

He snickered, “he’s still alive and well. That’s why you and I are still best friends. You keep him alive,” he confessed, his eyes dancing with words that remained unspoken. Hjalmar and I had always been closer than anyone else. My father and brother were the first men I loved in my life, and they both taught me what love should be like. Love wasn’t painful, and love didn’t break your heart. Love was gentle, peaceful, and kind. They were the ones who taught me that, and then, they hoped that I would carry that knowledge and that ability to love out into the world with me. I did. That was how I met Loki, and that was how our love spanned over a millennia; it was all because of the love my family instilled in me. Hjalmar’s sparkling, world-brightening smile bled over to me once more, “and the only reason why she’s my favorite person is because she’s the product of the two people I’ve loved the most in my life: you and Loki.”

I could sense the bittersweetness in his voice, so I reached out and grasped his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. It seemed as if my hands were lost in his. He had the strong hands of a warrior, and while mine had seen just as much time on the battlefield, my fingers were slender-those of a lover, not a fighter. It seemed as though we both contradicted our own hands. Mine saw far more war, and his saw far more peace. I forced myself into his spot on the battlefield, afraid that he would be taken from me too soon. I would force Odin’s hand on many occasions, telling him that he could have only one of us, that it wasn’t fair for our father to send away both of his children. Many times, the Allfather bent to my will, but many times, he sent both of us, and there had been the rare circumstances that he sent Hjalmar instead of me. Still, I became one of Asgards most proficient warriors to keep the ones that I loved safe, to keep them out of harm's way. Hjalmar’s hands were built for war, but I refused to lose him to it, so instead, my hands lost themselves in his, “I have faith that the man who broke my heart wasn’t the one who filled it with love for a millennia. I think he still harbored so much love for us, and I know it’s no consolation, but...you were one of his favorite people, too,” I promised, recalling the countless times that Loki looked forward to seeing my family, to being around us as we sat in front of the fire, to speaking with Hjalmar about the things they had in common. Loki had just as much love for my father and brother as he did for me, but it was because they treated him as one of our own.

Hjalmar’s eyes filled with tears that he rarely let fall. It was the closest he came to crying most of the time, “I was supposed to go before him. That was my plan. My biggest fear in life has always been losing more people I love. I still have a vague memory of the last time I saw my parents,” his voice trailed off as the memories he only spoke of twice crossed over his eyes. His father had perished in battle, and his mother took her own life in the night after she put Hjalmar to bed. The sight was one he witnessed the next morning. He hadn’t even reached his third name day at the time, so the scene was both confusing and traumatizing. He didn’t have a good relationship with death, though, but his words were shocking to me. He continued, “I never wanted to lose someone I was so close to again. I loved my parents, but as I grew up, there were other people in my life who I loved just as much if not even more. Father was one of those people, and when I first met you, I loved you from the moment you looked at me. Then, there was Loki and Thor. There was Ephinea and Sif. There have been others who have fallen on the battlefield along the way, but I wasn’t as close to them as I am with the small group I’ve kept close in my heart, so my plan was always to go before any of you. I couldn’t face that pain again, but here we are,” he murmured, gesturing to the meadow that knew our presence, the one that felt Loki’s absence.

His words broke my heart, “you are still here for a reason, brother,” I spoke, reaching up to stroke my fingers through his full beard, “you are here because fate wouldn’t allow me to lose everyone all at once. I love you, and if I had to lose you after already losing Loki...if I had to lose you ever, I don’t know what I would do. I’d be lost,” my voice cracked at the mere thought of having to face my life without my best friend.

“You’d be strong,” he insisted, nothing but admiration in his eyes, “but you don’t get to die before me,” he teased, a grin overcoming his lips as he tried to lighten the mood as always.

I smiled up at him, giving his hand a light squeeze, “I suppose we’ll both be forced to live forever, then, because you don’t get to die before me, either. I won’t let you,” I replied, almost as if I was challenging him. Then, there was that alarm that carried from the Bifrost all the way to the middle of the forest where I sat. It was one I only heard a small handful of times. I had charged Heimdall to watch over my Midgardians, and when they were in danger, he would make the alarm. This was it. Before Hjalmar could stop me, I scrambled up to my feet and sprinted in the direction of the cottage, “look after her!” I yelled back to him, my words seeming to echo through the meador. The branches of the trees made way for me as the fearful tears stung my eyes. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, so there was no way Hjalmar would’ve been able to catch up. By the time I had reached the cottage, passing by my father in the stables, my sword and shield were waiting for me by the door. With one quick glance, I knew it was my father’s doing. All I had left was to dress myself in the armor that was crafted specifically for me.

When I entered my room, my armor was already laid out on my bed, almost as if he knew that I would be leaving as soon as he heard the alarm. It took me almost no time at all to reach the cottage, so I knew he must’ve worked quickly. I pulled on the armor, strapping it securely to my body. It was similar to Sif’s, but mine was a bit lighter to allow for quicker movement. I tied my hair back and gave a quick glance at myself in the mirror before exiting my room and holding my hand out for Soulkeeper. Within seconds, the sword moved itself through the air, the hilt of it landing securely in my palm. I strapped the sword to my back along with the intricately designed shield and hurried out of the cottage. In the distance, I saw Aurora running toward the cottage with Hjalmar close behind her and Eldfinn even closer behind him. Hjalmar continued to call out for her, but she ignored every desperate plea for her to stop.

Knowing that they would arrive before I left, I turned my attention to the stables right as my father emerged with a rope in his hands, leading Aria from the stable. I didn’t like riding her with reins, and it was perfectly safe for me. It felt constricting to put such a wild beast in captivity. She stayed with us on her own terms. She was never locked away in the stables, and if she desired to leave, she did. She had often disappeared in the night and had returned in the early hours of the morning. She was still just as wild as the day I found her, but she always found her way back to me. I could bring myself to restrict her all the time. When she saw me, those deep black eyes seemed to glimmer, and she broke away from my father, trotting over to me. She used her nose to nudge me toward her as if she was pulling me in for an embrace. I stroked a hand over her coat before breaking away when I heard Aurora approach, “where are you going?” she asked, her green eyes boring into my own.

“I’m going to Midgard. Heimdall made the alarm that there is a need for me there,” I answered, having no other details to give her. Even if I did, I wasn’t sure if I could.

Hjalmar finally stopped once he reached us, and he heaved, trying to catch his breath, “I tried to stop her, but...she’s fast,” he noted.

“I don’t want you to go,” Aurora interjected, her voice small and filled with fear. When I met her eyes again, I saw the unshed tears in them. She was terrified of me leaving her, and I knew that feeling. Whenever my father rode off into battle, I would beg him to stay. I would beg and plead with him to take me with him, showing him that I could potentially hold my own on the battlefield even when I was still just a child. No matter how much I tried to convince him, though, he always left, telling me that one day, I would understand. This was the day. My heart broke as I thought of having to break the heart of a princess. She continued, “please, don’t leave me!”

“I won’t be gone long,” I promised her, unsure of whether or not I’d be able to keep that promise. There was always a level of risk that was involved in my trips to Midgard. Oftentimes, I was going there in dangerous circumstances, so I was sure this would be no different. Still, I would fight death all the way. I pulled her close to me, holding her as tightly as I could without breaking her, “I’ll be back before you know it, and I miss you already, little wolf,” I smiled, pulling away from her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. She couldn’t see me cry before I left. It would only serve to worry her more.

“I love you, mother,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me and holding me as tightly as possible.

I smiled, reminding myself of how lucky I was to have this type of love even if it was just for a while, “I love you, little wolf,” I replied, repeating the same words my father had all my life. I was his little wolf, and she was mine. I gave a short glance at both Hjalmar and my father, the latter giving me the nod of approval that I needed to leave her with them. He had made countless promises to keep her safe and raise her with love should anything happen to me, but I just needed to know that I was making the right decision. The simple gesture was more than enough for me. When I pulled away from her, she scurried over to Hjalmar who scooped her up into his arms.

I pulled myself up onto Aria’s back, straddling her body with my legs and finding that familiar, perfect balance. My eyes locked with Hjalmar’s once more, “remember, Eva, I’m first,” he reminded me with a contagious smile before waving me away, knowing that I was needed elsewhere. I clutched the familiar section of Aria’s mane before riding off through the forest along the path we always took. I was unable to look back at my family for fear that my love for them would stop me from leaving, for fear that her loving eyes would keep me from fulfilling my destiny, which had always been to protect the ones I loved so deeply. Instead, I poured every insecurity, every ounce of fear into Aria, and she pushed herself faster and faster with every passing second. She knew how fearful I was, and she wanted me to have answers to the questions that threatened to burn through me. I was always at a breaking point, and she felt that within me. If I wasn’t fearful of taking her to Earth with me, she would’ve accompanied me. However, I already had more than enough unwanted attention as it was, and she would only pull more of it.

When we arrived just outside the Bifrost, she knelt to grant me an easy departure from her back, the magnificent beast standing taller than even Hjalmar, who was massive. She was huge, but she was graceful. Once I retreated from her back, I gestured for her to run back home where she would either return to the stables or wander through the forest until I was close to returning home. Father claimed that she seemed to know when I would be returning, as he wouldn’t even have to announce that I was coming back. Instead, she would leave the comfort of the stables and return with me. She took off back toward the forest, and I turned on my heel to enter Heimdall’s observatory that had been rebuilt in the time between Loki’s fall and this moment. Entering it, I saw the man I often watched the stars with, but he looked like he had seen a ghost, “what happened?”

He swallowed hard, fear and disbelief clouding his amber eyes, “it’s Loki.”

The ride back to the cottage from the palace felt both excruciatingly long and far too short all at once. Thor insisted on accompanying me back to my home, especially after the trauma we both experienced on Midgard. We thought Loki to be dead, and the man I saw, the man I looked upon...wasn’t the man I fell in love with. He was different. He was overcome with madness. I declined Thor’s invitation to see me back to the cottage, knowing that I needed time to think. The ride back would help me sort through the various emotions I didn’t have time for on Midgard. My emotions had run rampant from the moment Heimdall told me of Loki’s presence on Midgard to being betrayed by him in New York to escorting him back to the palace and didn’t stop even in that very moment. Leaving him at the palace was both the most difficult thing I had to do and the easiest thing I could think of doing. Seeing him hurt me in ways I couldn’t think of.

He wasn’t Loki anymore.

His presence on Asgard threatened everything I had built in his absence. I had a daughter, a life that I was meant to protect from every horror in this world. Her safety was of utmost importance to me, but what if...being with me was the most dangerous place for her to be. Loki’s mood had shifted multiple times from the time we met on Midgard to the moment I left him in the palace. In New York, he nearly killed me, but his words of love and guilt kept me from giving in completely. Then, when we finally brought him back to Asgard, he was screaming at me, telling me that it was my fault that he was in chains. If I hadn’t interferred, he wouldn’t be Asgard’s newest prisoner. Instead, he’d be a King on Midgard. He threatened me that should he ever escape, I would be the first one he would pay a visit to, implying that he would finish what he started on Midgard. He threatened to end my life, and should he truly wish to hurt me the way he did in New York, Aurora would be the first person he went after.

Aria felt my need to grapple with my thoughts, so she slowed to a swaying walk once we entered the forest. I didn’t want the people of Asgard to watch me struggle with my emotions. The people knew me as a strong leader, someone who lead many of Asgard’s battles. I wasn’t supposed to fall apart. This wasn’t the person they knew. Aria, with her keen ability to sense everything about me, all of my doubts and fears and concerns, gave me the time I needed to understand my own mind. Loki was a danger, and I saw that firsthand in New York. If it wasn’t for Tony, the city would’ve been decimated, including all of us, and that was because of what Loki had brought upon. He brought the Chitauri to New York with the hopes of laying waste and taking control of the planet we had both loved so dearly at one point. He proved himself to be dangerous, and that was especially true when it came to me.

He was my weakness, and the other Midgardians could see it. It was no surprise to Steve, since he knew the history I had with Loki, but no one else was aware. They saw the difference between when I was fighting the Chitauri and when I was with Loki. I was a warrior, but I became nothing more than putty in his hands. Should he escape from the dungeons, which was a very real possibility, I would be his first target, of that I was sure. Should he find me, what would stop him from hurting the rest of my family? What would stop him from killing my father and brother? Would I be able to stop him? Would I be able to fight him...kill him? I was uncertain of the answers, which only made me more fearful. What would I do with Aurora? Would I run away with her to Midgard? What if he found me there? What if he hunted me down and hurt her in an attempt to bring about the most pain imaginable for me?

The questions flooded my mind until Aria and I made came into view of the cottage. The moment I saw it, the moment the tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I cried the whole way back from Midgard. As Thor and I trailed behind Loki and the guards that met us at Heimdall’s observatory, I allowed the tears to fall. I wouldn’t let Loki see me cry, though. I refused to let him watch me as I cried because he didn’t deserve to win like that, not after all he had done. He wanted to hurt me. Every word was dripping with hatred, a burning anger that left cuts on my very soul. Asgard wasn’t my home anymore, or at least it didn’t feel like it. Loki’s fall took my happiness, but I found it again in Aurora. I found a purpose in her, but having Loki back in the state he was in made me fear everything that I’d never been fearful of. I was afraid of falling asleep because I didn’t know if he would find a way out of his cell and kill me or hurt my family. I was afraid of raising our daughter because I didn’t know if she would be taken from me at any second.

Loki took away my security.

The sky was nearly black as I rode toward the cottage, Aria continuing to walk as slowly as she could. I could see that my father was busying himself tending to the garden, the torch still lit. It would be lit until I made my presence known at the house. It had been lit since the day Loki fell. He would light the torch and leave it lit throughout the night as a sign that our home-like our hearts-was still awaiting his return. It was our way of paying homage to him. It symbolized that our home would never be complete without him. He was still in our hearts, and I still couldn’t bring myself to cast him out even after everything on Midgard. I smiled lightly at the sentiment. Hjalmar stood beside one of the trees that lined the path, staring up at the branches. When my eyes followed his, I saw her up amongst the branches. She stared down at him, and I found that I was finally within earshot. Hjalmar’s voice was stern as he spoke to her, “it’s getting ready to storm, Aurora!” he called up to her.

Loki and I used to climb the trees in the forest when we were younger, and we’d often do so as children, watching as my father returned from battle. Hjalmar liked to stay grounded, so he would call up to us with worried voices, telling us that Father didn’t want us up in the trees for too long. He would often tell us that we could get hurt should we fall, but we didn’t. The secret to not getting hurt while falling was to not fall in the first place. In that moment, I wished someone had told me that before I fell for the God of Mischief. Aurora’s voice rang out, pulling me from my sorrow and adding that bittersweetness into my heart, “I’m not coming down until she gets back or until you send me with her,” she argued as I finally got close enough to see the frown that looked so unnatural on her lips. Aria stepped on a twig, pulling her attention, and I watched as the frown turned into a wide grin, “mother!” she beamed, hurriedly scrambling out of the tree, jumping down when she was still a bit too high up, causing Hjalmar to lunge for her and catch her in his arms. She pushed herself away from him, running over to me, that smile filling my heart with joy that had been pushed so far away in New York.

I slid off Aria’s back, and ran a hand through her mane before she ran off into the woods to take some time to be alone. Without a single word, I bent down and lifted Aurora into my arms, holding her close to me. Even though she had grown exponentially since her birth, she was still my baby. I held her tightly against my chest, wishing that things were different, wishing that our lives had been different. She deserved the world, and I couldn’t give that to her. I was failing her. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and every catastrophe, every life that was lost, every heartache I experienced on Midgard just fell to the wayside. All that I could feel in that moment was the sheer amount of unconditional love she harbored for me. She didn’t know the woman who failed the children in the orphanage. She didn’t know the woman who had nearly been killed because she couldn’t bring herself to fight the man she loved. She didn’t know the woman with the weaknesses. She knew me as her mother, and I felt that love so profoundly in that moment.

Casting a stray gaze at Hjalmar, I brushed past him and walked toward the house as the thunder began to roll in. It wasn’t Thor’s doing. It seemed as if the world could feel my heartache, the conflict within me. She wanted to grieve with me, and the thunder symbolized her cries. The droplets of rain that began falling, catching themselves in Aurora’s hair, were her tears. She felt this with me. I carried Aurora into the cottage, Hjalmar and our father following close behind. I didn’t speak a single word as we entered the cottage, the only noise from the creaky front door opening in front of me and closing behind Father. I sighed as I sat on the chair in front of the fireplace, listening to the rain begin to fall on the leaves outside. Hjalmar and Father sat in the other chairs opposite me as Aurora situated herself on my lap, keeping her arms wrapped around my body, “why are you sad?” she asked such a simple question, but it seemed so profound in that moment.

I didn’t know how to answer her question. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t explain to her that the man I believed to be dead all this time-her father-was alive and just laid waste to a city. I couldn’t explain to her that her father was no longer the man I knew, was no longer the man I fell in love with or the man she envisioned him to be. She had the most beautiful words to speak about him. If I told her of the horrible crimes he committed, he would’ve turned from a dream into a nightmare. It would have been worse than mourning him, which was something we had done together. I had to both mourn the man Loki once was and experience the pain and fear of the man who had the same face and voice, the same pained look in his eyes, but he was cruel, which was something my love was not. I couldn’t tell her of what happened on Midgard, so I settled for a vague answer, “I saw someone I didn’t think I’d see again,” I replied, catching the eyes of my father and Hjalmar, which filled with confusion.

Before I could respond to their looks of confusion with a cryptic answer, Aurora piped up again, “who?” she asked, pulling back just far enough to catch my gaze with her own. She looked so concerned, so protective. It was similar to how I had looked at my father when I was a child. I had always been willing to take on the world if it meant that he was safe. I could still recall the countless times I readied my childhood horse, ready to escape in the night to ride into battle for him. I would pack up my sword and shield that I could barely hold upright at the time, and I would pack a few days rations into the saddle bag. He would almost always catch me right before I rode off, though, and if he didn’t, he caught me on the path leading away from the house. Each time, though, I would see my protective gaze mirrored back at me in his dark brown eyes, and I saw the same look in that moment with Aurora, “Grandfather says that he’ll show me how to wield a sword tomorrow, so I’ll be able to protect you from them,” she promised, looking proud.

I cast a concerned glance over at my father, surprised that he would allow her to wield a sword at such a young age. It took some time before he allowed me to wield a sword, but I also knew how persistent she could be. He shrugged his shoulders, a lighthearted smile forming on his lips that made my heart hurt. I glanced back at her, “why would you want to wield a sword?” I asked, glossing over her question of who the person was. There was no way I could explain it without opening up a can of worms that neither of us were ready for. Father and Hjalmar looked confused, but they left they remained silent, knowing that their questions would be answered in due time.

She paused for a moment, looking for the right words to say, the quiet crackling of the firewood filling the silence in the room that was left with the absence of her voice, ��well...you wield one,” she finally answered, her eyes locking with mine. It was at that very moment, that small, inconsequential moment in, that I realized just how much she loved me. We were connected by more than just the star we were forged from. We were connected through the life force that I shared with her. My very soul had bled into hers on the day she made her grand entrance into the world, and we had been inseparable since. However, it was in those little words that I realized how pivotal my role was in her life. She looked at me as if I was the world. I was her hero, the stars in the night sky, the very foundation she stood upon. I was everything to her, and she was everything to me.

When that finally dawned on me, I wished to cry out for mercy, but I couldn’t. All I could do was swallow back the lump in my throat as I gave her a pat on the back, “go get ready for bed, and I’ll meet you in there in a moment. Leave us to speak,” I insisted, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she crawled out of my lap and wished a goodnight to the two men in the room who put on convincing smiles for her sake. She would sleep with me that night. As I gazed out of the windows and listened to the rain pour down against the roof of the cottage, I knew that she would be taking over the bed. She couldn’t sleep alone during a storm. Since she was born, she would crawl into bed with me before the first raindrop even fell, almost as if she could sense the storm in her bones. That night, I would be thankful to have her in my arms. After all that happened on Midgard, I needed the security that holding her would bring me.

Once she disappeared into the other room to change, I stood up from my chair and closed the space between my father and I. Resting myself on his lap, I wrapped my arms around him, needing to be held by someone. I needed my father. I needed my protector. I’d never grow out of that, no matter how many battles I fought, no matter how far I roamed, no matter how many places I saw. He protected me from the horrors of the world and only let me see the good that the world had to offer, which played a part in how deeply I loved everyone and everything. I saw death and destruction, but I forced myself to believe that it was done by people who hadn’t been given the same love and patience that I had been so lucky to receive. They had witnessed too much misery in their lives, and they knew nothing but chaos. I tried to see the good, and that part of me wouldn’t have been as strong had I not known so much acceptance and mercy from the people I surrounded myself with. My father was the greatest example of that mercy. Hjalmar and I were not his blood, but he treated us as nothing less than that. After what I had seen on Midgard, after what I witnessed and what I’d been through, I became a child again. I needed my father.

His arms wrapped around my waist, and I melted into his embrace as my eyes locked onto the fire. I watched as the flames licked the cobblestone, dancing with each other in perfect sync with one another. It was how I envisioned Loki and I for a thousand years. We were two wispy flames connected to the same raging fire, dancing in tandem with one another. We knew we couldn’t burn each other, and I had faith that he wouldn’t burn me. Every now and then, our individual flames would bleed into each other, the joining of two souls that had been connected since the beginning. We were the eternal twins, our love symbolized by the fire. However, when I saw him in New York, I realized how wrong I was. We were suddenly fire and water. We were detrimental to each other, no longer able to dance as we had since the beginning of time. Fate twisted us so that we were given the ability to ruin the other, but he was the one who took that opportunity. I would never.

“It was Loki,” I whispered, my voice cracking the moment I said his name. They were both silent, and I knew that it was because they understood that I wasn’t finished explaining. They wouldn’t pester me with the questions because I didn’t leave any stone unturned with them. Finding the strength I needed to continue, I took a deep breath, “he survived the fall from the bridge, and he was on Earth. I was...he wasn’t Loki, though. This was a man with his face, his voice, his name, but the things he did...the chaos and destruction he brought with him was...on an otherworldly level. I almost didn’t return,” I confessed, feeling the way my father tensed up. Loki was like a son to him, but I didn’t even have to tell him what happened for him to know that it was Loki’s doing. My father would’ve sacrificed his own life to ensure that Loki was safe, but I listened to the way his breath hitched in his throat, almost like breaking glass, “he killed nearly one hundred people, and the army of Chitauri he brought with him...took the lives of hundreds more. I...did everything I could to stop him, but I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t do it,” I trembled, my voice giving way as the tears betrayed me and streamed down my cheeks.

I thought of the children in the orphanage. I thought of the way Loki looked at me like I was nothing. I thought of how it felt when he plunged the dagger into me-one of twin daggers that I gifted to him. I thought of the anger and madness in his eyes when I told him that I still loved him as he pressed the same dagger to my throat before he ruthlessly attacked me. I thought of the conflict when he crawled over to me, holding me in what he thought were my last moments. I thought of how he begged me not to leave him, how he wept when he thought I was about to fade into the darkness. I thought of how he pleaded with me to stay with him as my body healed just enough for me to head into the battle. He was afraid that I would be killed if I left, and I could vividly remember that fear in his eyes. I thought of how quickly he turned against me once more when we finally captured him. Thor had to be the one to put restraints on him, and after Loki mocked Steve and set his sights on me, Thor covered his mouth with the muzzle, knowing that Loki would only have snarky comments to make at me. Thor understood just how deeply the situation in New York was hurting me. Loki didn’t even understand the depth of it because he didn’t know about Aurora.

Hjalmar rose from his chair next to my father and sat in the same spot that he did when we were younger. When I was sat atop our father’s lap, Hjalmar would position himself on the floor at his feet to be closer to me. He would rest his head against Father’s knee, and he would reach up to hold one of my hands. As our palms met in that moment, I felt my burden lighten. I continued to weep, though, as my father held me tightly, keeping me pressed against his chest. His voice cut through the soft sobs that were muffled by his strong torso, “breathe, little one. You were made strong enough to weather any storm. You will make it through this one, too,” he whispered, rubbing my arm.

I took a deep breath, trying to work through the heavy emotions. Seeing him again, especially in the state that he was in, was like cutting my heart apart along the same scars that it received when he left me or when I thought he had fallen to his death. Those were the most sensitive spots, so it hurt even worse, “what of Aurora?” I asked, voicing the only concern on my mind. As soon as I mentioned her, the fire seemed to silence its crackling as the walls absorbed every sound in the room. The silence was deafening. Hjalmar’s hand tensed in mine, and no one even dared to breathe. I spoke as the silence began crushing me more than the various scenarios had, “when we were escorting him to the palace, he promised to escape, and when he did, this would be the first place he would visit. He wants to kill me. He wants to finish what he couldn’t on Midgard. He’s angry with me, and...what if he hurts her? What if he escapes and comes here?”

“We’ll be prepared,” Hjalmar interjected, his voice cutting through my panic. I lifted my head and caught his supportive gaze, “if he comes here and tries to hurt her, I will bury him in the ground. Family or not, he’ll meet my axe if he comes here with ill intent for either of you.”

I shook my head, knowing that his words were born of nothing but the unconditional love he felt for the two of us. He had always been my protector even when I didn’t want him to be, but it had only been amplified when Aurora came around. She was a father figure to her, and he acted like one. He protected her the way he did when we were children, even from things that weren’t even threats. When it began to rain, he would pull off his jacket and hold it over her head until they returned to the cottage. He kept us safe, and with my father and him close, I understood that Loki would only get to Aurora and I should he kill them, and he would have to kill me to get to her. Still, I saw how powerful he had become in New York, and the madness only opened up new abilities for him. He was stronger, faster, and more fearless. Should he arrive at our home, I couldn’t risk the lives of my father and brother, “I don’t want him to be killed. He’s still...I still...” my voice trailed off as I shook my head in disbelief that I could still harbor such deep feelings for the man who hurt so many people, for the man who tore apart the fabric of what we built our love upon.

Sensing exactly what I was feeling, my father spoke, “the most broken hearts are those that have experienced the most love. You hurt so deeply because you have been loved so intensely, little wolf. We will figure out what the next steps must be, and we will do it together. No matter what, though, you and Aurora will be safe,” he murmured, the creak of the door pulling our attention away from each other and causing me to collect myself quickly.

Aurora bounced out of the room in her nightgown, her black hair sweeping over her shoulders. I knew that the storm was distressing for her. She was afraid, but she wouldn’t tell me that she was anxious for me to finish my conversation so that I would retire to the room to keep her company. She wouldn’t voice those fears, but I knew by the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, that she was growing restless. I smiled at her, standing up from the safety of my father’s arms before walking over to her. I cast a glance back at them and nodded, silently wishing them goodnight. Reaching down between us, I held my hand out for Aurora’s, and when she grasped it, we walked into the room together. Like clockwork, she crawled into bed before me and sat upright, waiting for me to sink myself down and become comfortable. Only then did she curl up with me, resting her head right beneath my chin.

I smiled up at the ceiling, feeling her try to pull herself closer to me. If I had known the night before I left would be our final night of security-our final night of happiness-I would’ve made the most of it. I would’ve held her like our worlds weren’t about to fall to pieces. I would’ve tickled and listened to that laugh until she was too fatigued to prance around the woods anymore, begging to return home to sleep. I would’ve cradled her closer to me than I ever had before, but we never know when the last of something was. We could never know which one was our final heartbreak, or which one was our final smile. We never knew which moment would be the last with joy and love. In that moment, I realized that the safest place for her was as far away from me as possible. The mere thought made my heart shatter, but it was true.

I choked back the tears, my grip on her tightening, “the morning you were born followed the hardest night of my life. It was the night this world lost your father,” I murmured, feeling her eyes on my face as I glanced out the window, hearing the thunder and rain, “the sky opened up, and it rained all night. Thunder and lightning rolled in across the horizon, and I knew that it was because the universe felt his absence just as deeply as I did. She cried with me, but I didn’t have time to mourn him as much as I should’ve because you decided that you needed to mend my broken heart. You decided that it was time for me to hold you because when your father...died...I felt my world slipping away, and I was lost. It turns out that I was lost because you were meant to find me. It was as if you knew what your presence would bring to me: a lifetime of joy, love, and beauty that I’d never known before,” I reminisced, my voice becoming thick with tears.

Clearing my throat, I continued, “and when our eyes met for the first time, the storm cleared, and the sun began to rise on the horizon, chasing away the clouds. There was nothing but clear skies and light from that moment on. We have both known the storm, but we’re strong enough to weather whatever comes our way. I remember that day like it was yesterday. The light from the dawn filled the room, and it felt like it was rising just for you. I felt invincible the moment you looked at me, like I could take on the world, and I felt more love than I’d ever felt before. I never knew how deeply I could love until I met you, and within the blink of an eye, my world changed for the better. The girl I used to be, the one who had known nothing but heartache in the months prior to your birth, she disappeared into the background the moment I held you, and I returned to the girl I was when I shared my heart with another,” I mused, as my heart ached with what would come tomorrow. She would no longer be my little girl, and my life would lack the laughter and joy-the love-she brought into it.

My eyes connected with hers, and I saw my reflection in them, but I didn’t feel like the warrior or the goddess or the queen that she saw me as. I felt like a failure. My decision was to fail her, and in doing so, I would keep her safe. I fought back my tears, forcing a smile on my face as she yawned. She didn’t need to worry, and my tumultuous emotions would only lead to her becoming more and more anxious. This would be her final night of peace, and I would bear the burden of knowledge until I was forced to forfeit my love and happiness the following day, “you were and will always be...the greatest gift life could’ve ever given to me. You are my favorite, favorite thing,” I whispered, pressing a featherlight kiss to her nose as her smile brightened the darkness in my heart, “get some sleep now, little wolf. I will still be here when you wake.”

She nodded her head, another little yawn escaping her lips, “I love you, Mother, and I miss you already,” she whispered as her eyes closed, ready to accept the sleep I knew she hadn’t been getting with my absence. She slept far more soundly at my side than she did without me, and she couldn’t sleep at all during the storms without me.

“I love you more,” I responded in typical fashion, listening to the way her breath steadied. She fell asleep within minutes of hearing my final profession of love to her, and I just watched her, drinking in every feature and committing it to memory. All I would have left of her would be memories. When I knew she was finally asleep, the tears began to cascade from my eyes and down my cheeks. I held back the sobs as I thought of how true our typical parting words rang in that moment, “I miss you already.”

[rosaline-kei]

Bloodlust

Bloodlust; Chapter 1 — The Ackermans

Disclaimer:I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.

Synopsis/Summary:  The Ackermans are infamous for their crimes or more specifically, murder. Deep inside an Ackerman's heart rests their deranged bloodlust. Without proper control and discipline, something that Mikasa struggles with, chaos is bound to breakout. Mikasa and Levi Ackerman embark on a mission involving Eren Jaeger, the future heir to the royal throne, and Kenny expects no failure.

Rating: T 

Warnings: May contain sensitive and/or triggering content later on-- I will put another warning if that’s the case.

FF NET

AO3

Author’s Notes: Not the best at writing but hey oh well

Knives. Knives can be used for all sorts of activities, ranging from preparing a scrumptious meal to murder. They are viewed as simple equipment for the 'innocent' whose hands are clean from bloodshed. However, they are also viewed as weapons of torture more than defence to peculiar types of people. One clan in particular was obligated to view it as the latter—the murderous one. That clan was the infamous Ackermans.

The Ackermans were masked villains that roamed the Underground district, staining their hands with their target's blood for others who were willing to pay the price, but unwilling to commit the deed. From time to time, they would venture the surface, hiding in the alleyways as they proceeded with their business. Although they were bold and strong, they would often refuse any task that required too much involvement with royalty.

Many wonder the history of the Ackermans, however, none dared seek the answer. They were known for being monstrous after all. Little was really known about them— considering they were masked, it wasn't easy to identify them either. The innocent bread shop owner across the street could be an Ackerman, and no one would know. Many called them cowards for this reason, and yet, ironically, some of that many had probably sought out help from them.

Though, not too long ago, the Ackermans began to be severely wiped out. Some say it was a disease that broke out that they were susceptible to, others say that the king finally decided to actually take action against them. Yet, it was odd how the infamous clan—known for their physical abilities, along with their manipulations and such—were quick to be defeated.

At least, most of them were. There were just a few Ackermans left, that no one could catch. To everyone's knowing, there were three left. No one knew their names, no one knew their faces. But everyone knew that they better rid them quickly in order to attain peace within the kingdom—at least, that's what the late king said.

That king had passed away, along with his wife. The reasons for their death was unknown to commoners, and even the royal guards. But that didn't matter, there was an heir to the throne—Eren Jaeger. And when he'd finally turn twenty, the throne was all his.

As for the Ackermans, or at least what remained of them, they couldn't care less about royalty… at least two of them seem very disinterested. For years ever since the 'Ackerman cleansing' (as what people called their wipe-out.), they had continued their lives as per 'normal'—committing crimes in place of those who feared to dirty their hands. It was ironic, how their supposed loyal customers would turn against them, supporting the cleansing of them, and yet come crawling to them to kill someone or whatever.

It didn't matter. That was how life always was for them.

"Do we have any jobs today? I rather… finish it off quickly." A raven asked, as she glanced over to her brother who was sharpening a knife. "Yes we do, in a while. I take it that you already know the background of the situation?" He had responded. The way they talked about killing in such a casual way was nothing new, it was all they knew.

"Yeah… is he coming back today?"

"Most likely. Kenny finishes his job with no delays. Although, I wish he would be late. His presence is shitty."

"You know, he's our boss, you sho—"

"Mikasa, sister, we both know we hate him."

Mikasa heaved a heavy sigh, knowing that that was something she couldn't argue with her brother. "I know, Levi, but you know what happens if we disrespect him in front of his face."

"Yeah, he makes us spill more blood, commit more crimes than necessary. Riskier crimes. Amazing, isn't he? Did I forget to mention he tried to kill us more than once?" Levi scoffed sarcastically, before he lifted his knife, taking a glance of its sharpness. Mikasa only responded with a simple nod, muttering something inaudible as she turned away from her brother and made her way to check her weapons. Catching a glance of her, Levi noticed a tinge of pain stinging her.

It was always this way. Despite both of their monotonous looks, they both knew behind their individual unseen masks, was an infinite amount of pain and guilt that they both learnt to supress. In the first place, who with a sane mind would want to kill? At least, not them. Although, even with all the guilt they felt, they continued with the bloody path set for them, knowing that deterring away from it was not an option.

"You alright?" Levi managed to ask, as he set his knife down and approached his sister. "You know I'm not. And you know the reason." Mikasa responded, before turning to Levi. Her monotonous look remained, her guard was still up for the most part. Yet, Levi noticed just a little bit of her vulnerability slipping out. A vulnerability that only he was permitted to see. He was the only one Mikasa could fully trust, the same went for Levi with her. They only had each other after all. As for Kenny, he was nothing but trouble.

"I'll be there. Don't worry. It's not a solo mission. Kenny knows better to assign you to one again." Levi sighed, "But you have to eventually learn how to control it better, Mikasa. Even if we are fated to be monsters forever, we should at least keep a low profile of it."

Little was known about Ackerman history and its background, it was an unknown to everyone on how the Ackermans had impeccable strength and how they were able to carry out such crimes in a ruthless way. Even Levi and Mikasa knew very little of their family's history thanks to Kenny. The information about their heritage was kept to a minimum for whatever reason.

One thing both of them knew very well, however, was the bloodlust that hid in their veins, waiting to bite.

Levi managed to gain control of it… at least, more than Mikasa. The last time he had let his bloodlust get the best of him was many years ago. Even so, the suppression of such corrupted desires were more difficult than it looked. It was unknown to them why such corrupted desires were hard to control, as unfortunate as it was. Levi had managed to attain a balance between such desires, for the most part at least. As for Mikasa, it wasn't the same.

Levi still recalled how disastrous her first solo mission turned out. She was meant to kill one person, just one. But as if something had snapped in her, she went on a rampage, and started a well-known massacre in the underground district. The raven had killed before, so she couldn't comprehend the reason for her sudden 'outbreak'. Kenny later explained that it was just some form of 'puberty' Ackermans went through—it sounded more of a lame excuse from the whole truth though.

Fortunately, Levi had later came to her rescue, managing to tame the monster within her before snatching her back to the grimness of the shadows to hide. Thankfully, Levi knew this massacre wouldn't spread all too much—he knew how the royalty and surface dwellers resented associating themselves with the underground district since it was an area stereotyped for its brutal crimes. Ackermans didn't like the spotlight all too much after all, and the last thing Levi wanted was an investigation to be conducted by the royal guards who were much more meticulous and a hassle than regular guards and the people on patrol.

Although the underground had a higher probability of crimes breaking out in comparison to the surface, there were still people residing there who wished to lead a peaceful life—but their social and economic status said otherwise.

Levi still remembered the look she had when he removed her mask once they reached the safety of their hideout—their home. Her obsidian orbs had shifted into a darker shade, and although it was hard to see her pupils, he swore they were in slits, and he swore that her irises perhaps contained a little tinge of blood-red. Was that how he looked like when his bloodlust got to him too?

He wasn't sure, nor could he care. He was more concerned for Mikasa—who was only thirteen during then, during her first bloodlust outbreak.

"I don't get it! Why must we kill?!" She once screamed before shedding tears. Levi comforted her, but he didn't answer her question. He couldn't, because he didn't know the exact answer himself. He just knew that there was no escape from killing nor the bloodlust that had the possibility of consuming them whole if not supressed appropriately. He remembered his first 'outbreak' and how he failed to control it, it was a chilling memory, at the same time he recalled the wicked and disgusting satisfaction he felt from watching red liquid ooze from the corpses. Since then, he began to discipline himself to control it better— but he knew that wouldn't be enough to prevent future outbreaks. On the bright side, he hadn't had an outbreak for quite a long while. Although, there were times where he didn't mind succumbing to become a monster, but there were still… things and people that held his sanity together.

Unfortunately, unlike him, Mikasa struggled much more in controlling and containing.

The following day, Mikasa erased and numbed herself of any guilt considering Kenny came back from his other 'business' trip. She knew better to show any signs of weakness in front of him.

After Kenny found out about Mikasa's little incident, he initially shrugged it off, thinking nothing much of it. He assumed after her first 'outbreak', she would be able to control it better, considering that's how it went for all Ackermans.

He sent her to another solo mission, and the results were the same—a bloody mess that drew in too much unwanted attention. He shrugged it off again, sending her off for another solo mission on and on again receiving the same results until he came to the conclusion that Mikasa had… issues. Long story short, he wanted to keep a low profile, he didn't want any unnecessary attention or future customers to be slaughtered.

Moreover, it would just take one mess up from an Ackerman who lacked senses and control when the bloodlust took over to reveal everything, their identity included. Hence, he forbade Mikasa to do any mission solo for now. At least with Levi to watch over her during their missions, the chances of her going completely out of spiral was lower since he would be there to bring her back to her senses. There was something about Levi that made Mikasa calm, perhaps it was because he was the only one who she could call family. Kenny was only her biological uncle, nothing more or less.

Back in the present, Mikasa eyes trailed towards her palms, where she envisioned blood stained on them, again. "Why can't I control it…?" Mikasa mumbled. Ever since Mikasa found out about how uncontrollable her bloodlust was, she had given up any hopes of leading a normal life. When her emotions spiralled, anything trivial can trigger her bloodlust to take action, and the last thing she wanted to do was harm any more lives than appointed to. At least now, after years of training and discipline taught by Levi, she got better at handling it, though she still had those moments where she came close to starting another massacre. Well, on the more positive side of things, there were less things triggering her outbreak… more or less.

"Mikasa." Levi whispered, before gripping her shoulder in a reassuring manner. "It'll be okay. I'm here. I won't allow things to get out of hand."

Mikasa flashed a little smile, "Thank you." She murmured before standing up. "I just wish I could control it as well as you do." She continued silently, speaking too quiet for Levi's ears to catch. But before he could ask her to repeat her words, she grabbed both their masks resting on the table. She tossed Levi his, before wearing hers. "Let's get this done and over with."

Before anything else, Mikasa grabbed her cloak and necessary weapons before leaving immediately, lurking in the shadows. Levi sighed, following after swiftly.

The lives that the Ackermans took weren't necessarily innocent ones. They never were, and according to what Kenny told them, the Ackermans never took the lives of the innocence, unless their bloodlust got the best of them. Normally, after an Ackerman's first bloodlust-takeover, they'd be quick to control and adapt on their next kill. But that wasn't the case for Mikasa. He never explained why.

Before Mikasa's first bloodlust takeover, she had done all her kills swiftly, no flaws whatsoever. Kenny was amused at how quick she learnt to kill with skill, she was a fast learner just like Levi, if not, faster. That amusement didn't last long after he realised Mikasa's lack of control when it came to her bloodlust, but rather than disappointed he was more agitated and frustrated.

The lives that Ackermans often took were beyond corruption, at least that's what Kenny claimed. But at this point, both Mikasa and Levi were uncertain if he was just spouting flat lies—but even if he did, what could they do?

Levi had once thought about escaping Kenny's control, but he had to grudgingly admit, Kenny was a formidable opponent who wouldn't let them leave so easily, especially when they were the last known remaining bloodline of the Ackermans. The last thing Levi wanted was to endanger his sister's life if they were to get caught escaping.

Killing Kenny was an option, but that was anything but easy. Sure, both Levi and Mikasa were strong. But Levi knew even with an unfair fight with two against one, they probably stood no chance against him, their mentor. Kenny taught everything they knew, but not everything he knew.

"Levi, we're here." Mikasa whispered.

The lives the Ackermans took weren't necessarily innocent ones. But, in this life, were there anyone truly pure? Humans are humans, they are bound to commit a crime or a sin, whether it be trivial or not. So, doesn't that mean no one's innocent?

The Ackermans can and will take anyone's life, is what outsiders said, and it's what Levi unfortunately and reluctantly had to agree.

"I'll deliver the kill. You just stay on a look-out." Levi murmured.

That night, they were sent to kill the guy who owned a well-known weaponry shop that Levi would often purchase his equipment from, at a very unreasonable price, and his crimes that he committed were unreasonable as well.

"But you delivered the kill last time… I know you don't like me dirtying my hands. I know you want to protect me. But it's only fair, I'm not little anymore." Mikasa silently argued.

"Mikasa. Now's not the time to argue. We agreed on thi—"

"You agreed, not me."

Levi resisted an agitated groan, his tone grew grimmer, sterner. Even if he was soft to Mikasa, it didn't mean he wasn't strict with her. "Mika—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Mikasa immediately pulled him aside before shushing him. The sound of footsteps were approaching towards their direction. Both Mikasa and Levi readied themselves, gripping tightly onto their knives. However, a familiar voice echoed the alleyway that caused them to loosen up their grip, but tense their shoulders.

"It's just me yer' little shits."

Taking a peek, they saw Kenny. Kenny Ackerman.

"I got bored and handled yer' business. I would say I pity that old guy but he abused his wife, to the extent his daughter called out to us! Hah! That's a first in a long time." Kenny cackled.

Levi narrowed his eyes, Mikasa slowly approached him after Levi. All three had their masks on, and were prepared to flee should anyone catch them in the shadows. "What are you doing here?" Levi scowled. Kenny scoffed, "Not even a hello to yer' dear beloved Uncle? I'm offended. I thought I taught y'all manners."

Levi rolled his eyes. Mikasa simply looked away. "And my dear beloved niece can't look me in the eye. Ah, no matter. I don't have much time. I gotta' return to my business soon. I have a new job for you. Actually, a solo mission. For my favourite niece."

Mikasa tensed, Levi growled lowly. Kenny smirked, and continued before they could oppose, "It's on the surface. And, congratulations, for the first time in decades or centuries, my dear niece, your mission involves the royal family!"

Both of them widened their eyes, and Levi was the first to speak, "I'm not allowing it."

"Did you forget who I am, Levi?" Kenny hissed, Levi clenched his fist. He hated that he didn't exactly had any power over him. He didn't wish to start a fight with him, he knew better, he knew the consequences of losing to him. Kenny proceeded to approach Mikasa, towering over her. Mikasa bit her lip, in agitation and fright. She recalled her opposing Kenny once, and the consequence for that left her traumatised.

"You told us Ackermans don't accept requests regarding the royal family. And you instructed me specifically not to do any solo missions." Mikasa retorted slightly, suppressing her fear. "I did say that. But it's time for a change. Something yer' rascals won't understand." Kenny then removed and threw some documents towards them as he began to summarize the context of the situation. "Your identity will be Mikasa Azu. You're from Oriental royalty. Seduce the prince or somethin', because this particular important customer wants information regarding—"

"Seduce?!" Levi interrupted, and just from his tone, it was clear the male was livid and disgusted at such an outrageous idea. "You—"

Before Levi could continue, Kenny took out a knife and was quick to place its tip against Levi's neck, applying a little pressure on it as a threat. "Yer' know better than to shout, didn't I teach yer' that? Ackermans despise unwanted attention." Kenny scoffed, even with his mask on, Levi could feel an eerie smile spreading on his lips. After a tensed moment, Kenny retracted the knife and began to speak, "I'm feeling generous today even after yer' little temper tantrum. If Mikasa permits, yer' can accompany her. There's a reason why I don't want yer' to follow but oh well. Whatever happens up there, it's y'all fault." Kenny commented, but Levi and Mikasa knew this wasn't an act of generosity, but more of the fact he didn't want Mikasa to suddenly go mad in the middle of town, up on the surface where security was much, much higher.

"This special mission has no room for mistakes. If one of yer' messes up…well…" He proceeded to take out a knife, a different knife. The knife he used to kill their victim. It was stained with fresh, crimson blood.

He waved it in front of Mikasa's face. Mikasa flinched, but nothing more happened. "Seems like yer' getting better at controlling yer' bloodlust. A taunt like this after ya first outbreak made yer' go mad after your first outbreak. Pft. Teenagers and puberty. Then again, yer' still go cuckoo mad on your lil' shitty bad days when yer' kill." He teased harshly, Mikasa bit back a scowl. "But don't give me that look my beloved niece." He scoffed.

"All the information in those documents. I have other shit to deal with now." With that, Kenny turned and began to walk off. Although, he halted mid-way, turning towards them one last time. "Y'all both better scurry off now." The masked male then disappeared in the shadows.

Mikasa and Levi turned to each other, but before they could open their mouth and say anything else, they heard more footsteps coming, loud voices talking over one another about some racket going on. Ackermans never liked unnecessary attention, because any attention they received was for the worst, so both of the remaining Ackermans quickly fled.

As the Ackerman siblings hid in the shadows while they fled, at the corner of Mikasa's eye, she saw a group of people crowding over something. She then spotted a corpse laying outside the weaponry shop. She then noticed the people grieving, for the weaponry shop owner seemed like a jolly fella who didn't deserve an early demise. But then, she saw a little girl with her mother, crying—not out of despair, but rather out of joy, as if they were free.

Freedom was something Mikasa couldn't even dream of.

"Don't look." Levi chided quietly, "That isn't our mess that we had forgotten to clean."

Mikasa nodded, facing back front as they continued to sprint to their hideout. Deep down, the raven haired female knew that the mess Kenny purposely left wasn't because he suddenly desired the spotlight, but to serve as a reminder to both of them. A reminder of their inescapable fate and bloody path they were forced to walk and the consequence that he would inflict on them should they fail.

[thornedcrownsandhollowvirtu-blog]

Lirio

The first of my short stories. One that, unlike most of my attempts, actually succeeds at being short. I am posting it now, in part because I've been wanting to post it for some time but simply haven't cared enough to bother, and in part in recognition of Mental Health Awareness Month.

Please keep in mind that it is a story of a young girl's depression, and her struggle to live with it. The story is short, the ending is happy, and her struggles are presented from her close friend's observation of her behavior, but if you are very sensitive to stories regarding this topic, please heed with caution.

Also, please note that this story does not attempt to make light of depression, or present it as something easy to "fix." The point of this story is to communicate how depression may appear and affect those we least expect it to, especially close loved ones, and the importance of having a support network, and the security that comes with it.

Content warning for suicide attempt in the very beginning of the story. It is not explicitly detailed, but the action does occur.

All else aside, please enjoy.

Lirio

    The wind is brisk and biting, the sky grim, but Liliana walks on, accompanied by full-body shivers and misted breath, her only witness the scattered stars blinking out of sight in the timeless hours that straddle late night and early morning.

    Only once does she pause on her trek: the detour she takes in an impulsive bit of nostalgia. She hesitates before she boards the footbridge that overlooks still water — rather short, only fifteen steps across from end to end — but only for a moment, and, after the first step on the uneven surface, it becomes easier to wade her way to the center.

    The iron bar is much colder than her trembling hand, cold enough to seep into her skin, but her shivers still as she folds one arm over the other atop the rail, bends her neck over the edge, and bows her head. And yet — despite the breath she holds captive in her throat, despite the unrestrained hammering in her temples, despite the impending nettle behind her eyes — she cannot bring herself to shed a tear anymore than she could breathe underwater.

    She withdraws her head and remains still, stalk-straight for a full minute, five, ten. The only source of light in this sea of darkness, the blazing white glare of the streetlight behind her.

    When she glances over her shoulder, she catches the beckoning wink of a neon display nearly as tall as the towering building it supplements: her original destination. She turns away from the light.

    The glow of her phone pales in comparison; though tolerable, it is still unfavorable and bright. She squints but doesn't so much as think of dimming it down.

    Her pulse is racing by the time she holds the phone up to her ear; her breath catches at the inquisitive slur at the other end of the line.

    “... Hello...? Are you there...? Li—?”

    “I need you to...” she stops. “You should come to the bridge.”

    “... what? It's — almost three in the morning, why—?”

    A muffled beep. The connection is dissolved, and she is alone again.

    She leaves the phone trapped into a corner of cement at one end of the bridge just as it begins to buzz and tries to skitter away.

    The intensity of the streetlight's glare almost seems to have waned; its reach looks dwindled and centered entirely on her.

    Her hands grip onto the handrail, a necessary support to brace herself as she eases one foot, then the other, in between the balusters, just above the string.

    Her phone buzzes again.

    She casts herself over the edge.

.    .    .

    When they were six, Anastasio thought Liliana was more like a bird than any flower he'd ever seen: flowers just stood to the side and looked pretty, and, though pretty she may be…

    Liliana never stood still.

    She stayed in her seat when she had to, but otherwise she would flutter back and forth to all ends of the classroom, chirping away with the other kids until they managed to shake her off. Liliana always wore bold colors that would always catch everyone's attention before anything else. During recess, she would race from one end of the school yard to the other, running so fast she sometimes looked like she was flying. And, on windy days, she would climb up the big tree that sat furthest from the classrooms, find a comfortable perch on a sturdy branch, and sing until the bell caught her ear and left her to flutter down and race back to class.

    The only thing remotely flower-like about Liliana was the little ruffle finish on the hem of her dress when she spun and twirled and danced over the grass — the graceful spread of her skirt as it flared out and rose high enough to see the knee-length shorts she always wore underneath.

    One day, he looks up and sees her perched on top of the monkey bars, swinging her legs like she's walking on air and humming quietly. A short breeze catches her hair.

    “Why aren't you in the big tree?”

    Liliana blinks down at him, and points up to the cover over the playground. “'S too hot.” Then, cocking her head, she says, “you should come up here.”

    Anastasio stares; he’s always been bad with heights.

    “Come ooonnnnn,” she draws out with the beginning of a pout playing over her lips. Her hands are holding the railing to steady her, but the heavy way she leans over startles him. He stutters out a polite refusal and waits for her to lean back.

    She lets go, twists and—

    “Are you scared?” she asks, hands gripping her dress over her thighs to keep it from falling over her face as she hangs upside down, with only her legs anchor her.

    Anastasio moves his mouth, but all he lets out is a frightened croak.

    Liliana folds up and rights herself. “Come on, it's not so bad.”

    Anastasio eyes the structure with distrust, but even now he feels a curious gravitation pulling him toward her. Liliana waits.

    He almost regrets listening to her by the time he joins her, gripping onto the rail hard enough for his hands to ache, the unwelcome and daunting experience of having his legs and feet suspended in air leave him feeling green in the face. He almost regrets it — really, he thinks he should — but the excitement thrumming through him is almost enough to negate the fear.

    Anastasio and Liliana are virtually inseparable from then on.

.    .    .

    “What's your name?” Liliana asks two years later.

    Anastasio stares. “You don't know my name?”

    “Yes, Ana, I do.” She grins, but he refuses to take the bait, “I meant your last name.”

    “Rana.”

    Liliana squints at him. Then, after a long pause, “that would explain the croaking.”

    “I don’t croak,” he corrects her patiently.

    “You do, too. It suits you perfectly.”

    “We’re in the same class, and we have name tags. Why did you even ask?”

    Lili waves her hand. “Oh, like you know mine.”

    “Ortega. Which suits you well, considering how annoying you get.”

    Lili scowls, and crosses her arms.

    “I suppose I have to be the bigger person and end it here, then, Anastasia.”

    Anastasio puffs his cheeks. “That’s not my name! ”

.    .    .

    When they were ten, Liliana told him she was going to move. Her aunt was sick, Liliana said, and they were going to stay and help her until she got better.

    “Are you really going to come back?”

    “I think so...” Liliana sighs. “But it won't be for years.”

    Years... that sounded like forever.

    “Your aunt can’t come here?”

    “No. I already asked...”

    Liliana looks even more upset than he feels; Anastasio, at least, has other friends here, even if Liliana could never be replaced — Liliana won’t have anyone.

    Anastasio slides over a scrap of paper and watches her frown. “It’s my address,” he explains, “we can exchange letters until you come back.”

    Liliana beams.

.    .    .

    She sends him a letter. He replies. She replies, and then she sends out a second letter, a third, a fourth, and sometimes even a fifth before he can reply.

    Her handwriting is large, and, for a while, she attempted the wide and thick style a lot of girls in his class use, until she realized she really couldn’t pull it off. When she started reviewing cursive, she tried using it in her letters for practice, but it often took hours of incomprehensive staring to decipher the erratic squiggles and irregular loops. A lot of her letters break off from a few scant sentences with a drawing all done in crayon: usually an intentionally ugly frog in all sorts of unnatural colors, but occasionally forests or meadows or other animals would feature in.

He keeps them all.

When he gets bored, or lazy, or misses her so much his eyes sting and his chest aches, he picks every letter she ever sent him out of the box he keeps them in, and reads and rereads them until his eyes swim and he thinks he knows her handwriting better than she does.

His mom once asked if he wanted to tack up the pictures to his empty walls. For decoration.

He said no; Lili isn’t a decoration: Lili is a whole girl who lives too far for him to see, so he has to keep as much of her together as he can. His box holds a small part of her that can only contain her lively nature through her wild writing and enthusiastic drawings.

He notices, often, that she talks of her school, her classes, her family, and even the scenery of where she lives now, but she never mentions anyone new, no “I met this kid so-and-so” or “My new friend so-and-so”. As the months drag on, she writes more and more about how much she misses home. Anastasio wonders how lonely she is. He tries to prod her into talking about new friends she should have made, but all he gets are recounts of conversations and interactions that are only notable for filling in the lines to appease him.

Were she not Liliana, he would have thought her shy; but she is Liliana, and Liliana is not shy.

He wonders if something is wrong.

.    .    .

    They exchange phone numbers via letters at thirteen, just before his upcoming birthday; his parents had even presented his phone to him a week early, six months after Liliana received hers.

    He thinks he’ll miss their written correspondence, even if it’s less convenient than phone calls and text messages, but he still has the box with all her letters tucked under his bed. Looking back, he’s relieved their penmanship had improved to something legible by the time Liliana moved; had she gone two years earlier, he doesn’t think they’d be able to understand each other's writing at all.

    Several months in, though, he began to notice a pattern with Lili. The novelty of instant communication had them plastered to their phones, though the dependence gradually waned. But there would be times when Liliana would text him compulsively for days on end, and others when she didn’t reply for weeks. And questions like “Is something wrong?” only made her more prone to stonewalling than prompts like “Hey. It’s been five weeks.”

    He was never quite sure what these episodes meant, and the only conclusion he had was that she may be hanging out more with the friends she made a year into her move, but he was relieved to notice them decreasing over time.

He was even more relieved when she woke him up in the middle of an unassuming night with a call from her another three years later.

    “I'm coming home,” she told him before he could say anything, and he didn’t hear the catch in her voice.

.    .    .

    “You look... different.”

    Liliana gives him a tired smile and sits down next to him.

    It looks fake.

    “How long have you been back?”

    “Two days.”

    Anastasio pauses, waiting to see if she'll elaborate. She doesn't.

    “Unpacking?”

    “Mhm.”

    “How was the trip?”

    “Long.”

    “Your aunt?”

    Another tired smile. “Good.”

    “How was it there?”

A stony pause.  “Let’s just say I’m glad to be home.”

Well, if that wasn’t ominous. Still, more pressing, at least for the moment…

    “You look really tired.” He blurts, but she does, she looks about ready to nod off: dark circles under her eyes, lids drooping, unfocused gaze. “I think you should go home and get some sleep.”

    Liliana starts and turns to him with a frown, and looks much more awake now.

    “Do you... not want me here?”

    “I do, Lili, but you look ready to pass out. You should go home; we can hang out some other time.”

    Liliana scowls, but when she pulls out her compact and looks in it, she cringes.

    “You may have a point,” she admits, pulls herself up with the help of the bridge's railing. “So I'll... see you later?”

    “We have two weeks until the school year starts; I promise you’ll be trying to get rid of me by the end of the first.”

    That seems to be enough assurance to make her relax, but with every step she takes farther away from him she seems to shrink into herself.

    Anastasio frowns.

.    .    .

“She’ll be just another minute,” Mrs. Ortega smiles as she descends the stairs.

“No problem,” Anastasio smiles back.

“Have a seat, hijo,” Mr. Ortega prompts, with a pat at the couch cushion beside him.

“Oh, no, if it’s just another minute-”

“Have a seat!” Mrs. Ortega calls on her way to the kitchen, without turning around.

Opposition worn down, Anastasio relents; he sits down beside Mr. Ortega, and smiles when Mrs. Ortega returns from the kitchen with a basket in one hand, and two chilled water bottles in the other.

“So this is her surprise,” Anastasio muses.

“So it is,” Mrs. Ortega grins, “and she even bothered to make most of it, too. You kids going anywhere special?”

“Just the park, I think. Maybe the little bridge on the way.”

“Hmm, just don’t bore her, eh, hijo?” Mr. Ortega winks. “Though I don’t think we have to worry about that with you.”

“Um?”

Mrs. Ortega rolls her eyes. “He’s joking, mijo.”

“Teasing,” Mr. Ortega corrects. “Just make sure she has some fun, is all I’m saying. That she smiles, laughs a little.”

Anastasio blinks.

“She always looks a little better, when she goes to meet up with you, or right after she comes home from spending time with you,” Mr. Ortega explains.

“Oh.” Anastasio blinks, again. Frowns. “She… always looks a little tired.”

Mrs. Ortega hums. “She does. I let her stay up a bit sometimes, to finish school work if she can’t get it done earlier. She gets a little listless in the afternoon sometimes, has some trouble concentrating, so…”

Anastasio’s frown deepens. “The advanced classes she’s taking, then… maybe she should…”

“I suggested that, too,” Mr. Ortega assures, “but she insists she can keep up with the workload. She’s been getting angry when we bring it up.”

“You’re in a lot of those classes, too, aren’t you mijo?” Mrs. Ortega whispers. “Do you mind… at least making sure she’s not falling behind?”

“Yeah…” Anastasio blinks. “I didn’t know she might be— yeah, of course.”

Mrs. Ortega sighs; Mr. Ortega pats his back. “Thank you, hijo.”

“I’m ready,” Liliana calls from the top of her stairs just before she descends, a step at a time and blinking more than usual. There are rings under her eyes today, too.

“Perfect,” Anastasio smiles as he stands. He pretends he doesn’t notice the looks Liliana’s parents give him. “Let’s go.”

.    .    .

Liliana looks lost.

 “Do you like this bridge?” she asks him. He shrugs.lskdf

“It has a nice view,” he admits, “and people don't really come here.”

Liliana nods. And stares up at the sky.

    .    .    .

    This time, when Liliana’s ringtone screams in his ear and wakes him up, he immediately feels something is wrong. Even the chirp emitting from his phone sounds wrong: hollow, like Liliana’s smiles.

    Perhaps he’s overthinking it.

    “... Hello…? Are you there…? Li—?”

    She cuts him off. “I need you to…” a long pause, then, “You should come to the bridge.”

    “... what?” It’s —” he checks the red glare from his bedside clock, “almost 3 in the morning, why—?”

    A muffled beep. The connection is dissolved, and he is alone again.

    Even as he slams on the redial button, he’s throwing the first clothes he picks up from the floor, and he runs out the door so fast he swears he’s flying.

.    .    .

    He finds her curled up and shivering against the banister, but only when he throws himself on his knees next to her does he notice how her hair clings to her face and neck, how her clothes mold to her form; the moisture on her skin.

    “You’re wet,” he says, struck dumb. “Why are you—”

    “I jumped in.” She chatters through her teeth. He almost asks, in where, but when Liliana drops her gaze and turns it to the water that sits under the bridge, his stomach sinks.

    “I was going to go to that one hotel, the really tall one,” she nods her head back, where the neon signs winks at her. “I was going to jump off the roof.”

    Anastasio stares. He thought she was tired, but had chalked it up to being overworked or insomnia — her parents had seemed to think so as well… But, the idea that she was going to...

    “I’m so tired,” she whispers. He removes his jacket and offers it to her; she wraps it over her shoulders.

    “Tell me.” Lili turns her eyes to him. “About being tired. Why you get tired. Why you wanted to... jump.” Lili’s eyes blink; a tear rolls out. “Talk to me.”

    Lili slumps. And then she talks and talks and cries, and talks some more.

    And afterward, she thanks him with a broken smile that looks almost real.

.    .    .

    Anastasio’s not sure if Liliana ever told her parents about her wanting to jump, but he does know she’s getting counseling twice a week, because she talks about it when they go out after every session. Her voice gets a little stronger, and she’s been making an effort to not shrink into herself when she makes eye contact. She looks a little more rested every week, and less tired when they go on walks.

    Liliana is nowhere near as energetic as she used to be, but she looks more lively every day, and that is enough.

    On his way to meet her, he comes across the flower shop he always passes by, and stops.

.    .    .

    “I thought you were going to be waiting outside the building again?”

    “I was, but, this place really does have a nice view.” Liliana answers, head turned up to the sun; she’s still sporting the giddy glow she gets after counseling. She turns and leans against the railing to face him, and frowns. “What’s that?”

    “They’re flowers, obviously.” He snarks, anxiety rolling into embarrassment, but when she gives him an unimpressed glare, he offers the bouquet to her; she holds it carefully, like she’s afraid of dropping and ruining it at the same time.

    Liliana stares at the flowers like she has no idea what they are; it’s likely, considering she’s never showed an interest in them even as a child. She probably only sees the loose petals with unintelligible patterns of white with red ticks, yellow splotches and pink blushes, by star-shaped flowers with white frames around magenta stains. She wouldn’t understand or appreciate the Peruvians or Stargazers, but that’s fine: because for her, the outward, visible gestures hold more meaning than the covert, underlying symbolism behind the message. And still, in this crowd of Peruvians and Stargazers she would probably never care to understand  — still, in the very center, almost hidden, a single water lily floats.

    “And this one?” she demands. Anastasio smiles.

    “Lirio de agua,” he answers while he tucks it behind her ear. Lili looks up at him, and stares.

    “When frogs sit on the lily pads, they keep all the flies and bugs away from the flower, so it won’t get ruined. So…”

    Anastasio trails off with a faint croak and swallows heavily.

    “If you let me, I’ll help you, through your problems, your depression, anything, everything. I’ll — help you keep away everything you don’t want, and I’ll help you keep away anything that you tell me will tear you down. I won’t let anyone deracinate you. I’ll be there for you. With you. If you let me.”

    For a long moment, Lili stares, and doesn’t blink.

    And then, she smiles.

[momontherocks-blog]

The Evil Stepmother

Okay, so here’s the drama. Tell all, you can’t make this stuff up.

When my mother fell ill again she was often weak, nauseous, or too doped up on pain medications to do much of anything. Her chemotherapy treatments left her sensitive to temperatures and to touch. Her wife was unkind, cruel even. Had minimal patience, my mother was always a woman to defend herself but her illness left her helpless. She would just cry, I had even heard her utter the words “just kill me now” one day when her wife was too busy having a smoke to help my mother get dressed or find a pair of shoes before an appointment. She was running late for the appointment, I had never seen my mother so defeated. Her words shattered my heart.

My mama, bless her soul, passed away six days before my 23rd birthday. As per her request we had our cry and then everyone returned to our home, her home, for drinks and to celebrate her life. 

There was a lot of drama on this day. I will leave most of it out as the majority can be chalked up to high emotions on this extremely sad day. What I will not leave out is that my 14 year old sister accidentally stumbled across nude photos on my step mothers phone while Dj’ing that night. It wasn’t until a couple days later that I found this out.. I let it slide as my mothers marital affairs were none of my concern and I did not see the photo for myself. Just another time I had kept my mouth shut. 

The day after my mothers passing I was in court being granted custody of my four sisters.

A few days after my mothers passing, our stepmother decided she could not handle to be in our family home as it was “too much” on her. she left for the night to her mothers and returned the day we were to pick up my mothers ashes. 

On the 17th of September we went on a mission to spread my mothers ashes up a mountain. Those were her wishes, no ceremony and to be set free. My grandfather said some beautiful words, we shed tears and laughed, we each spread a piece of our mommy that day.. all that is left is photos now.

Stepmother came and left as she pleased, her stays out becoming longer and closer together with little communication as to when she would be home and no help in regards to arranging things for my sisters. The day came when I finally asked what her plans were as she was not financially contributing, she had gone through and packed up all my my mothers clothing within eight days of her passing and quite frankly she was taking up one of 5 bedrooms in a house occupying nine people even without her there. She told me she needed her space to heal and could not be in the house. I heard from her a couple times after, listened to her complain about how hard my mothers passing was on her.. It was always about her, even when my mother was sick, in chemotherapy and right up until the day of her death.

I had many complications due to pregnancy causing me to be put on bed rest essentially and involving multiple hospital visits, I had a seven year old sister who needed an eighth birthday planned, a baby to prepare for, five children in my care etc. and yet, to my surprise, our step mother was messaging our family friends playing a victim and telling people how awful myself and my uncle were for not reaching out to HER while she was hurting. 

Imagine that. 

After I had mentioned to my 20 year old sister that had our stepmother asked for us to pick her up to see our sisters and spend the night my partner and I received text messages trying to arrange a visit. We complied, who were we to stop her from making an effort? She snapped a couple facebook photos, bought my son a gun I said he couldn’t have which she later took with her, and sent me $200 (to help with the 2 months I’d been looking after my sisters alone), did not spend any quality time with the children and then took the bus home. After she left she deleted myself, my uncle and his wife, and my partner off of facebook because of a post I had made prior to her visit about her making me out to be the bad guy to a family friend when in reality I had simply been exhausting myself trying to balance my new life and had given birth 5 days prior. I truly believe she was looking for an excuse, however this is strictly about facts that can be backed up. My uncle decided to message her, finally telling her exactly how he felt about her breaking her promise to my mother and the rest of my family about being there for her children. This resulted in a heated conversation in which stepmother decided to tell my uncle “if you really knew how your sister felt about you, you would cry.” My uncle will forever have that sliver of doubt as to how his sister felt about him. I read a message stepmother had sent to the three of my sisters who have facebook, informing them of what has been going on (however victimizing herself to them) and asking them to keep her message a secret from me. I messaged her and asked that she not involve children in adult drama and told her they would never keep secrets from me. I also told her, as a god fearing woman, she believes my mother is in heaven and that she can watch over us meaning she see’s all that she is doing. Within five minutes I was receiving threatening phone calls and vulgar text messages from herself and her sister. She told my 20 year old sister that my uncle, partner and I were all calling her threatening her. Victim? oh.

[anastpaul]

Saint of the Day – 11 April – St Gemma Galgani (1878-1903) known as The Flower of Lucca, The Virgin of Lucca and Daughter of the Passion – Stigmatist & Mystic – born on 12 March 1878 at Borgo Nuovo di Camigliano, Lucca, Tuscany, Italy and died on Holy Saturday, 11 April 1903 at Borgo Nuovo di Camigliano, Lucca, Italy of tuberculosis.   Her relics interred in the Passionist monastery, Lucca.   Patronages – Students, Pharmacists, Paratroopers and Parachutists, loss of parents, those suffering back injury or back pain, those suffering with headaches/migraines, those struggling with temptations to impurity and those seeking purity of heart.   Attributes – Passionist robe, flowers (lilies and roses), guardian angel, stigmata, heavenward gaze.

Gemma Galgani was born on 12 March 1878, in a small Italian town near Lucca.  Gemma is the Italian word for gem.   The child’s mother was worried that this name was not a saint’s name but a priest friend comforted her with the remark that perhaps the child would one day be a “gem of Paradise.”

At a very young age, Gemma developed a love for prayer.   She credited her mother, who died when Gemma was very young, with inspiring in her the desire for Heaven and with teaching her about God.   Gemma made her First Communion on 17 June 1887.   Later, she wrote, “It is impossible for me to describe what passed between Jesus and myself in that moment.   He made himself felt so strongly in my soul.   I realised in that moment how the delights of Heaven are not like those of the earth and I was seized by a desire to make that union with my God everlasting.”

As a day pupil at the school run by the Sisters of St Zita, Gemma was loved by her teachers and her fellow pupils.   Although quiet and reserved, she always had a friendly smile for everyone.   Though by nature a bright and lively child, she exercised great self discipline even as a schoolgirl, keeping her feelings under control.   The superior of the sisters at the school once asked Gemma’s teacher and her class to pray for a dying man who refused the Sacraments.   After the prayer, Gemma arose from her seat and going up to her teacher, whispered in her ear, “The grace is granted.”   That evening the news as brought that the man had indeed converted and received the consolations of the Faith before his death.

Throughout her life, Gemma was to be favoured with many mystical experiences and special graces.   Often these were misunderstood by others, bringing ridicule.  A sensitive person, Gemma suffered these heartaches, too, in reparation, remembering that Our Lord Himself had been misunderstood and ridiculed.

Although she was a good student, Gemma had to quit school due to chronic ill heath before completing the course of study.   Throughout her life, her frail constitution did not stand up well to several illnesses.

Gemma’s father had been a moderately successful pharmacist.   But because of his generosity and his willingness to extend credit to those in need, he began to get into financial trouble.   His death in 1897 left Gemma and his other children penniless orphans.   Gemma felt the loss of her father keenly but did not appear to be bothered by the poverty of her circumstances.   She must have felt desolate when the creditors came and took away the few possessions left to the family on the very day of her father’s funeral but she maintained her cheerful, patient attitude.

Gemma had an immense love for the poor and when she went out, many poor people came to her for help.   When she could, she gave them things from home.   Later, when she too was a “povera,” or poor girl, she gave them the gift of friendship.   She would weep over their misfortunes, completely ignoring her own.

After her father’s death, the nineteen-year-old Gemma became the mother of her seven brothers and sisters.   When some were old enough to share this responsibility, she lived briefly with a married aunt.   Although she returned the love given by this aunt and uncle, Gemma was unhappy with the busy social life of the couple.   They were well off and wanted Gemma to join in the fun which they could afford to provide.   At this time, two young men proposed marriage to her.   Gemma, however, wanted silence and retirement and more than ever she desired to pray and speak only to God.

Gemma returned home and almost immediately became very ill with meningitis. Gradually she lost her hearing and some of her hair.   In addition, she suffered a complete paralysis of her limbs.   All earthly remedies proved vain and Gemma was confined to bed for more than a year.   Throughout this illness, her one regret was the trouble she caused her relatives in taking care of her.   News of the heroic patience of the gentle girl spread about the town and many visitors came to cheer her up.   For each visitor, Gemma had a smile and a welcoming comment.

Feeling herself tempted by the devil, she prayed for help to the Venerable Passionist, Gabriel Possenti.   (Gabriel was later canonised.)   He appeared to her in dreams several times, promising her help and calling her “sister.”   Through his intercession, Gemma was miraculously cured.   In one of her visions of Gabriel, he placed the badge of the Passionists on Gemma.   When she spoke of her desire to enter a convent, he told her to make her vow to be a religious but not to add anything to this vow.   Gabriel was telling her that although she might live the life of a nun, she would never enter any particular convent.   Later, Gemma was rejected as a candidate for the religious life on the grounds of her health was too delicate.   She offered this disappointment to God as a sacrifice.

Gifted with an ability for prophecy, Gemma predicted that the Passionists would establish a monastery at Lucca;  this came to pass two years after her death.   When she understood that she would not be able to enter a Passionist monastery, Gemma said, “The Passionists did not wish to receive me;  nevertheless, because I wish to stay with them, I shall when I am dead.”   Today, Gemma’s mortal remains are still treasured at the Passionist monastery in Lucca.

On the 8 June, 1899, Gemma had an interior warning that some unusual grace was to be granted to her.   She spoke of this to her confessor and received absolution.   She later gave the following account to her spiritual director:  “It was Thursday evening, and suddenly I felt an inward sorrow for my sins;  but so intense that I have never felt the like again;  my sorrow made me feel as if I should die then and there.   After that I felt all the powers of my soul in recollection.   My intellect seemed to know nothing but my sins and how they offended God . . . Then thoughts crowded thickly within me and they were thoughts of sorrow, love, fear, hope and comfort.”

In rapture, she saw her heavenly Mother, who wrapped Gemma in her mantle.   At that moment, according to her own account, “Jesus appeared with His wounds all open; blood was not flowing from them but flames of fire which in one moment came and touched my hands, feet and heart.   I felt I was dying and should have fallen down but for my Mother who supported me and kept me under her cloak.   Thus I remained for several hours.   Then my Mother kissed my forehead, the vision disappeared and I found myself on my knees;   but I had still a keen pain in my hands, feet and heart.   I got up to get into bed and I saw that blood was coming from the places where I had the pain.   I covered them as well as I could and then, helped by my Guardian Angel, got into bed.”

The next day, covering her hands with gloves, Gemma attended Mass as usual.   Later, she showed the marks of the stigmata to one of her aunts, saying, “Just look at what Jesus has done to me!”

Each Thursday evening, Gemma would fall into rapture and the marks would appear. The stigmata remained until Friday afternoon or Saturday morning when the bleeding would stop, the wounds would close and only white marks would remain in place of the deep gashes.   Later, one of Gemma’s directors turned to science and had a doctor examine the stigmata.   As Gemma had foreseen, the doctor considered them a manifestation of some form of disease, or the delusions of an overly pious soul.  Gemma’s stigmata continued to appear until the last three years before her death.   At this time, her director forbade her to accept this phenomenon and through her prayers it ceased, although whitish marks remained on her skin until her death.

Through the help of her confessor, Gemma went to live with a family named Giannini, where she was allowed more freedom than at home for her spiritual life.   She was very grateful to this adoptive family and was more than once overheard in ecstasy praying for its members.   In this home, Gemma cheerfully did housework and helped in the training and education of the children.

There is a good record of Gemma’s words during ecstasy.   In this state of rapture, the soul is so absorbed in God that the normal activity of the senses is suspended.   Both her confessor and a relative of the head of her adoptive family, Aunt Cecilia, often overheard Gemma and recorded her conversations.

Father Germano once overheard her arguing with Divine Justice for the salvation of a soul.   Some of her words were:  “I do not seek Your justice, but for Your mercy.   I know, he made You shed tears;  but . . . You must not think of his sins;  You must think of the Blood You shed.   And now answer, Jesus and tell me You have saved my sinner.”  Gemma actually named the man she was praying for.   Soon afterwards, she broke out joyfully, “He is saved!  You have won, Jesus;  triumph always thus.” Then she came out of ecstasy.

Father Germano had just left the room when he heard a knock and was told that a stranger wished to speak to him.   As soon as the man was before the priest, he fell to his knees weeping and said, “Father, I want to make my confession.”  The priest was stunned to realise that it was Gemma’s sinner.

Gemma often saw her guardian angel, with whom she was on familiar terms.   Sometimes the angel protected and consoled her, sometimes he counselled her and occasionally he scolded her very severely for her faults.   He would say, “I am ashamed of you.”   At times Gemma was heard arguing with her guardian angel, so that her spiritual director, Father Germano, had to remind her that she was speaking with a blessed spirit of Heaven and should be very respectful.   The angel is mentioned on almost every single page of Gemma’s diary.   In one entry, Gemma wrote that the devil had been raining down blows on her shoulder for nearly half an hour.   “Then my guardian angel came and asked me what was the matter;  I begged him to stay with me all night and he said: ‘But I must sleep.’ ‘No,’ I replied, ‘the Angels of Jesus do not sleep!’   ‘Nevertheless,’ he rejoined, smiling, ‘I ought to rest.   Where shall you put me?’   I begged him to remain n ear me.   I went to bed; after that he seemed to spread his wings and come over my head. In the morning he was still there.”

One of the most extraordinary things is the fact that Gemma often sent her guardian angel on errands, usually to deliver a letter or oral message to Father Germano in Rome. Often the reply was delivered by the priest’s guardian angel.   Realising how unusual this was, Father Germano asked Heaven for a sign that it was in accord with God’s Will.  After Gemma’s death, he wrote: “To how many tests didn’t I submit this singular phenomenon in order to convince myself that it took place through a supernatural intervention!   And yet none of my tests ever failed;  and thus I was convinced again and again that in this, like in many other extraordinary things in her life, Heaven was delighted in amusing itself, as it were, with this innocent and dear maiden.”

During the apostolic investigations into her life, all witnesses testified that there was no artfulness in Gemma’s manner.   At the end of each of her ecstasies, she returned to normal and went quietly and serenely about the family life.   Most of her severe penances and sacrifices were hidden from most who knew her.   Only a few around her privileged to realise that she was exceptionally favoured.

In spite of everything which had happened to her, Gemma understood the true joy of her way of life.   She said, “There is neither cross nor sorrow, when we are tightly united to Jesus.”

In January of 1903, Gemma was diagnosed as having tuberculosis.   To avoid danger to her adoptive family, she was isolated in a small apartment close to the Giannini house. For four months Gemma suffered uncomplainingly from the disease.   She died quietly, in the company of the parish priest, on 11 April.   In his testimony he said, “I have been present at many deathbeds but never have I seen anyone die like Gemma, without even a precursor sign, nor a tear, nor a panting breath.   She died with a smile which remained upon her lips, so that I could not convince myself that she was really dead.”

The Church authorities began to study Gemma’s life in 1917 and she was beatified in 1933.   The decree approving the miracles for canonisation was read 26 March 1939—Passion Sunday.   Gemma was canonised on 2 May 1940, only thirty-seven years after her death.

(via AnaStpaul – Breathing Catholic)

[tothewaterhq]

ACCEPTED // SATINE HARRIS

district 8 → victor of the 67th hunger games → anna popplewell fc

positive traits: determined, gentle, caring negative traits: sensitive, self-critical, over-protective 

describe their arena:

When the tributes rose up into the arena for the sixty-seventh hunger games, they found themselves in a frozen wasteland, sparsely decorated with small, dead shrubbery. The only animals present were moose, but these were muttations and designed to kill. Tributes were dressed in a baggy knit jumper with thick thermal underwear and snow trousers.

The arena shifted on the third night, when half of the tributes remained. A blisteringly hot desert, the moose were replaced by oryxes- smaller, but in larger groups, and with sharper horns. One of the hardships was adapting to this change in climate, with three tributes failing to remove their clothing and succumbing to the heat within forty-eight hours.

biography:

Satine was born in the middle of a treacherously cold winter. Her mother died a few weeks later, the difficult birth combined with the horrible cold too much for her weak, malnourished body. The baby was raised by a single father for the first six years of her life, picking up on his anxieties and accepting them as normal, making them a part of her own being.

When she was six, her father remarried. Jenny, her new step-mother, was a fellow factory-worker, and she took to Satine immediately. The first of her three younger siblings was born within a year. They named him Marino, and Satine adored him instantly. As time passed, he’d be followed by two more; Lettie (or Camlet) and Tyler.

The Harrises did not have much, but they had more than many. Their terraced house was cramped, even more so when her maternal grandmother moved in, unable to pay her rent and too crippled by age to work a full shift. Although Satine was her only biological grandchild, she doted on all the children in equal measure. Nana died in her sleep when Satine was thirteen. It was four year old Tyler who found her.

School was a pain, and Satine was so desperate to impress her teachers that she never really made any friends. The highlight of her week was her dance class on Thursdays, set up by her favorite teacher as a way of relieving stress.

Satine was not surprised when she was reaped, because death seemed to follow her like a dark cloud. Part of her was actually relieved it wasn’t somebody younger than her. Her family might miss her, but they would move on; there were girls in Eight who would be mourned far more than her should they have gone in her place.

No-one had particularly high hopes for her. She was small for her age, underfed, with no useful skills beyond cookery and basic first aid. Her greatest strength was in her ally: Kailani, the career from District Four, agreed to teach Satine the basics of throwing knives if she could show her how to bind a wound. Despite the three year age difference, the two became fast friends, and Kailani even went so far as to cut off ties with the careers from One and Two to keep an eye on her in the arena.

Satine ran from the bloodbath, killing the boy from District Nine when he tried to stop her. She returned to the cornucopia a few hours later, where Kailani was waiting. Although they’d lost the cornucopia itself to the career pack, she’d scrounged up a sword for herself, a belt with three knives for Satine, and a tent. The two girls set out in search of their fellow tributes, Kailani killing while Satine stood back and handled the domestic matters- moving their tent, ensuring that they ate each night.

After three days of this, there were twelve tributes left. The arena changed dramatically on the third night, and the girls awoke to found that not only had the snow melted away, but that they were in a desert. Shedding their sweaters and cutting their thermal leggings into shorts with a knife, they continued on. Satine was unused to the heat, but Kailani almost thrived in it. She pinned Satine’s hair up in a bun for her so that it was off of her neck, and recalled stories of summers spent on the beaches in Four.

They stumbled across Kailani’s district partner on the fifth day. He was a thirteen year old called Leomaris, and had survived the cold weather by digging into the snow and creating a small shelter for himself. They gave him some of the water and food they’d been fortunate enough to be sent by sponsors, and took him in as the third member of their party.

In the end, it came down to their alliance and the star-crossed lovers from District One- not truly lovers, but both very beautiful, and very good at manipulating viewers. They had been favorites amongst the more whimsical Capitolites, and the trio knew that. But they weren’t about to give up just because.

They split, Kailani pointing Satine towards the female tribute, insisting she would be right there when she’d disposed of the male. He was bigger than his partner, and much stronger- and it was Kailani who had the career training. They told Leomaris to hide.

A cannon sounded just over five minutes later. The four teenagers stopped mid-combat, looking around, confused, before Leomaris’ picture flashed in the sky. Satine later learned he’d fallen afoul of a herd of oryxes.

She sustained a serious injury when a knife was plunged into her thigh, her vision already blurred with tears for Leomaris and her first kill and everything that had happened over the last few days. Eventually, she was able to pin the girl from One down on the ground and slit her throat.

Looking up, her eyes found Kailani’s just in time to see the light fade from them. She’d lost two friends in less than ten minutes.

She was devastated and wild, throwing herself at the boy from One, crying and clawing. She pulled the knife from her thigh and stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed.

Once she was certain he’d died, she hurried back to Kailani, brushing her hair from her face, telling her she’d won. She’d won. She’d won. But Kailani hadn’t won, and when the hovercraft came to collect the victor for the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games, they took Satine.

Victory was a surprise for Satine, and she struggled at first. There were death threats from avid fans of the tributes from District One, as well as PTSD to deal with, and all the pressures that come with being the Capitol’s latest sweetheart. And that was what Satine was; the sweetheart, the surprise victor who won viewers over with her kindness and her gentle humility.

Living in the Victor’s Village with her family, who suddenly had more than enough room for the first time, she decided to put her victory to good use. Satine set up a soup kitchen in the heart of her district for the hungry, and bought a small hall for her beloved Miss Rodriguez to continue teaching children to dance.

For the first time in her life, Satine had friends; people other than her parents to send birthday cards to. Her connection to Kailani and Leomaris gave her a deep appreciation for District Fours victors, who can all look forward to cards from Satine on their birthdays, and she “accidentally” bakes too many cupcakes regularly so that she has an excuse to pop over to Cecelia’s house and fuss over her children.

With Woof being so elderly, and Cecelia having three children depending on her, Satine tries her best to keep the focus of certain Capitolites on her alone. The President’s prostitution ring for victors was revealed to her when she was sixteen, less than a year after her victory, and Satine understands when it is safer not to argue. Over the years, her “good girl” persona became something more; no matter how depressed Satine feels, no matter how low she gets, she has to maintain this identity as Eight’s sweet, kind, angelic victor, because that’s what the Capitol expects of her now. That’s what her clients expect.

PLAYED BY // DAISY

[jillmiz]

Sisters...

I’m not sure how much I believe the psychological reasons regarding family birth order. While  there are certainly families where each child has qualities or personalities that fit into the “order” (the firstborn being likened to a surrogate parent to the siblings who follow, the middle child being the peacemaker, the youngest having more lenient rules) there are also many families where the birth order has absolutely no bearing on our personalities, our “roles” or how we view and behave in the world.

 Like my family, for instance.

 I am the “baby” of the three - all girls. The “middle” is a few months shy of being three years older than me, and the firstborn is eight years my senior. 

 And here we go...

The firstborn, has never been anywhere near a surrogate parent to me or the middle. She has never been a role model, a leader, or even a friend. Her disdain for me began probably the day my mom became pregnant and it never really ceased.  A bully; entitled; possessive of her parents. Her ally in the family, when she decided she needed one, was the middle and her favoritism toward her was hurtful. I struggled to convince her to like me, but she refused. I would plop myself onto a kitchen chair when her cool friends were around, hoping to be included in some way. She would tolerate my presence for short periods of time and I accepted that stingy bit of tolerance as if it were an admission of “like,” which it really wasn’t, as much as I willed it to be.  But it was the closest thing to her acceptance of me, even if it was simply because her friends thought I was cute. 

There wasn’t a room in the house she didn’t try to take command of. If one of us had the favorite spot on our parents’ bed, she would take it. If we were watching t.v., she took over the cable box. (For anyone who reads this who was born in the nineties, Google “cable box.” You’ll be appalled at what we had back in the day.) She was the first to use the shower, the one who grabbed our hair when she passed us in the hallway to try to “catch” us using her shampoo. When I bought my own shampoo as a teen, suddenly I was the selfish one. The list unravels. Petty things to most, maybe, but the build-up of all-things-small eventually becomes all-things-large.  I must give her this, at least: she was nice to me twice. Twice. Once, when she caught me sneaking out of the house, she didn’t “tell” on me, and the second time was when I was upset that my friends ditched me. She offered to bring me to Beefsteak Charlie’s (although I would have to pay for myself). So, recalculating, it was actually one and a half times.

I was a sensitive, thoughtful, over-thinker as a child; a chubby, cute kid who loved to read and write, eat frozen Ring-Dings, but also (as the middle tells me now) a bit weird. My bedroom was my favorite, sloppy mess of a place to be (and that sloppy mess that I was then has carried through into my adulthood – it’s part of my charm, I like to say). Thankfully, it was the middle with whom I had a relationship. While never perfect, because she and the other would gang-up on me at times, we did have fun. We played jacks on the kitchen floor, causing the eldest to scream at us for making noise; we played dolls, school, library and whatever else kids did back in the seventies. We shared a room, and our clothes – even though we fought over our favorite jeans or sweatpants more often than not. We shared friends as teens, too.

Moving on, the middle wasn’t quite the peacemaker; she was indifferent to the war of the baby and the firstborn. She was the toughest one, emotionally, but the smallest one, physically. She wanted me to let things roll off my back as she did, but it wasn’t who I was. We called her the “cold bitch of the family” but, as I found out later, she wasn’t, and isn’t currently, quite as cold as we half-joked. Her strength has always been her ability to never allow an overload of emotional or tense situations to make her crumble. Middle’s stature was small, and her spine was made of steel; nobody could knock her down. 

I was always the crier and too sensitive to just allow things to happen but not let them bother me.  As the baby, I didn’t try to take my parents’ attention from the oldest; I wanted her attention – the good, loving kind that sisters were supposed to give each other. It was because I was sensitive- at least I think so now- that it was necessary for my mother to give me the attention; it was because I was a little worrisome to her rather than simply being because I was the youngest. 

It was when my father died that the firstborn decided to take the lead.Or try to, anyway. I was nineteen at the time and resentful of her sudden stab at trying to round us up to be a family. She had never been anyone I looked up to or got support from, so who was she to think she could now become that “surrogate parent?” Dark times didn’t bring us together; it only made things worse. Our family became unhinged and we all parted ways to live our separate lives. I was still that sensitive kid, but the circumstances that changed all of our lives forced me to lose that a bit and toughen my skin. I was on my own and had to be an adult sooner than I’d wanted. I was forced into it and I didn’t need, or want, anyone – especially her – to lead my journey. My mother moved to Florida, the middle and I stayed here in New York and the firstborn lived in Queens. Separation became my surrogate parent since it was that which taught me survival.

The only thing that bound us together as any kind of “unit” was blood and the fact that we all suffered through my father’s murder. Bound as we were through a horrific experience, we’d never been more separate. States divided us, personal struggles plagued us and the art of learning how to be adults loomed over us. We were undoubtedly victims of our circumstances and the more I realized that we were, I knew that I would not allow myself to be a perpetual victim of anything.

It was years later when after many fainting episodes, doctors, and tests, the firstborn learned she had brain cancer. She was just shy of 40 years old and had a new, frightening and rough road to steer herself through. 

I don’t know if I ever said this out loud, but for a long time I was ashamed of myself for my internal reaction to the news of her cancer. I will never forget calling her when I found out, still trying to be a supportive sibling even though she had basically shunned me my entire life. It was April and I was standing in my yard, phone to my ear, listening to her tell me she was going to be okay. The tears I was supposed to shed naturally would not come. I felt like she was a stranger to me, and her terrible news didn’t have the profound effect on me that it should have.  It was almost as if I had struck up a conversation with some random person at the store or in an elevator who revealed to me that they were ill, and I nodded sadly as I offered an  “I’m so sorry” before we parted ways. Finally, I did cry a few tears but maybe more so because of how my non-reaction chilled me.

It was as if I had taken on the indifference of the middle and had also been crowned the new “cold bitch of the family.” I knew in my heart that even if I was seemingly indifferent, I truly wasn’t a cold bitch. A sisterly relationship had never existed though, and that’s how I eventually learned to accept that my reaction was not completely wrong or completely my fault. It has always haunted me, though, because it felt so wrong and cold. Where was the sensitive crier I had always been? Guilt weighed on me but I couldn’t change how I felt.

The middle and I had been married through this period, had kids and subsequently we both got divorced, so our own lives continued to be our own kind of tricky, especially since our mother was entrenched in a new storm in the firstborn’s care. But navigate through, we did.

Thankfully, she beat the cancer and is currently healthy 16 years later. She has some issues because of radiation and chemo, but in the end, she won a terrible battle, one for which I have always  admired her courage and bravery. And I’ve even told her that because I felt she needed to know, although why, I am not so sure.  

Every family battles through their own worst storms and my family has been through some fierce ones. I think those are the times and circumstances when we develop and grow the most as adults. We begin to reevaluate and learn to be who we are now from where  and who we used to be.

I will always be the baby of the family but I never felt that I fit into the “birth order” role. The “baby” learned from struggles, improved through mistakes, embraced her sensitivity and compassion instead of feeling ashamed of it. I no longer resent how my sister treated me; I moved past it.  Wallowing in self pity or struggle never proves helpful to anyone - I’ve learned that. 

For all the roles we play in our families, we are not bound to them forever, no matter our birth order.  I have become somewhat the unofficially appointed leader of my family, or “surrogate parent,” to some degree.  Mind you, I still have some growing to do, and God willing, I will live long enough to do so.  I have lived my life separately from the firstborn for most of my life, but still, there have been some recent issues between us that brought with them a torrential downpour of whatever emotion is right below the cusp of hatred. The middle and I have established our own relationship over the years -and now over long distance - but we know where we stand. We grew together and have become allies. My individual growth has not been stunted, nor reliant, upon either of them though. I no longer feel the need to be accepted or liked by my oldest sister and it makes it that much easier for me to let it all go. It makes it easier for me to help her if I can rather than harbor the weight of any emotional damage she caused. 

If my experiences haven’t enlightened me, or helped me to understand who I am, then I haven’t used them for their purposes.  Luckily, I’ve become enlightened to many things.

One of them being that everything has a purpose.

[iwouldhavelovedyoustill]

EP3: Soulmates

She’s his soulmate, alright, but he never figured out if he was hers.

The journey he shared with her had been.. challenging, and he’d oftentimes wonder how they made it this far. Before they started their relationship, she’s been really upfront with him and honest with her condition. She had been diagnosed at 17 with a syndrome that prevents her from bearing a child. It was hard to accept, at first, but eventually, his love prevailed.

It became a sensitive subject since then and both had been really careful not to tread on dangerous waters. He’s well aware how badly she wanted a child on her own, even before he came into the picture, and he had also imagined a miniature version of him around the house.

They managed to overcome this and ended up getting married. Her parents could only care less; her personality never allowed them to meddle in their affairs. His parents, on the other hand, were greatly involved and he had to cover up for her several times after the wedding.

Kailan kami magkaka-apo? His mom would always ask. He’d been hiding these questions from her, knowing that it would hurt her deeply. His family knew that she has a sensitive condition and bearing a child can be difficult; they just didn’t know that the chances are extremely low compared to what they initially thought.

Endless trips to different OB-GYN clinics had been made over the course of four years and he remained strong for her; she’s been reminded over and over of her lapses and he knows that she’s only doing him a favor.

Until one recent test shed some light.

They were told that they can try and she might be slightly fertile on certain days; on how it happened, no one knows, but they have to take advantage of the opportunity.

A few months later, two red lines appeared.

He’s really, really overjoyed, more for her than for himself. Myk knew that something had changed within his wife and her beautiful eyes became prettier, brighter… and more hopeful. He’d catch her humming in the morning while making him breakfast and she would even hug him at night, thinking he’s asleep, while muttering a soft thank you over and over again.

“Pinch me,” she asked him one morning. “Feel ko nananaginip lang ako.”

He then playfully pinched her plump cheeks. “Hindi,” he smiled at her back. “Totoo na ‘to.”

Work didn’t seem too heavy that day; now that he has a good reason to work for, Myk felt that everything had just gotten easier. He was about to head home when his phone rang.

“Sir,” the helper they hired temporarily called out his name in a hurry. “Sir, si Ma’am nasa ospital.”

A thousand buckets of cold water splashed over his shoulders. With a shaky voice, he asked for the address and drove as fast as he could. Please, please, he prayed several times over.

Please let her be okay.

Em’s pale face greeted him. They might have dodged a bullet, given the type of smile she gave him, but he knew that they have to be careful from now on. He caressed her face and asked about the situation. “We’re both safe,” his wife assured him. “Medyo mahina lang ang kapit nu’ng bata.”

They knew this day would come. Reaching her second month of pregnancy can already be considered a feat since they were warned beforehand: It might be dangerous for her. Her bodily hormones might not be enough to sustain the entire nine months. The doctor’s words echoed in his head and he’s reminded of her conviction.

Okay lang Doc, he remembered her gleeful answer. Kaya ko.

Before the deed was done, he also remembered convincing her countless times.

Sure ka?

Oo. Let’s do it.

Baka kung mapapaano ka lang niyan. ‘Wag na kaya, baby? Okay naman tayo.

She squeezed his hand. Sila Mami… she pertained to his family. Hindi okay na walang Seb. Or Dani. Em’s smile hurt a bit with the mention of their imaginary children. Kakayanin ko.

Seeing her lose all the colors on her face made him question their decision again.

“Anong nangyari?”

“Napagod yata ako,” she grinned. “I just tried feeding the cats.”

Feeding their little spawns from hell doesn’t require much energy and she’s already in the hospital. He can’t imagine how sensitive her situation can be once she gets past the first trimester. “Em..” He wanted her to know that he was serious by using her name. “Itutuloy pa?”

“Oo,” she answered, squeezing his hand once again. “Kaya ko.”

Her statement turned out to be the opposite after being confined again, in the hospital, two weeks later after the incident. This time, the helper didn’t call him, but Janica did. The situation’s way, way worse than he expected. His vision got blurry and suddenly, Myk couldn’t hear anything. He signed a form without reading it because everyone was urging him to.

All he could think about is his wife.

Janica’s slap brought him back to reality. “Bakit ka pumayag?” There were tears on her eyes.

Pumayag..? What did he sign? He didn’t know. Myk lost his senses for a while and even his memories of the last few minutes were scattered. His puzzled look prompted Em’s closest friend to continue talking. “Alam mo namang hindi nya kaya.”

“Gusto nya,” he breathed, wanting to defend their decision together. “Alam mo rin na gusto nya.”

“Ginawa nya ‘yun dahil sa’yo,” she accused him.

There’s no way he’d fight with her when his wife is in a critical condition, but he can’t afford to take all the blame. “Ano?”

“Walang araw na walang masakit sa kanya,” she said through gritted teeth and teary eyes. “Lahat sumasakit. Pangalawang buwan pa lang nya pero ‘yung nararamdaman nya pang-kabuwanan na. Nagvi-video call na lang kami para maaliw sya sa bahay kasi pati helper nyo tinataguan nya. Pero umiiyak sya sa’kin palagi,” he can’t even believe her words. “Sabi nya ang sakit-sakit na. Ni hindi sya makatayo pero pinipilit nya kada uuwi ka, kasi sabi nya.. kasi sabi nya..”

What did Em say? “Sabi nya ang saya-saya mo kahit ‘di mo sinasabi,” a tear finally fell. “Sabi nya sobrang proud mong itinawag sa nanay mo ‘yung balita. Para kang nabunutan ng tinik nu’ng nalaman nyo na buntis sya kaya kahit hindi nya kaya..”

He hoped that Janica would stop talking.

“Kinaya nya.”

Hours later, his wife was safely confined in a room and he was assured that she’s safe. The fetus, however, had to be immediately removed after he signed a form to avoid further complications. The small ovaries she once had were also taken away during surgery and she can never produce a child, regardless of the process involved.

Myk didn’t sleep for days. He was told that Em’s body had to recover from the severe pain she had endured for weeks and it will take her at least 3-7 days before waking up. A lot of people had visited him and extended their apologies.

He wondered why they did. If anyone should apologize, he thinks it’s him.

Em woke up on the fourth day. She opened her eyes before he did and a gentle tug from her fingers to his made him come to his senses. Neither of them spoke; they both knew that the loss was too much. His wife’s hands tried to cup his face lovingly, and she gently kissed his forehead.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she smiled sadly. “No one is at fault here.”

He broke down right there and then.

“Sorry,” he said between sobs. “Sorry ulit.”

“I know,” Em soothed his back. “Pasensya na rin.”

She asked for a few weeks off after being released from the hospital, and he gladly agreed. Em needed time for herself and he knew that… he just didn’t know that it would be indefinite. He had almost gotten used to the empty spot in their bed where she used to sleep. She would snore sometimes and he’d find it hard to sleep, but her face was so amusing that he turned it into a meme between them.

He should’ve been holding her, comforting her, telling her that it was okay. It wasn’t her fault, her shortcoming; both of them were to blame for risking it. If she was next to him, he would tell her it is okay, and he still feels complete even if there’s only the two of them for the rest of their lives. Their lives would be forever scarred with this incident, but it is only a single event that wouldn’t be able to define their entire marriage..

..would it?

His wife finally came home after two months. She looked healthier after the discharge, but her aura.. was different. Almost unrecognizable. Even his affection almost looked rejected. And forced.

“I want us to talk,” she told him. “I’ll cook dinner.”

Myk didn’t want the day to end. He almost wished that the clock at the office wouldn’t reach 5PM and if he could spend the night with his computer, he would. There’s just something in her voice that he wanted to avoid.

The papers she handed over confirmed this feeling.

He didn’t want to touch the envelope, even if it was only inches away from his reach. He stopped eating bistek, his favorite dish of hers, and he had never refused to eat this meal before. Myk didn’t even want to ask what kind of documents are being contained in the brown envelope.

“I.. talked to your Mom without you knowing,” she started. “I told her everything.”

He suddenly can’t breathe.

“She was quiet for a while, then she got mad, you know? The kind of mad I deserved. She didn’t say it, but she thinks that I tricked you into marrying me.”

That’s absurd.

“And I feel like I did,” she laughed emptily. “I forced you into a life you didn’t deserve.”

He wondered what made her think like this. Was it because of the toys he bought before they even knew the gender? Or maybe the times he spent talking to the imaginary bump she has around her stomach? What?

What forced her to have these ridiculous thoughts?

“Tama na,” he raised his hand. “Tulog na tayo. Ako na maghugas ng plato. Pahinga ka na.”

“Myk..”

“Hindi,” he shook his head and stood up. Myk gathered all the plates, despite being full, and rushed them towards the sink. His tears were about to fall and he’s not letting her see him. “Bukas tayo mag-usap. Kakauwi mo lang galing probinsya. Pagod ka pa. Magpahinga ka na sa kwarto. Susunod ako.”

“Hindi ako umuwi.”

He froze where he stood. What?

“Hindi ako umuwi, Myk,” Em admitted. “Inasikaso ko ‘to.”

“Okay,” he sniffed. “Bukas natin i-discuss ‘yan —”

“Myk..”

“ — kasi pagod na rin ako sa work —”

“Baby..”

“ — mas okay ‘yung pag-uusap natin kung bukas —”

“Myk!”

He turned around, slightly annoyed. “Ano?!”

“Tama na.”

Em slowly walked towards him and it felt like time passed by slower than it should be. Suddenly, he saw everything flash before him; the way she came to him every time she spotted him in the crowd, the way she beamed at him for bringing her favorite gummy bears, and how she looked ethereal under her veil on the day of their wedding.

She was the love of his life. Still is. His soulmate. No one could ever make him laugh like she does. He had never viewed anyone the way he sees her. Everything she does just makes him adore her more and he had never known love before her.

If she leaves.. what now?

“Em,” he hugged her tightly and desperately. “It’s just one time. We’ll still be okay. Wala lang ‘to. Pagsubok lang ‘to. Normal lang ‘to sa mag-asawa —”

His wife hugged him tighter, and once again, she said, “Myk..

.. tama na.”

He wept like a child that night.

[crownees]

[ demi male, he/him ].  did onyx bae just walk by?  the 23 / 1,000+ year old demon is known for their resourceful, candid and impulsive, mercurial behavior.  that explains why they resemble park jimin.  doesn’t hazy neons, stacks of rings and pink bubble gum remind you of them?

heya! i’m rel and this is a mobile post because i’m getting ready for work now :/ .  this is the first of my three babes, ONYX, and i look forward to writing him with you all.  the rest of my intros will be posted eventually.  it’s best to reach me on discord @lesbee1619.  thank you in advance for reading this trainwreck and like this post if one of the wanted connections interests you, or if you have an idea of your own for a connect / plot!  

⋆  ���  * CHARACTER  ——  background.

⋆  Peasant born and raised in Baekje right on the coast.  Realized at sixteen backbreaking farm labor on the clan leader’s farm was not worth it and set out for the sea as a sailor, then fell into some pirating and plundering troupes.  Quick and dirty trap, fell into plundering the coasts of Japan, China, and Silla, taking from the rich to sell to the richer for coins to rain on the underclass for cheap tricks and fun.  

⋆  Life caught up when he fell into a trap somewhere in China and found himself thrown in some warlord’s prison pen.  A warrant out for his head, the one then-known as  ❝ Joo ❞  called out to anyone desperate and found a demon answering the call.  Traded a way out of torture with his soul after .2 seconds of thought, but died two months later from leprosy on some shitty countryside.  Wow.

⋆  Spent three hundred years tortured in hellfire before he found the demon again.  This time, they came with another offering, another trade;  another way out.  Joo took this one again without a thought, eager for a way out of hell and walk the earth again.  After a few more decades of dying without dying, he found himself breaking ground with a duty —— devour souls and keep going.

⋆  Joo’s taken thousands of steps under the guise of hundreds of different vessels.  Mayhem there, mayhem here.  Eventually it all gets a little dull, repetitive cycles people keep falling into, ruts that make the fun no longer fun.  When the war happened centuries ago, Onyx didn’t take a side ------ but he certainly appreciated all of the desperate souls he gobbled up.  What he wants now is just some damn peace and quiet, and to avoid hellfire’s home with everything he’s got.

⋆  ◦  * ZODIAC SIGN  ——  scorpio.

❝ Scorpio-born are passionate and assertive people.  They are determined and decisive, and will research until they find out the truth.  Scorpio is a great leader, always aware of the situation and also features prominently in resourcefulness.  Scorpio is a Water sign and lives to experience and express emotions.  Although emotions are very important for Scorpio, they manifest them differently than other water signs.  In any case, you can be sure that the Scorpio will keep your secrets, whatever they may be. ❞ ( x )

personality quirks: resourceful, brave, passionate, stubborn, distrusting, jealous, secretive, violent, competitive

⋆  ◦  * PERSONALITY TYPE  ——  isfp.

❝ Adventurer personalities are true artists, but not necessarily in the typical sense where they’re out painting happy little trees.  Often enough though, they are perfectly capable of this.  Rather, it’s that they use aesthetics, design and even their choices and actions to push the limits of social convention.  Adventurers enjoy upsetting traditional expectations with experiments in beauty and behavior – chances are, they’ve expressed more than once the phrase Don’t box me in! ❞  ( x )

personality quirks: temperamental, impulsive, egotistic, manipulative, selfish, charming, sensitive, curious, unpredictable

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER ALIGNMENT  ——  neutral evil.

❝ A neutral evil villain does whatever she can get away with. She is out for herself, pure and simple. She sheds no tears for those she kills, whether for profit, sport, or convenience. She has no love of order and holds no illusion that following laws, traditions, or codes would make her any better or more noble. On the other hand, she doesn’t have the restless nature or love of conflict that a chaotic evil villain has. ❞  ( x )

personality quirks: dishonest, uncooperative, opportunistic, immoral, destructive, self-centered, callous, self-reliant, pessimistic

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER  ——  miscellaneous.

Occupation: Unemployed.  Sells fake drugs.

Hobbies: taking naps, playing arcade games, stealing things, rapping at karaoke, torturing customers, inappropriate graffiti, selling chalk at raves, daydrinking, skateboarding, surfing, selling forged fangear on the web, enjoying 80′s music, graffiti, bumming around convenience stores

Vices: comfortable chairs, b-movies, anything shiny

Personal style: Ripped jeans, colorful zip-up hoodies and print t-shirts.  Mixes it up with messily-buttoned blouses and trousers on occasion.  Pastel beanies or ring-studded caps.  Doc Martens.  Sunglasses, never the same pair twice.  Pockets full of candy.  Denim jackets.  Studded belts.  Stacks of rings, silver bracelets.  Pierced ears and lip  ( hoops )

Other: 5′8  ;   athletic build  ;   orange hair  ;   two half-sleeve tattoos  ;   pansexual  ;   panromantic

⋆  ◦  * WANTED  ——  connections.

⋆ feelings towards other creatures:  onyx is very old and very tired.  he generally has a low opinion of every creature, but he’s been around enough to form his own prejudices and to abandon others.  he’s generally amused by vampires, werewolves, and humans alike.  witches and siphoners scare the shit out of him, and he has a respectful fear / avoidance of all things angelic.  for centuries, he competed with other demons for souls, bargains and the like, but for the past several decades he’s sort of become bored with all of that and spent most of his time amusing himself.  he’s made more than his fair share of enemies among hunters and the like.  during the war, he took no side but did reap the benefits of a whole bunch of scared humans in the aftermath.  since he was mostly neutral, he’s earned both friends and enemies on all sides of the battle lines.  as long as they don’t expect him to do something, he’s fine.

⋆ connections:  vessel’s ex who doesn’t know their ex is now a demon ; treasure hunter who figures out onyx is an old af demon ; fellow ancients who know onyx from past bodies and lives ( contracted, lovers, enemies, sources of entertainment ) ; a familiar and/or siren descended from one of onyx’s various human forms ; fellow demons he’s exhausted by / has a love/hate relationship with ; vessel’s roommate ; a surprising best friend ; an age-old nemesis who’s just as tired as he is ; customers at the convenience store onyx works at ; humans or magic-sensitive folk who’re willing to make a bargain for more power / knowledge ; lovers from the past ; enemies from the past ; the one who got away ; fellow lowkey prankster ; good influence (  they don’t have to be “good”  ) ; tutor in all things 21st century ; a hunter on his tail ; someone he’s friends with because they’ve both lived so long that it’s pointless to be enemies with anymore ; someone he’ll never be friends with.  ever.  even if they’re the last things on earth ; a romance that ended HORRIBLY ; someone who he sealed a deal with during the War who hasn’t paid up yet 

** i’m equally interested in these suggestions being in-game or established plots & connections.  development bb!!  & don’t forget to check out my wanted tag  <3

[krycek-asks]

Luis' Story Time: The first time I got a hug from Steve Fuckin Rogers

Or "Two times Luis hugged Steve and one time Steve hugged first." Originally written for @thelittleblackfox , a Luis' feel good story (If you make it to the end of 2k+ words coming out of Luis's mouth there's a gold star in it for you) (Sorry no 'read after the cut' when posting from my phone ha!) "The first time I stood in front of Steve Fuckin Rogers man I smiled so wide I felt my cheek bones crack, and I couldn't stop yo! I said somethin stupid like 'it's nice to finally meet you bro' or 'heard a lot about you brah, but like only the good stuff ya know?' Like there's any legit bad stuff. And he just smiled into that aura of kindness that radiates all around him, and that shit is gold yo, my prima Leticia is in tune with the spirits and she says the good ones are gold, literally, like they radiate gold and what could be more good than Steve Fuckin Rogers holding his hand out to you? I get into that golden warm haze and pull that dude in a for a hug and jeeeezus have you felt that guero's biceps? Practically gave myself a concussion on the dudes pecks. Course I told him that, a brotha likes to hear all his hard work ain't goin all under appreciated, and Scott's just standing behind him nodding at me all 'Right? Right? I toooooold you he was awesome' but silent talkin like with his eyes. And Steve Fuckin Rogers is the humblest dude you will ever meet, duckin his head all shy teenager or whatever age he's frozen in since that magic potion he drank or gamma ray or whatever made him wander the earth all ageless 'n shit, like the world's most buff vampire but instead of hiding from the sun and drinking blood, he shines that light right through you and eats like six burgers at a time as though his life depended on that shit, like he'd turn to ash without twelve million calories a day. So of course I introduce him to my tío Pepe's taco stand, ain't no safer place to discuss a job AND chow down on life giving suadero. Best salsa in town too. Just about closed the place down early that night with the sheer quantity of taco consumption yo! and everyone fallin all over eachother tryin to get Captain America a jarrito or a napkin or whatever. Of course Steve Fuckin Rogers pays for everything we ate and more. He can be a happy dude man, well when he's eaten anyways, dude is the definition of 'have a snickers' most of the time. Anyways so a couple months later and I'm helpin Scott do some serious ass swear to god legit Avenging. I mean I've met Norse gods and kissed Black Widows but nothin could prepare me for the awesome presence of the Winter Distract You With My Awesome Darkness While I Slice You Soldier saving me from some shit eating alien monsters with nothin but the butter knife or whatever the fuck he pulls out of all those secret little pockets in that kick ass black leather number he wears. 'Course he's just Bucky outside of the fight, like that dude could be 'just' anything ya know? Like who else appreciates how to properly braise leeks or fold butter to get just the right amount of lamination in a goddamn croissant huh? Bucky that's who. Anyways he's Steve Fuckin Rogers life partner or whatever, no need for labelling amongst friends ya know, so when the Winter Soldier gets his last filleting knife lost in the slobber of the most persistent of alien dickweeds and we're staring down the short track of our lives into the dripping maw of death it's Steve Fuckin Rogers who comes in at the last second to save the day, his glowing aura alone shredding that hell hound into shadowy fuckin bits that blow away in the breeze. I mean really it was that kick ass shield made of Infinitum or awesomium or whatever, but you hear me dawg. There was a group hug after, well it was more like I wrapped my arms around a single super being - those two were like melded into one yo, my arms barely got half way. It was beautiful. Tears were shed bro I ain't afraid to admit it but I'm sensitive like that. Daddy ain't afraid of feelings. So me and Scott start hangin around the Avengers club house more often and it is so tight yo! They got ping pong, Xbox, indoor outdoor pools, fuckin Nordic spa quality steam rooms ya know what I'm sayin? Like breathing eucalyptus through every pore in my body is a religious experience, and all this in midtown Manhattan yo! Stark knows how to treat his buddies right, get 'em back in fightin form asap. We'd do midnight ramen with Clint, Scott'd hang with Bruce around his lab exchanging science knowledge like they were playing poker or somethin, I'd hang with Nat and play Boggle or Scrabble but my girl she cheats in other languages I'm sure of it! But whatcha gonna do, call Black Widow out on some Eastern European word for yak's milk? 'sides she lets me use my chilango 'cause deep down she's a real sweetheart. Brunch Roulette with Bucky on Sundays - we pick the trendiest restaurant we can find that day and proceed to order everything we can stand, acting like real buffs, legit Michelin Four Star reviewers or whatever gets the staff jumpin. Dude loves cuisine and can talk about the thousand ways to cook over fire while slicing a tomato without even looking, nothing snags on my mans knives, keeps those muthas sharp ya know? But Steve Fuckin Rogers is a whole other story yo, saddest dude I have ever met when he ain't got no fight to plan for, and you can only run in one spot for a certain amount of time until you wear that floor down, or like literally break your shoes or somethin. And it ain't like he's havin a hard time adjusting to modern digital life, and dude seems happy enough eating whatever Buck puts in front of him, even gets this close to a smile when he can drag himself outside the clubhouse to join us for Brunch Roulette and makes the staff fall all over themselves if they fail to fill up Bucky's water when asked or turn his creme brûlée into scrambled eggs. I mean seriously yo, my abuela can make a perfect flan in her sleep and some of these posers can't tell the difference between a creme caramel and a Cadbury Creme Egg. But if left to his own devices he starts lookin through old photos from his Known Associates box or old sketchbooks from his apartment in Brooklyn from the dawn of time, aka the Great Depression. Tony calls them his Sad Souvenirs, and that golden aura? It just fades yo, like it's still there but limp or something. Bucky told me over mimosas, best ever wake up juice on the market by the way! He told me he tried to hide the Sad Souvenir box once, but Steve Fuckin Rogers just sat at their breakfast bar making houses out of an old bicycle card deck and they just kept fallin over and he'd get sadder and sadder and smaller and smaller until Bucky couldn't take it anymore and asked him to help open a pickle jar or some shit and put the Sad Souvenirs back while he was occupied being 'helpful'. I heard that story and thought of my cousin's girlfriend's brother's neighbor's dog's vet's husband out in Red Hook - dude owns a sandwich shop, best cubanos you can get bro! It was the pickles that reminded me of that heaven on a bolillo. But what does a sandwich shop have to do with Steve Fuckin Rogers you ask? Nothin bro, 'cept it's next to a pawn shop owned by a hundred year old dude named Frank that used to know my homeboys from back in the day! More to the point he knew Sarah Rogers, the living saint herself who used to walk the halls of the TB wards like the superhero she was, took care of her little slip of a boy and smacked down anyone who dared breathe wrong in his direction. Scott said he overheard Nat tellin Clint that she'd overheard Tony talkin on the phone to some Commando named Morita's kid about stories his dad told him about Steve Fuckin Rogers back in the day. Seems like the poor kid lost his mom to the very disease she'd been savin people from all those years ago, and he used to sing her favourite songs in this strange language but would shut up when caught out by his soldier buddies. Kept lookin in all the churches they crashed in while marching through the mud of war for rosaries too, but not just any rosary though he'd pray pretty hard regardless but he was lookin for something all specific like. Seems Tony's dad Howard sent some dudes out to try and track down Sarah's shit that was left behind at the sanitorium where people go to get better but mostly just pass on, but never found nothin. Scott said Nat said she asked Bucky about the singing but he wouldn't say a word about it, just laughing it off as though the Cap couldn't sing. But it got me thinking - so what if Howard Starks minions couldn't find anything? They weren't from the 'hood ya know? You gotta know people, trust 'em, if they gonna give up somethin precious. So I put the word out at Franks pawn shop, you know if they come across anything, or know who to ask. Well, a few weeks later I got a call from old Frank himself. Seems he remembered a neighbour of Sarah and her son who'd been in the same TB ward as Nurse Rogers but had survived! Attributes it to Sarah giving her something before she passed on, and she kept that stuff for her son Little Stevie, and don't you know Nat won't let go of that nickname even under threat of death, But Little Stevie turned into Captain America and drove a plane into the ice and never came back to Brooklyn so she passed Sarah's stuff down to her daughter then to her son to his daughter until Franks great granddaughter puts the word out and that's all she wrote man! Except it ain't cause the Cap came outta the ice and now I had to convince him to come out with me to Red Hook yo! And the quickest way to get Steve Fuckin Rogers to follow you is with the promise of the best cubano sandwich he's ever had in his life. Don't forget he's a food vampire bro! And dudes most relaxed after he's eaten his four sandwiches and a box of Girl Guide cookies from these niñas who set up shop outside - little hustlers know a target when they see one! Between the two of us we bought three cases to bring back to the clubhouse. But there's one more mission we gotta complete, so I say I wanna say hello to an old friend and we go into Franks place and don't you know Steve Fuckin Rogers recognizes Frank right away 'Hey Frankie!' he says like it's been a week or something, well I guess it hasn't really been that long for him being frozen most of the century and all. Frank gives some Brooklyn salute or somethin then gets right down to business sayin 'I guess you're here for your mothers things' The confusion on my poor mans face! Lookin from me to Frank back and forth until Frank takes mercy on him and pulls out what is now and forever known as the Happy Crying Souvenir box. It's got Sarah's rosary, a song book in Latin and one in Irish or something and a letter, a letter for Little Stevie and you know I teared up at that point yo, I said I was sensitive! But I was smilin' and Frank was chattering away about how he'd found this stuff and the golden aura starts to fill the place and I'm suddenly swallowed up by it, biceps crushing my neck but all gentle like, like being embraced by a huge warm teddy bear made of concrete, that's what it's like to be hugged by Steve Fuckin Rogers, and he just says to me in this super legit old school gangsta voice I have only ever heard in The Godfather, 'Thank you, Luis. An stop callin me Steve Fuckin Rogers' And when I get released and can finally take a breath I take his massive hand, look him in his eyes and say, 'Anytime Little Stevie' and dude just shoves me like a Saint Bernard pushing over his little chihuahua buddy, and it goes on like that and when we get back to the clubhouse brandishing cookies and happy stories from the hood we turn that shit into a party. Bucky was so happy he made me chilaquiles from my ma's secret recipe, as though you can keep a secret from Slice 'n Dice Barnes. I even got a kiss from Nat and one from Barton too, though dude was on a pretty crazy sugar high from all those cookies so he totally denies it. And that's the story of the first time I got a hug from Steve." ⭐️

[bindy417]

Caught in the Rapture Ch. 11: The Kiss is posted!

Read on FF.net or AO3

Excerpt:

Felicity was five years old when she first learned about true love's kiss. She'd been sitting on the couch with her mom on a Friday night, excited to be up past her bedtime eating popcorn and watching movies. Her father, like always, was working late. Donna had been eager to show Felicity her favorite movie from when she was a kid, which was Sleeping Beauty. Her mother had always had a fascination with princesses and couldn't get enough of anything involving royalty.

While Felicity had enjoyed the movie, she hadn't shed any tears like her mom did at the end. Mostly because Felicity didn't understand how the three fairies, who looked pretty powerful and clever to her, couldn't just combine their magic to break the curse put on the slumbering princess. If they could alter the deadly curse so Aurora could sleep and then later produce a sword and shield to help the prince defeat Maleficent, Felicity was sure they could've built some type of super wand to awaken Aurora. The kiss from the handsome prince didn't seem all that special.

When Felicity had pointed that out, her mother had simply laughed and shaken her head. She'd called her daughter her little Nancy Drew, because even at that young age Felicity's gifted mind was always eager to solve a good mystery with logic. Donna, after picking her up and placing Felicity on her lap, had explained, "Not all problems can be solved with your head, sweetie. Sometimes it takes heart." She'd pointed at the exact spot on her daughter's chest. "Love is the most powerful emotion on earth. It can overcome anything. Never forget that, my beautiful girl."

Although Felicity never did forget her mother's advice, it became harder and harder over the years to believe in the enduring power of one's heart. Felicity had seen too much darkness and been hurt by too many people to trust in anything else but her mind. Her mother had loved her father and where had that gotten her? Dead, that's where. And the few guys Felicity did get close enough to kiss had hardly managed to change her opinion or stir her heart…until now.

True love's kiss would probably be a cliche in describing the current position Felicity found herself in with Oliver, but she couldn't deny that she finally felt like she'd been awakened. Every brush of his lips and touch of his hands were bringing the forsaken parts of her back to life. The fire blazed along Felicity's skin where their bodies were pressed tightly together. It traveled through her veins and straight to her heart as Felicity clung to Oliver more fiercely. She'd never had an all-consuming experience like this before. She'd never been kissed in a way that caused every single nerve-ending in her body to crackle with passion and desire.

Oliver's head slanted over hers to deepen the kiss. Felicity eagerly opened her mouth and moaned upon feeling the first swipe of his tongue along her lower lip. The silky material of her nightgown had warmed from the friction of their two bodies. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, turning the sensitive nubs into hard pebbles. Still, she needed to be closer...

Tagging: @almondblossomme @agentsassydirewolf @coal000

[ecotone99]

[HR] Graves

Her eyes streamed hot tears down her soot blackened face, half on account of Maisie being dead, but half to do with the fires still burning up the city. All the cities. Always. Fires she had set, and fires she hadn’t.

Gusts of icy wind carried ashes on its breath like hellish snowflakes alighting on Cora’s face and shoulders. The perpetual smell of smoke and gasoline fumes had long since burned out the old woman’s olfactory sensitivity, but the noxious fog that had become her countryside atmosphere still stung her eyes like dish soap. Not to mention she had been coughing up bloody phlegm for two weeks now.

Still, failing lungs or not, she had to find the will to carry on. She had to dig.

She didn’t have to dig very deep, but the work was still tiring. Cora wasn’t the young woman that she had been 20 years earlier. And even back then she had been lying through her teeth about her age, feigning mid-20’s youth when she knew damn well that she was looking at the far side of 35. Eric would always smile knowingly whenever she gave her “age” and he'd even play along, basking in the fantasy of being married to a significantly younger woman. Eric had always made her feel stronger and more confident than she thought she really ought to be. He had that way about him. And now, with 60 staring her in the face, her lungs failing as her own cells turned against her, compliments of the fallout radiation wafting on the easterlies…. Cora didn’t feel so strong. Alone, without Eric to place a loving hand on her shoulder in comfort…. Alone, without Maisie to lick her palm affectionately, Cora felt weaker than she ever did.

Stupid goddam dog. Wonderful, stupid fucking dog.

Perhaps the tears weren’t strictly caused by the smoke lingering from the fires. Cora took time to brush the salty rivulets away with her grimy sleeve, blinking back a barrage of new ones before they could form. There was work to do. On the horizon, 50 miles to the east, a storm rumbled over Denver in a swirling black vortex of nuclear lightning. Cora shivered.

She knelt in the stale radioactive dirt and dug the rusty trowel’s blade into the earth. After nearly an hour’s worth of steady work Cora was sweaty and her arms and finger joints were sore. Finally sitting up to scrutinize her efforts, unbending her tired back, she felt satisfied that she had scooped out a hole big enough to bury Maisie in. A new pit opened up in the old woman’s stomach and rose to catch in her throat. Staring into the hole, she felt the hopelessness crash upon her like an icy wave. The entire world was a graveyard now.

Maisie’s grave rested at the feet of an acacia tree in Cora’s petite backyard. The branches of the tree had long since been stripped forever of their leaves, the heart of the once proud monolith poisoned to death by careless Men. It had happened so fast, too. The bombs hadn't fallen more than a month before the last leaf fell withered and brown. The sight of it always sent an immediate wave of overwhelming shame roiling through Cora's bloodstream, like the cancer that ate at her organs. The culpability she felt beat on her heart with guilty hammers. But Maisie had always loved the old acacia, lying happily, tongue wagging lazily out of her mouth beneath the bowed, sparse branches even after they’d been disfigured skeletal. The whole country was skeletal now, so maybe this was as good a place as any.

If it was good enough for Maisie, it was good enough for Cora. And it was certainly better than the grave of complete obliteration that her husband and children had received in Denver.

Cora had no coffin to bury her dead Labrador in. Instead, she had wrapped Maisie in an old crocheted blanket that had been passed down to her by her mother. It was the nicest consideration Cora could give the poor animal, owing to her extremely limited resources.

After digging the hole, the act of carrying the bundled up dog from the foyer of her home back out to the tree exerted nearly all of Cora’s remaining energy. Once Maisie had been interned in her grave, Cora felt so worn down that she considered laying down and dying right there with her dog, just as Quasimodo had with Esmerelda in Paris. There was a time when a more wistful version of herself might sigh at the idea of never seeing Paris, but that wistful version of her had died when the bombs fell. Now there wasn’t even a Paris to see.

Cora didn’t lay down and die, but she did sit with her back to the tree and her feet dangling slightly into Maisie’s grave, catching her breath as sweat ran from the nape of her neck, trickling down the back of her shirt. She fanned herself slightly out of habit, even though the air was far from warm, fires or not. July was already well underway but the sky boiled with overcast grey-black clouds blotting out the sun completely, lending the wind an arctic chill. She had read about such phenomena when she was younger. A nuclear winter was what it was called. There hadn’t been any snowfall yet, just ashes masquerading as sleet, but that dreaded weather couldn’t be far off. No doubt the snow would fall poisoned like the rest of everything else.

Pushing herself up off her palms, one knee in the dirt for balance, Cora unceremoniously began bulldozing the mound of loose earth she’d dug up back into the grave. Clods of mephitic soil caked onto the sleeves of her flannel shirt up to her elbows and another throbbing hum began to sound off at the base of her spine long before the work was finished. But eventually she stood and looked down at her handiwork, the grave once more filled.

“Well,” she said to Maisie, to the wind, to all of the ghosts of everyone who had once been, “I’ve done it. I’ve done my best.” Her voice caught in her throat so she swallowed hard and continued, committed to the eulogy. “I hope this is okay. I hope that this was enough.” The tears would not be denied now and her sleeves were too dirty to be used as Kleenex.

Absentmindedly, Cora smoothed the dirt on top of the grave with her left shoe. “I just want you to know how badly I’m going to miss you; how badly I miss you already. I never got to say goodbye to any of you. I said it when you left the house, but I didn’t know that this would happen. Nobody did…. But I wish to God that I could have known.” Her words were near gibberish amidst the sobbing. “It wasn’t supposed to be a real goodbye….”

Snot congested her nostrils. She sucked back on the phlegm and coughed a racking expectoration, spitting a gob of bloody mucus into the dusty earth. Even with no one to witness it, she still felt embarrassed by her spitting. And then she felt embarrassed at her own embarrassment.

After standing over the grave for a few minutes longer, half to pay respects to her dead dog, half to catch her breath, Cora walked back to what used to be the garden on the west side of her house to the shed that connected to the Atrium. Inside she found the old salvaged generator sitting as lifeless as Maisie. Not a naturally mechanically savvy individual, it had taken Cora quite some time to figure out how to operate the old piece of machinery. But necessity had turned her into an aficionado. She checked the fuel levels; enough to last the rest of the evening and partly into the night. Perfect. She flipped the fuel valve to On and moved the choke rod from right to left. Satisfied with her work Cora turned on the ignition and pulled the recoil cord four times until the genny thundered to life with an earthquake of noise that exploded through the eerie quiet of her uninhabited world. She set the choke to Run and when all was said and done she stood back, wheezing once more, coughing up another bout of blood. She had a thought that she might die right there in the shed and no one would ever find her. She was fairly certain that there was no one left.

The last living person Cora had seen had been Dawn, and eight year old girl who had outlived her parents only to die of radiation sickness two days later. That had been over a month ago. The girl’s throat was so ragged that right before she had passed her cries had become nothing more than lamb’s bleats muffled by her decaying esophagus. More than once, late at night when the screams kept Cora awake, she considered finding a gun and doing the merciful thing for the child. But no, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As quickly as the urge developed, her cowardly nature bashed it back down within her.

Cora still felt guilty for not giving the girl a proper burial. The fear of contracting the same sickness that had killed everyone else in Grant had driven the spinelessness that controlled her and for the first month after the bombs had fallen she had refused to even leave her home. But then her food ran out.

She had found the girl crying on her stoop eating a pack of saltine crackers, the radiation already turning her into a gaunt caricature of what a healthy child should resemble, blotch sores oozing all over the spots of skin the girl's clothing didn't cover. She may as well have been a zombie the way that Cora had treated her, scrambling away up the hill back to her house, locking and barricading the doors and windows. Dawn, however, had not followed her. The little girl had been all skin and bones and lacked the strength to simply leave her parents property. And what would she do if she could? An empty world would be nightmarish for a child her age.

Cora knew that the girl had died the evening that the screaming stopped. She didn’t sleep that night either, though. Instead, she thought about Dawn dying alone in pain, surrounded by the bodies of her mother and father, confused and frightened. She thought about the radiation that had poisoned all of the families around her. She saw it as an airborne infection sliding into her own home through the cracks and eaves, irradiating her with the same time lapse slow death that had done away with every last one of her neighbors.

The next morning Cora burnt down Dawn’s house and every other house on her block except her own. She did not know that the radiation had already begun to corrupt her body. She did not realize that fire couldn’t kill away the Devil. All she knew was her own fear; the fear of becoming like them; cold, lifeless, rotten things, decaying in the darkness, coagulated black blood oozing from every orifice. The smell had been putrid.

Back inside of her home, the first thing Cora did was add several small logs to the coals still glowing red hot in the fireplace in the den. Soon a blaze crackled to life and began flooding the house with incandescent warmth, defrosting the chill that reminiscing had sent through Cora’s body. The old woman allowed herself time to stand before the fire, warming her bones for several minutes before the itchiness of the dirt and sweat on her body compelled her to get herself cleaned up.

The water still worked just as fine as it ever had, but Cora hadn’t trusted it for months now. It had been a difficult sacrifice at first, abstaining from baths and showers for fear that radiation had somehow poisoned the water mains; but in her mind it had been necessary. A dark part of her couldn’t help but imagine coming out of the tub, her body glowing radioactive green, the skin on her arms and legs and back boiling with blisters and sliding off her bones wet and sick the way meat slides off the bones of boiled chicken legs.

Instead of bathing she had taken to using baby wipes salvaged from the local supermarket. There wasn’t much food or water to be found there, but there was a stockpile of Wet Ones in the childcare isle that no one had thought to snatch up when everyone began looting in the beginning, a week or so before they realized that no amount of supplies could change the fact that they were all doomed. Cora had filled an entire shopping cart with as many wet wipes as could fit and in doing so was able to keep a moderate amount of her dignity intact.

Today, however, wasn’t a wet wipe day. Today was a day for funerals. Today was a special occasion.

With an acquiescent sigh, Cora turned both faucet knobs to full blast. The pipes rumbled, taking their sweet time to rush water through their months unused canals, but after a few seconds of reluctant groaning clear lukewarm water came blasting out the faucet into the polished porcelain tub. Cora engaged the drain stopper to allow the tub to fill and then poured in nearly an entire bottle of children’s Mr. Bubble that she had taken from the Value-Save specifically for this occasion. Rainbow sheened suds and the smell of bubblegum scented soap quickly filled the tub and air and brought a euphoric sense of nostalgia to Cora’s heart, warm and pleasant, but not without a heavy measure of sadness. The scent absentmindedly reminded her of her children when they were toddlers, splashing in the bathtub, using the bubbles to give themselves moustaches and beards and laughing at how old they’d made themselves look. Little did they know that they would never get the chance to see an age even close to what their imaginations helped feign.

When the tub had filled more than half-way, Cora stripped out of her dirty clothing and sighed as she slid into the bath. Instantly her muscles contracted and relaxed in a way that had become completely alien to her over the past few months. Removing a loofa that had hung unused over the mouth of the tub’s faucet for as long as Cora hadn’t used the tub, she began to methodically scrub her body down, erasing the grime that caked her arms and legs. The feeling of becoming clean was almost enjoyable. Dolloping a liberal amount of shampoo into the palm of her hand she massaged it into her scalp. Much more hair than she would have liked came out on her hands, compliments of the radiation poisoning, but Cora ignored it. The time for worrying about such things was over now. Now all that mattered were the terms of her comfort.

She drained the tub and held her head under the running faucet to rinse the shampoo out of her hair and thought twice about conditioning for old times sake. On second thought though, she went against it. She still had much more to do that evening and did not want to spend more time in the bathroom than she absolutely had to. Hair thoroughly rinsed, Cora turned off the faucet and stood up, reaching gingerly for a green fluffy towel hanging on a nearby rack, patting her body dry with it before wrapping it around her hair, twisting it at the top and stepping out of the tub onto the bathmat.

Despite the lukewarm temperature of the water, the cold of the house had caused the bathroom mirror to fog up a bit so Cora wiped it clear with her palm. The emaciated face of an old woman stared back at her, flushed from the bath. That wouldn’t do at all.

Padding softly down the hallway to her bedroom Cora found the black dress she had worn on her first date with Eric so long ago laying spread out on her bed waiting for her, the pearls she’d inherited from her mother when she was only a child laying next to the dress along with a pair of diamond earrings that Eric had given her on their 20 year anniversary. She had never really cared for the earrings much, believing that they were just too damn expensive to wear when she and Eric occasionally went out, but if ever there was a time to wear them, she thought, it was tonight.

Cora stepped into the dress and clasped the pearls around her neck and fastened the earrings to her ears then went to her vanity and opened a makeup pallet that she hadn’t used in so long that she was afraid the makeup might be dried up and unusable. To her delight it wasn’t.

She started with a primer, then worked her way to a foundation that brought out the glow in her cheeks and eyes. An outline with a mascara pencil made her baby blues pop vibrantly and a little bit of eye shadow gave her a rogue, smoky look that she couldn’t help but admit to herself was a bit ravishing. Cora opted to leave her eyelashes alone, but compromised by painting her lips a gorgeous bright red. There was not much to be done with her hair, but a few expertly placed bobby pins and a generous spray of MegaHold at least tamed the mess. Standing back to look at herself in the mirror, she felt a comforting sense of pleasure.

Downstairs the fire was burning greedily and the house smelled of earthy smoke. It had taken some time and more than a few breaks in which she doubled over to cough up blood, but the night before she had found her old record player and the trunk containing her teenage record collection in the attic and had lugged it all downstairs into the den. She might have cried if after setting it all up she had discovered that the player didn’t work, but there had been no need to cry because on a test run the old record player worked just as it had when she was sixteen. Her unlikely favorite singer had been Marty Robbins and she still had several of his vinyl records as a testament to that fact, and it was Marty Robbins that she chose.

“Tonight Carmen” crackled to life through the record player’s speakers and Cora sunk into the comfortable cushions of her couch. Standing on the coffee table in front of her were three pictures propped up in their frames: the photo from hers and Eric’s wedding, where they were mashing cake into each other’s faces, flanked by a picture of Sammy and James as children playing with Legos on the floor of their bedroom, Sammy staring into the camera smiling his goofy smile while James seized the opportunity to reach for the castle that his older brother had been constructing. The last photo on the far left was of Cora’s parents, June and Robert, her mother kissing her father’s surprised cheek at a barbecue before Cora had even been born.

Next to the pictures sat a large wine glass and an old bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon that Cora and Eric had been saving for after their children moved out of the house. That day would never come, or had come in a way that neither of them had expected, and so today was as good a day as any to drink the wine. Cora uncorked the old bottle and poured herself a full glass. Before she drank the wine she unscrewed the childproof cap from an orange prescription bottle of Valium spilling out about 27 pills into her palm. She tossed back about half of the handful at once, chasing it with a couple gulps of the wine, before finishing the handful on the second try, as well as draining her glass. She refilled the glass and sipped it, her heart racing with adrenaline from what she had just done. Half of her couldn’t believe that she’d done it, while the other half of her was glad she had.

Several minutes later the wine began to make her feel drowsy. Or at least she thought it was the wine. Surely the valium would take a bit longer than that, even at such a high dose? She did not really know. She did not really care. Tipping back her glass and abandoning it to instead drink directly from the bottle, spilling a little bit down her front in the process, Cora kicked her legs up onto the couch and lay on her side staring at the pictures of her dead family. I’ll see you soon….

In the background, as if coming from far down a tunnel she could hear the voice of Marty Robbins singing gently to her:

Have I told you lately when I’m sleeping

Every dream I dream is you somehow

Have I told you why the nights’re long

When you’re not with me, well darling I’m telling you now…

Cora’s eyelids felt heavy and the cold of her empty house sent a chill across her skin in pulsating waves of goosebumps. She pulled a blanket over her and tried to focus on the faces of her children and parents and of her husband. She felt as if she were sinking into the couch, falling away from her world with each second.

From down the tunnel of darkness that she found herself dissolving into she heard a knocking noise. At first a gentle rapping, then a more unsubtle pounding. At first she thought it was the sound of her own heartbeat, but then she recognized it for what it really was: someone knocking on the door to her home. Well, she thought to herself as she allowed her eyes to close, giving herself to the darkness, Maybe I’m not the last one after all.

⁕⁕⁕

The sound of music emanating from the house was what brought Quentin to Cora’s home. He had been traveling along back roads, avoiding the main highways and major cities for the past two months and hadn’t come across another living person. The only music he had heard during this time had been when he hummed songs he used to know to himself to calm his nerves in the heavy quiet of every night. Hearing music for the first time in so long was almost frightening, but it awoke in him a hopeless longing for normality and he found himself trekking with more deliberation than ever toward the direction of Cora’s cottage.

He was not a looter. Standing on Cora’s doorstep he had the manners to at least knock first. Plus, these days, you never knew who was waiting behind any door, possibly holding a rifle or a shotgun ready to kill you without hesitation. Quentin had not seen any such person, nor any person at all, but he was of the mind that he could not be too careful. After a minute of knocking to no response however, he tried the door handle to find it unlocked. He opened the door tentatively.

“Hello?” he called into the house. No answer. He tried again. “Hello? Is there anyone home? I heard the music…. If there’s anyone here, please, don’t be alarmed. I’m not going to hurt you.” Apart from the continuing music his calls were met with silence.

Moving cautiously through the house he finally made his way into the den where he found the old woman. At first he thought she was only sleeping, but then he saw what she was wearing, saw the bottle of wine and empty bottle of pills. It was then that he knew. The sight of her was saddening, but the pictures on the coffee table were what truly broke Quentin’s heart. Poor woman, he thought. At least there was a small smile on her face. At least she hadn’t died screaming like so many others. Still, he couldn’t leave her like that.

He found the shovel next to the dead acacia tree near what looked to be a freshly dug grave. Maybe she had buried her husband or child there, Quentin wasn’t sure. Whoever it was had been important enough for the old woman to make the effort to bury, so Quentin decided to dig the woman’s grave next to the tree as well. She would be in the company of her loved ones.

Quentin was young, only 21 years old and still very fit, but the work was tiring and the ground was nearly frozen. Digging the grave gave him a swollen respect for the old woman. The strenuous work involved in his own digging made it hard for him to believe that she had done it herself, but the earth did not lie.

Quentin wrapped the old woman in the blanket that he had found her curled up in and gently laid her down into the hole. He filled it in in a matter of minutes and patted it solid and smooth with the blade of the shovel. He had no words to say to the old woman’s body. He did not even know her name. Instead he just hoped in his heart that whoever she was, she had found peace.

Turning away from the grave Quentin headed back up to the house and stood on the lawn to survey it. He had traveled so far to find himself here and suddenly he felt very tired. He did not really know what he had been searching for that entire time, but perhaps he had found it finally.

This seems like as good a place as any…. He thought to himself.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Quentin wiped his nostrils with his sleeve. His nose had begun to bleed again.

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