#tw: loss of parent

[happy-lemon]

Oh, I'm in pieces, it's tearing me up, but I know a heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved. ~ Ed Sheeran, 2017

Hendrix was having a bad day, a mood swing. Mom thought maybe the Festival of Light might make him feel better. Make a wish. Eat a chocolate taiyaki. Dance around the bonfire. Let it all out. She'd sold a painting for a lot of money, so she booked a charter plane, just for us. Dad made us all laugh, remembering how Hendrix once complained about flying economy.

I honestly don't know what happened. None of us do. One minute we were flying, the next we hit the ground. Dad, Hendrix, and I all woke up in the hospital, but Mom...

Mom is gone.

This is not how life is supposed to work. She was supposed to be there when Hendrix and I graduated, got married, had kids, or walked whatever path we're meant to follow. She and Dad were supposed to grow old together. We weren't supposed to do this without her.

~ Etta Newberry

[sunnydayzes]

The silence that came over the room after she spoke about her mother was deafening. It was almost as if Lyla had stolen the woman's breath away and she didn't know what to say in response. But, even mentioning what had happened aloud had created a tightening in her chest as the sadness started bubbling up to the surface again. She hated thinking about what had happened, and giving it a voice just made it even more real.

"Do you have a job? Can you pay rent?", the woman asked calmly, her features had softened since her confession, but she still seemed to be all business. Lyla couldn't really blame her. People had to make a living one way or another and her tragedy didn't stop the world from spinning - even though she had felt like it did.

"I....don't." She said, watching the woman's face quickly change. "But I will start looking. I'm sure I can find something. People need help all over this town.", Lyla said, reasonably, somehow finding a way to muster up a little bit of confidence.

There was another long stretch of silence, and then the woman let out a heavy sigh, and resumed her typing on her computer once more.

"Rent is 450 a month. It's due at the first of the month. You have a five day grace period, but anything after that is considered late. If you miss two payments in a row, you will be evicted. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am.", Lyla said, trying to stop the tears that were brimming in the corners of her eyes. She felt such a wave of relief wash over her. She had found herself a home; and it hadn't taken that long at all. It felt like a blessing - like her momma was somehow still watching over her like she had her whole life.

"The first month I will wave the rent plus the usual moving in fees.", the woman said, as Lyla heard the sound of a printer going off in the background. "I know what it's like to be without a family."

"Thank you.", Lyla said, a small tear dripping down her face.

"Don't thank me yet, girl. You better find yourself a job. Are you still in school?", she asked as she pulled a piece of paper out of the printer and sat it down on the desk in front of her "Read over this and sign it."

"I just started my senior year.", Lyla replied as she looked over the document that was handed to her. It was a lease agreement. It seemed like pretty standard stuff, and Lyla didn't really see anything that concerned her. She hastily signed the document, handing it back to the woman, anxious to get her hands on the keys to her new home.

"Stay in school.", the woman said gruffly as she grabbed the piece of paper back and moved over to the copier. "Trust me. If you ever want to make something out of yourself, school should be your priority."

"Yes, ma'am." Lyla replied, remembering that she had promised her mother the exact same thing. She had dreams for herself - she wanted to open up her own little bakery and sell her treats to the world. She may not have needed an education for that dream, but she knew that it wouldn't have hurt anything.

"You can stop calling me, ma'am. My name is Barbara, but you can call me Barb.", she said, and Lyla saw the woman smile for the first time since she had entered the office as she turned back to Lyla and handed her a copy of the lease she had just signed. "Congratulations. You have a home."

Lyla stared down at that piece of paper as though it was going to disappear. She couldn't believe it was that easy. She knew that it probably should have been. Maybe the woman was taking pity on her, or maybe she just saw a way to make a quick buck. Either way, Lyla didn't have to worry about sleeping on the street that night, or any night after, and that was all that she cared about.

"I'm Lyla.", she said as she held out her hand. The woman didn't shake it, as she expected. Instead, she dropped a small key into the palm of her hand.

"You ready to see your place?", she asked, and Lyla nodded her head enthusiastically. "Follow me."

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

grief is saying ‘I want to go home’ whilst sitting in my living room

[loveelizabeths]

love is what we choose to remember.

love elizabeth s.

[boolger]

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before 🌻 ch.1

Female reader x Nikolai x Price ✨ AO3 link ✨ next chapter -> wc: 7.7k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

Summary: Your hometown, Millhaven, had been under the control of The Shadows, a notorious biker gang, for several years. You hated every member of the group, but in particular their leader, Phillip Graves. The alpha refused to leave you alone, having attempted to seduce you for two years despite two years of rejection. But in the matter of one night, everything changed. The Shadows disappeared, replaced by a biker gang calling themselves Team 141. The town seemed relieved, but you didn’t trust the new group, despite every good thing they did. Perhaps, it was your sign to leave - your opportunity to move without bad conscience. But the 141 suddenly showed a strong interest in the house you inherited from your father. Even worse though, the leader John Price and his mate, Nikolai, seemed to like you even more. While the Shadows were annoying and Graves was persistent, he at least accepted your no. Somewhat. Problem was, it didn’t seem like the 141 took no for an answer.

Tags: non-consensual elements/rape, bikers AU, biker gang 141, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con touching, harassment, stalking, reader has a vagina, M/M/F threesome, threats, reader has a nickname, loss of parent, original characters, pack dynamics, alpha!John Price, Alpha!Nikolai, omega!reader, forced bonding, loss of virginity, breeding kink, piss kink, scent marking, daddy kink, stun guns, smut, rough sex, knotting, (maybe pregnancy), voyeurism, punishments, noncon spanking, p in v sex, anal sex, overstimulation, claiming barks, uh short appearance of a chopped off body part (action not described but the part will appear shortly)

Authors note: first of all, TY to sweet 💖 @venuskaltrip 💖for being my beta reader on this fic 🥰❤️ I cannot describe how much I appreciate it. Secondly, idk how long this fic will be yet maybe 6 chapters but they won’t all be this long lol. This will be a dark fic. I will write if there is something specific, but Nikolai and John are nasty in this one. If you’re not into this or feel uncomfortable, don’t read.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

“Hey there, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, and had to physically keep yourself from not groaning at the voice. If your eyes got stuck, like your father used to say, then you wouldn’t have to look at the man behind you at least. However, today wasn’t the day, so you were still able to see him as you turned around and put on a polite smile. For at least two years, the small cafe that you worked in and loved deeply, hadn’t been a safe space for you. He had ruined that.

”Mr. Graves,” you greeted the man standing on the other side of the counter, continuing to dry off the teacup in your hand, “how may I help you?”

”Phillip, my pumpkin,” you could feel the hatred in each bone in your body, as he corrected you, “Told ya’ not to call Mr. Graves. That was my father.”

Oh, how you wanted to throw the teacup in his face. Watch it hopefully shatter in his skin. The man would have deserved it. He was one of those alphas who never wore any kind of scent blocker, proud to stink up whatever room he walked into, to show their “dominance” over everyone else. Right now he was stinking slightly of lust, almost making you want to gag.

Somehow you still managed to keep your smile and not roll your eyes again over his words. Throughout your countless interactions with him, you had learned the hard way that you had to push back and not give up when it came to him. Your father would have reminded you to show him that you’re an alpha as well. Which you were, at least to Graves.

But he called you Pumpkin, sweetie pie, all kinds of awful pet names that he knew you didn’t like - so you stood your ground.

”What can I get for you, Mr. Graves?”

He pouted, like a dog not getting a treat, as he bent forward, resting both of his hands on the counter, making you try your best to ignore the leather gloves he wore. Specifically, where they had been. They looked dirty. You didn’t want them on the counter. There would no doubt be oil on them from messing around with his ugly bike outside. Perhaps, Mary would let you put up a sign about not touching the counter while wearing gloves. Then again, it was a very specific sign. Graves probably wouldn’t like - or follow it, for that matter.

“You’re a tough nut to crack, sweetie,” he crooned all charmingly, leaning forward while you leaned backwards, not even trying to be subtle, as he continued, “I’ve enjoyed it these last two years.”

The ‘but no more’ was left unsaid. A threat, disguised as a compliment. You just swallowed, smiling at him. Though if you were being honest, you weren’t really sure if he was threatening you, or attempting to flirt.

Mary was in the back, she would hear you if you screamed, in case he decided to snap and jump across the counter today. You were on the edge of growling, warning the alpha to back off, when the front door opened.

The soft chimes of the bells alerted of your saviors entering the little cafe - two of your regulars, two elderly women that came in every day at 9AM exactly. Your unsung heroes.

”Goodmorning dear,” the beta called out for you, the elderly omega next to her giving a wave, and the smile you sent them as you greeted them was genuine. They always wore blockers, but smelled of cookies and weed nonetheless. You were quite a fan of pair.

”I’ll be there in a moment, ladies,” you called out sweetly as they took off their coats. They weren’t even discreet in their staring at Phillip Graves. As if the man and his gang of idiots hadn’t been in the town for the last seven years or so. As if the sight of the logos on their backs was still a surprise and not an everyday occurrence to everyone. Then again, they were old. Graves looked over his shoulder, no doubt sending them a nasty stare, before he looked back at you again.

For a moment, you felt as if he stared at you like a beast would a piece of meat, as if he wanted to devour you raw. That had been how he had looked at you for the last two years or so, not even hiding how he wanted you, a strong alpha woman, to bend over for him. Follow him like a good little puppy.

The scar you had given him the last time he had attempted something was healed by now, but still visible, particularly in the right light. The sight still pleased you.

Graves behaved like a desperate dog, who continuously returned to you, hoping for a moment to successfully catch you off guard and rip you apart.

“An americano, then,” he finally crooned, a charming smile back on his face as he straightened up, the leather creaking a little, “with an extra espresso shot.”

You added a bit too much espresso - hoping the strong drink would make him shit himself while he drove his motorbike. Preferably while all his ‘Shadows’ were watching him.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The Shadows had appeared when you had been around 15 years old; back when it had seemed to rain a little less than now, back when your father was alive. Right after the two of you had found a bit of happiness after the death of your mother a couple of years earlier. Back when you hadn’t presented yet, your secondary gender still a mystery.

You had quickly learned to avoid them, all of the kids in your small British village had, keeping your distance despite the cool matching logos on their vests and jackets, and their shiny, loud motorbikes.

Why the hell an American biker gang had decided to go to the UK, and then chosen your bloody village, was beyond your comprehension. They all seemed like idiots. You had realised that as a teenager.

It seemed most of the inhabitants of Millhaven had hoped they would leave after a year or two. Instead they became more and more intertwined with the town as the years passed, creating chaos and controlling a bunch of things - and people.

The local, lowly drug dealers, who maybe sold a bit of weed or some painkillers, either disappeared or changed tactics. At the same time, it seemed impossible to have a shop, or any kind of business really and not pay them some sort of fee.

For “security”.

To you it seemed like it was the Shadows themselves who were creating malaise and fear in Millhaven, not any locals or people from other towns. The mere name The Shadows didn’t really scream safety and peace.

A couple of the bikers ended up creating a pack with some locals from town, others didn’t. In truth, without being said out loud, everyone had hoped for Phillip Graves to get bored of Millhaven and decide to move on to another town. Then the streets wouldn’t be filled with the roars of their bikes or their ace of spades or whatever their logo was supposed to be.

However, to much of the disappointment of the folks of Millhaven, Graves did find something interesting - or rather somebody.

Much to your horror, it turned out to be you.

It had started a couple of months after you had turned twenty; he had started to look at you, no, stare, like it was the first time he really saw you. Noticed you. He started flirting with you almost instantly after that - and though you turned him down straight from the beginning without hesitation, he kept going. You had barely turned twenty, he was in his thirties.

The owner of the cafe you worked at, sweet Mary, had muttered not too long after his first show of interest that he was a nasty man - but that he at least hadn’t noticed you when you were a kid. You tried not to think about that part too much.

Six months into his attempt at courting you, he had cornered you outside the pub; a confident smile on his lips and a dark look in his eyes, as he had caged you in, hands on each side of your head. That was the evening you had given him the scar on his cheek - usually you only used your pocket knife to open up letters or packages, so you weren’t a great fighter. But the blade had connected with his skin; there had been blood, a grunt - and you had escaped his attempt at kissing you… or worse.

You had bolted into the pub again in pure panic, steering directly to the back, with the plan of disappearing out into the dark fields — but Lewis, the owner, had helped you hide in the little secret cellar beneath the wooden floors, surrounded by beer and wine. You had slept in one of the upstairs rooms of the pub that night, Lewis and his wife not letting you go home.

You had been sure Graves would take revenge, so you laid low for a couple of days, Mary demanding you stay at home.

It turned out to be much worse, however.

If he had been interested in you before, he was in love with you after the incident. That had been when you, despite your unending love for Millhaven, had considered moving away for the first time.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Money was the issue - wasn’t it always? You kept saving every pound you could, while still trying to live a normal life. Your dad hadn’t left you much besides the house and its contents. It was big, too big for you really. Half of it had been a garage for as long as you could remember, your father the town’s mechanic. You used to help him here and there, but car engines were never your thing - they never spoke to you like they spoke to him.

When he got worse, he sold off most of the things to pay for the last of the mortgage, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.

You begged him not to get rid of his favorite vintage car - promising him that you would get it fixed up and take a drive in it, even if both of you knew that probably wouldn’t happen. So far, it hadn’t happened, you had taken a look or two, but not done anything about it.

No, the grey Aston Martin DB4 still stood in the back of the big garage and workshop, beneath its cover and some blankets. Like a ghoul from the past, haunting you in your own home, with memories of him. Thus, moving would mean having to deal with your dad’s car, so the mere idea felt like pulling out teeth. Like you would finally have to accept and deal with the fact that he was dead.

However, the idea of Graves’ patience slipping up, growing tired of waiting for consent from you, scared you too. Maybe more. You weren’t sure.

If he wasn’t there, if he and his Shadows hadn’t been controlling Millhaven, you might have stayed without too many issues. Despite only being twentytwo, you had a big house and no debt. It was a privilege in all other aspects. You could get an education, move to a bigger city, where you could blend into the crowd. Maybe not hide your true self.

“You okay, Sunflower?”

Mary, your lovely beta boss, asked you gently, pulling you from your thoughts, making you smile as she turned the little sign at the glass front door, to show that the place was closed for today.

Your nickname was just your name at this point. It had followed you for so many years that you weren’t sure you would even react to your actual name. As a kid, you had been obsessed with sunflowers - they were on your dresses, your shirts, your tights. Hell, your dad got you a necklace with a small sunflower on it that still rested against your skin beneath your shirt.

Sunflower. Sunny. Sunshine. Sun. The variations had been endless and with the town being relatively small, it had become well known that you were Sunflower. It wasn’t that unusual to have a nickname here after all. There were people in Millhaven, whose actual names you didn’t even know.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, slightly ashamed of having been caught standing behind the counter, all lost in your thoughts, “don’t worry about me.”

Mary, sweet Mary - she was another reason you felt bad about considering moving. She worried about you but you wanted to shield her. You didn’t want her to ask further questions, to ask anymore in general. You didn’t want her to worry about your frustrations, fears and the dilemmas that seemed to grow bigger everyday - so that she wouldn’t realise why there was a stun gun next to a pocketknife in your jacket, despite it being illegal to own said stun gun.

You didn’t really fear getting caught with it, as it wasn’t like the police would come out here to check. They hadn’t been out here for years, if you remembered correctly. The nearest bobbies in other villages were over an hour away and they tended to stay out of Millhaven. You supposed the bribes from the Shadows were worth it.

“The Graves fella still bothering you?”

Both of you knew that he did. He had for two years. He wouldn’t stop out of the blue, it would probably take a miracle. Or for him to find somebody else - and you almost didn’t want that for anyone. For a moment, the sympathy in her eyes reminded you of your mom. Mary had stepped into an almost motherly role for you in the last years, especially after your dad passed away.

Her long curly hair was braided this Monday, presumably by her sister, who had visited over the weekend - you had taken an extra shift alone to make sure they could spend time together. She was beautiful. A mother you wished would live forever. A part of you, your inner child perhaps, wanted to hug her and ask her to help you hide from the world.

“Hopefully he grows bored of me soon,” you replied instead, giving her a crooked smile, “I’m just tired of repeating myself every time I see him and his bloody bike.”

It wasn’t really a lie to say so, but you knew he wouldn’t stop any time soon. You being tired of him was just the truth.

Mary laughed as she disappeared into the back, reappearing a short moment later, the leftovers of a cake and scones in a small bag.

“Here - now let me walk you home, lass,” the loving tone had worry dripping into it, but it was a usual offer by now, “So I know you get home safely.”

It was a recurring discussion these days.

“Absolutely not,” you answered in a teasing tone as always, not wanting her to walk longer than she needed to - or see how unorganised you lived, “I can walk home myself. Graves can’t take that from me - but I’ll text you once I get home, yeah? Like yesterday?”

Mary let out a hum, not looking too happy, but the beta agreed again today. Besides, she had her own worries.

It wasn’t as if she was not affected by the Shadows’ presence in Millhaven - she had been, ever since they turned up. Paying them money so that they would leave her little cafe alone, promising to keep it safe, even if everything that happened in Millhaven was connected to them.

Both of you seriously doubted their safekeeping abilities but saying no wasn’t an option. It wasn’t really an offer.

A part of you wondered, if Mary knew you were lying all the time in general; if she knew you covered yourself in scent blocker and fake pheromones every day, to stay under the radar. To have a normal life. If your father ever told her. In case he had, she followed your own choice and didn’t talk about it.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Millhaven was getting ready for the evening, cars flashing by as people either went home, towards one of the two local grocery stores to collect food for dinner - or, to the pub, to get the day discussed and listen in on the gossip.

You passed the pharmacy. The queue was always long once or twice a week, as people stocked up on scent blockers, heat blockers and scent patches for themselves, or whatever cough medicine they needed for their kids, who had once again gotten sick.

You always walked home at the same time, near five PM. Every time you would wave at at least three locals and send a glare to at least two of the Shadows, who tended to hide around the town, silently watching people pass by from the alleyways.

It was a familiar scene, even if it still made you uncomfortable. Mrs. Henley’s bastard of a dog howled at you through the rose bushes and thin fence as always. The teenager next door would yell for it to shut up, while he attempted to hide the fact that he was secretly smoking cigarettes out his bedroom window. As if the entire neighbourhood, hell, probably the entire town, didn’t know he smoked. There lay a safety in it, passing him, knowing you were almost home.

You had quit smoking yourself after your dad had passed away, but every time you walked past the teenager, you wanted a cigarette so badly that it almost hurt. You wanted to have something to do, something to forget yourself in.

Turning to the right a moment later, your house was visible at the end of the road - standing out with its size and the blue color it had been all of your life - as well as the barely covered sign with your dad’s name on. You really should get it taken down, since he had been dead for four years now, but there were so many things you should probably get rid off.

Normally, the sight of your house was a relief - because usually the driveway was empty. There wasn’t supposed to be a motorbike, painted with the colors of the American flag, standing in it, with an annoying alpha leaning against it. You almost wanted to turn around and go back to Mary, but Graves had already spotted you, making your lips purse with annoyance at the sight of his stupid grin.

”Sunny Bunny,” he crooned darkly, as you got close and you stuck your free hand into the pocket of your jacket, grabbing onto the stun gun right next to the pocket knife. Perhaps a zap from the stun gun would make him get a hint, though you doubted he would be happy about it.

You hated that he knew your nickname, hated him even more when he called you Sunny Bunny. It wasn’t as if the nickname was a secret at all, the entire town called you variations of Sunflower, but you wanted it to be a secret from him and his stupid group.

”What do you want?” You asked as you got closer, not even attempting to be polite; right now you weren’t at work, so you didn’t have to behave like you did in the cafe. Instead you tipped your chin up, puffed your chest up a little, giving him a hard stare, as an alpha would do. You were tired, slightly cold and he was blocking your path to the front door with himself and that stupid bike. If you weren’t scared of the consequences, you would be cutting up those tires on a regular basis.

“Was wondering if a pretty alpha like you would go to the pub with me, yeah?” He asked, tipping his own chin up a little, grinning like a teenage boy feeling confident, “have a couple of beers - or whatever fancy drink you want.”

Every time he asked, he got a no. If he hadn’t been the leader of a biker gang, you might have slapped him. The urge to do so grew inside you every time he asked you out.

”I’m busy tonight, sorry.” You didn’t even attempt to sound apologetic.

”Funny,” The alpha mused as he leant against the bike a little more, tipping up his own chin up, clearly not intimidated or pleased with your reply, “you were busy the other night too - kinda odd, isn’t it?”

“Quite unlucky for you to choose the days I’m busy,” you answered dryly, “now if you would excuse me—“

Your grip on the stun gun tightened a little, but you managed to walk around the bike, avoiding his arm shooting out in an attempt to catch your arm — before he spoke once more.

”The cafe is goin’ great, isn’t it?” Graves had asked almost casually and it was as if the wind suddenly quieted down, in order to listen along. You looked over your shoulder to look at the pale alpha, who somehow seemed like he had flipped some sort of switch, suddenly looking much more dangerous than before. He let out a deep rumble from his chest, a sign that he was pleased with your uneasy reaction.

He wanted you to become upset. One alpha almost daring the other, to see what you would do; if you would attempt to challenge him, giving him an excuse to go at you, to sink his teeth into your skin —

“It’s going alright,” you finally answered, keeping your voice steady, having chosen each of the words carefully, so as to not give him an excuse. Keeping the anger inside.

”Oh, wonderful,” he rumbled, a pursed expression on his face, before he smiled again, “Would be a shame if the price for your lil boss lady’s protection fees would rise, wouldn’t it?”

”I - what?” The words weren’t smooth or confident now. The idea of him threatening Mary because of you seemed insane.

You wanted to growl at him; to put him in his place, to protect Mary - jump across that stupid bike of his, hopefully making it tip over, while you tased or stabbed him with your knife. Ice and flames were rushing through your veins at the same time, prickling at your skin from the inside out like needles, mixing together fear and anger. He had harassed you for two years more or less, but he had never dragged Mary or the cafe into it.

“Think about it when I ask next time,” he replied, face turning back into the boyish grin from before, his American accent seeping into his words, “‘right sugar?”

”She got nothing to do with this, Graves.”

He didn’t reply - instead he got up on his bike, kicking on the engine with a sharp, confident thrust, the bike waking with a roar of a beast - looking at you once more, only to wink at you.

He disappeared down the small road like a demonic predator rushing away, knowing he would get his prey the next time. Your grip on the little bag with leftovers tightened a little, the paper bag crinkling beneath your fingers. You wanted to use your claws for the first time in quite a while, even if they were dull.

Instead you turned around, calmly walking to your door, opening it and locking it again afterwards. You left the bag with leftover cake on the kitchen counter, texting Mary that you were home safely, not looking up as you walked to the bathroom.

As soon as you got on your knees, you vomited from fear.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

A couple of hours later, you laid in your bed, watching the ceiling of the bedroom you had slept in ever since your childhood. Despite your parents’ old room and bed being bigger, you couldn’t get yourself to sleep in it permanently. You couldn’t make yourself get rid of the bed either — the mere idea of doing so felt wrong.

It was like you clung to the memories of him, of the both of them, with the claws you cut regularly and with the retractable omegan fangs that you had filed down a bit to better hide.

It was the memories of how you would go to your parents, the later years only your father, if you had a nightmare or were anxious over something. Even the year he died, you slept next to him a lot — sometimes he would come for you, asking if you wanted to sleep next to him.

Perhaps it was the scent of each other that had helped the other feel safe enough to sleep. Knowing that the other was always there. That your father always did what he could for you, even in his last days. During his last days, when he was slowly dying, you slept next to him, holding his hand. You knew he feared death; he had told you so one late night, confessing how it scared him, how the unknown would be — how leaving you frightened him.

Fearing what would happen to you, when he wasn’t there any longer and whether you would be able to continue the concealment of your secondary gender.

Now the idea of sleeping in his bed every day felt wrong. It wasn’t your nest, it was your mother’s and father’s. The past two years, you had perhaps slept in it five times in total - you never found the same safety without one of them snoring next to you. Their scent wasn’t as strong anymore. It never felt like when you were a kid and slept in between them sometimes, when they kept you safe until morning. No. It didn’t feel right any longer.

Usually Millhaven would be relatively quiet during the night and you never had to look up at the ceiling for long, before you would fall asleep. Sure, there would be the occasional car passing by, the laughter from people walking home from the pub and as you grew older, you had gotten used to the sound of the motorbikes revving as well. It rarely continued past 11 PM.

Tonight was different.

As the hours passed, the sounds got worse, keeping you awake - as they kept on going, you became too afraid to look out the window. There were so many unusual sounds too. You were too afraid to call the police - nobody would, that was just how Millhaven was by now.

This night was filled with the sounds of motorbikes loudly roaring through the town, much louder than usual - for many of them, as time passed; then the sounds of gunshots had begun to echo throughout the streets. The shots and the screaming almost got swallowed up by the furious howling of the engines.

It was like a concoction of horrifying sounds; people screaming, things breaking, shots being fired, blending together like the soundtrack of a movie you didn’t want to watch. Even without the visuals, you wanted to scream and cry, wanted to hide from the world, just like when you were a child.

It only took an hour before you crawled to your parents’ old bedroom, keeping low and away from the windows, before disappearing beneath the slightly dusty sheets; curled together, trying to submerge yourself in the old, disappearing scent of your alpha father.

The ground beneath Millhaven was shaking with fear, almost as if it was threatening to break beneath its inhabitants and swallow up the place you called home.

Mary texted you not too long after the noises began, asking if you were safe. She confirmed two minutes later that she was safe as well, but that she was pretty sure one of the big windows in the cafe had been shattered.

You breathed in dust and fear, laying there, watching the picture of your parents and you on the wall, slightly concealed by the darkness, trying not to imagine what was happening outside. There was a morbid curiosity inside of you to know what was happening, if anybody was dying, yet an overwhelming panic overtook your body at the same time. Nobody would come out here, nobody would call the police, because it would be no good.

The nausea was back, especially at the silence that followed, as if the town had suddenly been abandoned.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Mary told you not to come in the next morning. Yet despite the day suddenly being free, you got up and got ready as usual. You had fallen asleep at some point after the silence began, but you weren’t sure when.

Taking a bath, using scent blockers and patches, before your regular perfume.

You felt slightly like a prey animal, not like a strong alpha, checking out your windows to make sure the coast was clear, before opening your door slowly. Peeping out, taking in the street… everything looked as it used to, as far as you spotted. Yet you had a feeling that nothing was the same.

It was slightly cold outside, the thin fog slowly going away.

It wasn’t until you got down to the end of your road, almost at the bigger road, that you saw something out of place.

Glass was scattered around a car, with the owner, Alfred, a middle aged beta man, looking at it with an exhausted look on his face. You saw the broken window as well as the bullet holes in the door, making you swallow before you walked up to it.

Carefully, you put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a pat. He sent you a look and a smile.

”At least it was the car and not the house,” he muttered, trying to sound a little happy, “ The missus isn’t happy though. Neither is the husband.”

You put both your hands in your pockets, curling them into fists for a moment. Feeling your blunt claws press against your palms. The two of you stood there for a few moments in silence.

”Do you know what happened last night?” You finally asked, hoping that he could give you some sort of answer - but he merely shook his head while shrugging. As unaware as you, it seemed.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have an idea. The sounds during the night and the bullet holes in his car door spoke for themselves.

After a short goodbye, you continued your trip towards the cafe, glancing at the proof of chaos that was scattered here and there. Bullet casings. Tiremarks on the road. Broken windows - a couple of knocked over trash cans that one of the home owners was angrily cleaning up.

An abandoned motorbike leaning against a house.

Mrs. Henley’s dog barked at you - but the barks seemed more hollow than usual, tired. The chain smoking teenager wasn’t yelling. The window was shut, for the first time in a while.

In the alleyway between the tiny bookshop and one of the grocery stores, where a shadow usually hid, another bike lay abandoned. Tipped over, glass scattered, gasoline seeping onto the asphalt. Due to the logo on it, you figured it was another one belonging to the shadows.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Mary huffed in annoyance as you turned up at the cafe, frowning so hard that she looked much older for a moment. She let out a little growl, with no actual heat in it, unlocking the door to the cafe, making you walk through that, despite the window on the left side being gone, more or less leaving the cafe without half a façade.

“Are you unable to read your texts anymore, young lady?” The beta asked as you took the broom from her hands and started sweeping the broken glass together. Just like her growl, there was no heat behind her words, despite her attempt at being stern.

“I can,” you answered, with a smile on your face, “but I’m not gonna let you clean this mess up alone - what kind of employee would I be?”

It was also your way of checking up on her. See how rattled she was. Besides, you suspected she didn’t mind the company, especially as the cafe would be closed for today.

“A bloody normal one, who stays at home when she gets time off,” Mary defended, crossing her arms for a minute. Sleep always tended to make her more easily annoyed with the world than usual, “besides, I’ve already called Harold to come fix it. He will have to put up wood first though, until he gets the glass.”

“Then we go get a pint afterwards,” you offered, “I’ll pay.”

“Drinking on the job?” Mary made a teasing tsk-tsk sound at you, though there was a smile growing on her lips, before she admitted a moment later, “I honestly need that after tonight.”

“It went on for long,” you agreed and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of you filling up the dustpan with glass. As if the two of you were too afraid to acknowledge what might have happened.

“Too long.”

You didn’t reply to Mary’s observation, merely nodding. Her scent had a worried tinge to it.

Whatever had been going on during the night had scared her. Both of you, undoubtedly all of town as well. The worst thing? Somehow you had seen none of the Shadows yet. You had never thought that the sudden lack of the group would make you uncomfortable.

It hadn’t been the police last night - because then there would be bobbies filling the town, but none were here, the streets empty and quiet.

You swept up the massive pieces of glass and vacuumed the smaller ones afterwards, while Mary went to the local charity shop a couple of houses over, where they were patching two bullet holes in the wooden door. She came back not too long after, having bought a painting to hide the bullet hole in the wall on the other side of the window.

A couple of hours later, the window had been temporarily fixed with a big wooden board and a weird abstract painting of flowers that didn’t quite fit into the vibe of the cafe, hanging on the wall.

“Temporary as well,” Mary declared at the painting, before packing away the hammer and nails.

Gods, you really needed a drink.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The two of you were far from the only people who had needed a drink or two. There was noise in the pub, but a different kind of noise than the one that had filled the town during the night. It was filled to the brim, you and Mary able to get a table for two, only by pure luck.

Sure, the atmosphere was still a little tense, but it felt much less dangerous. There were experiences to share, pictures to be shown on phones, beers to drink and attempts at comforting each other in your small community to be made. All of you quite confused over the lack of any leather vests or jackets with the familiar logo on. You saw several of your friends, who looked just as worried.

Yesterday one of the usuals had left his car at the pub’s parking lot to walk home. When he had returned this morning, it had been hit by something, most likely one of the big bikes. The fella had been so caught off guard by the sight of the dent, which was so deep that it hurt to look at - and he had just gone inside the pub again, continuing the drinking from the day before.

One of the couples living in the other end of the town, had a giant hole in their hedge, with one of the motorbikes laying abandoned on their lawn, having ripped up some of the flowerbeds as well.

The couple seemed most upset about the fact that their dog had pissed on it - afraid that whichever one of the Shadows owned it, would be upset.

The tiremarks would probably stay on the roads for a while. The blood splatters and dried up pools of it would disappear when the rain came, so none of you seemed to acknowledge it, nor the few teeth that had been found scattered across the town. The bullet cases could be picked up, thrown out.

So far, the only positive thing about all of this, seemed to be that Harold, the local handyman, suddenly had a bunch of things to do together with his apprentice, Jenny, a teenager who seemed happy to fully learn how to fix broken windows - there were enough of them across town to get good at it, you supposed.

The beer was good, however. Calmed the worst of your nerves - Mary seemed more relaxed now as well, chattering with you and one of her neighbours the next table over, about new recipes.

You had nursed half of your pint for a little while now though and it was getting warmer - making you consider just drinking the rest in one go and ordering a new one. Perhaps getting drunk tonight would be alright - just to forget for a little while, pretend that everything was fine.

However, the moment you lifted the glass to down the rest of the beer, everything changed in a matter of seconds, as noise started down street. It only took the vague sound for the safe and almost cozy atmosphere of the pub to change, as if the air was sucked from everybody’s lungs - nobody wanted to believe what they heard.

A stench of scared scents spread from table to table, people unable to help themselves, omegas, betas and alphas alike. Making the pub stink of fear and worry, of anger and resentment. Were they back? You carefully put the glass down again, listening more closely.

Engines.

Every single one of the folks currently inside of the pub knew the familiar yet hated sound of motorbike engines, currently coming closer.

Perhaps it had been naive of you to hope that everything was done - that the gang would disappear one day to another and that Millhaven would return to itself. Motorbike-free and peaceful. That there would no longer be feral alphas and betas roaming the streets, loyal to the symbol on their patches, on their vests, their jackets - to their club.

The entire pub had gone so quiet it almost hurt, most people frozen in fear, breathing deemed too loud - some dared to look out the windows or towards the door, though most looked at each other or their drinks. The air felt heavy, tense with the many scents of people in panic - yet nobody ran from the pub or disappeared upstairs. Everyone stayed, knowing they would have to know what was going to happen to Millhaven.

It was the owner, Alice, who was the first to break the silence, muttering out a “bloody hell.”

You silently agreed; a part of you wanted to hide out in the back, crawl beneath the floorboards once more, fearing that the Shadows would step into the pub, heads high after having won whatever had happened last night — that Graves would appear, that his gaze would land upon you.

It was one of the ladies by the windows, the wife of the book store owner if you were right, who uttered the second word to break the silence. The “fuck” echoed throughout the building, sending shivers through everyone.

Like sheep, caught in a pen, you all waited to see whether it was protectors or predators who were going to enter your safe space. If all of your blood would spill on the wooden floors, sticky with spilled beer or if you would be able to go home and sleep peacefully.

Lights flashed by the windows, motorbikes slowing down out front - followed by laughter in the parking lot. The engines died down one after one, like predators all quieting down in order to better watch their prey, before attacking.

The lack of the rumbling from their engines, meaning they were right outside and about to step in made you nauseous - Graves would walk in an—

Despite the familiarity of leather clothes, it wasn’t a recognisable face who stepped inside the pub. Or well, a recognisable figure, at first, as you couldn’t even see his face, hidden by a balaclava with a skull design on. He was big; tall enough that he had to bend his neck to step through the door, shoulders broad, arms thick. Clad in leather, with silver studs and buckles on, his helmet under one arm. There was no fear in his eyes as he looked around the pub, taking in the residents of Millhaven. The pub was filled with the scent of worry, but the big man didn’t seem bothered.

For a mere moment, you wondered if this was what Death would look like, when he would come to collect and bring you to your parents; not with a scythe or a cloak, but with a leather jacket and a helmet for you to wear, while he drove the motorbike into the afterlife with you.

Was he the leader of the people who had just arrived?

However, he held the door open, uttering a gruff sounding “evenin” into the pub, as if to be polite for a moment. He looked like he could break a neck with one arm, or curl your ribs into your lungs with only his fingers - snap a bone with a kick. A mere moment later, it was clear to everyone in the pub that this guy wasn’t the leader - any doubt left you, as another man entered through the door.

You instantly knew he was the leader from the mere way he carried himself, the energy that seemed to drip from him, his scent of power rushing through the pub like a tidal wave; how he knew he owned the room he stepped into, when he confidently walked directly towards the bar. Followed by several people, leather clad like himself.

Like beasts, having escaped the nightmares and darkness underneath one’s bed, stepping into reality, into light and sight. Letting themselves be seen.

The leader took a deep drag of his cigar, not looking bothered at all, as the smoke left his nostrils a moment later. You were reminded of the terrifying dragons in the fairytales that your parents used to read to you as a child. This one had no scales or wings, but he was a dragon to you no less. Ready to strike and take gold and silver, to create a hoard inside Millhaven. Only a pack this big, filled with monsters, would follow a dragon.

There was no reason for him to tap on a glass, or whistle; everyone’s attention was already on him.

He was broad and though he was not as tall as the skull-wearing monster next to him, he would no doubt tower over you as well. Leather clad from head to toe, jacket adorned with studs and chains, leather pants and a pair of big, heavy-looking leather boots. However, one of the more prominent things about the alpha, besides the leather clothes and intimidating stature, was perhaps the unusual, but nicely kept, beard. It almost looked like mutton chops. His hair was a dark brown, slicked back- there were earrings in his ears and thick rings on his fingers.

Though there seemed to be a hint of amusement on the alpha’s face, his eyes seemed sharp, studying the people in the pub.

“Friends!,” he called out and you immediately pushed yourself a little closer to Mary, even if it wasn’t very alpha-like. His voice was loud and strong, so everyone could hear him, “My name is John Price. I’m sure most of you heard the noises last night. My men and I apologise for those, I can assure you that it won’t happen again. As you might have noticed within these last couple of years, this town has been operated and ‘protected’ by The Shadows. As of today, this is no longer the case.”

As of today, this is no longer the case.

The words echoed through your head, repeating themselves over and over again. Did this mean Graves was gone?

There was a slowly growing buzz of noise, from the whispers and sounds leaving people and you felt Mary shake a little as she took a hold of your hand. It almost felt cold. As if the two of you weren’t really sure what to think yet, whether to scream of delight, or horror that the words instilled in you.

“Millhaven is now protected by my group, Team 1-4-1. There will be changes around here, all for the better, I assure you. As long as everyone behaves, I’m sure we will all get along just fine.”

You couldn’t look away from him, even as the words sent painful stabs of fear through your body; like small knives, pushing into your back and breaking your spine. It would all start over - your town would never be free, like it was when you were a kid. The streets you had grown up in would never be peaceful in the same way, your future would be limited by a group that none of you had agreed to accept. Mary was still shaking and you wondered what this would mean for her, for her shop.

Your only hope was that no one in this one-four-one would notice you.

A small part of you was relieved that your father wasn’t alive to see this. He would not have liked it either.

They kept speaking, the leader - John Price or something - declared free drinks for the rest of the evening, but you could barely hear them or focus on them.

When Mary squeezed your hand, it took a couple of seconds before you reacted. You had been staring into nothing, nausea in your throat, as horrifying thoughts crawled along your skull and invaded your mind. What happened to the shadows? Did you even want to know?

“I would like to go home,” you whispered to your boss, who gave your hand another short squeeze.

“In a few moments,” she agreed, “then we'll sneak out the back. Though these can hardly be worse than the shadows.”

A part of you wanted to point out to the older lady that these people had most likely killed the Shadows, one after another, not just politely asked them to leave. But you were afraid that vomit would spill from your lips afterwards.

Perhaps, this was the sign you had been waiting for - that you should move away and start somewhere new.

next chapter ->

[heavenbarnes]

okay hear me out— softness and gentle topics aside, how would older bf!simon go about discussing his mom & Tommy? would it ever occur? Would it be a vulnerable and gentle discussion with sins laid on the table or would it be like pulling teeth— panic attack arises and the words are spewing.

at first I’d have headcanoned it that maybe we innocently question the clinginess but I’m not so sure anymore; feels like that would just be second nature for the two.

i’ve never ventured into this topic because it’s literally so devastating that i almost considered writing it out of canon for him- but it’s time 🫶🏼 (massive tw for family loss)

the day older bf!simon tells you about his family, it’s at breakfast.

he’d made the food and you’d made the coffee, both expertly passing each other in your kitchen until you’d settled at the table.

when he told you, you had toast hanging out your mouth.

“pardon?”

“i had a family”

you weren’t really talking about anything in particular, so you made quick mental work of skimming over your conversation until you found where this was coming from.

sunny outside, nice day, should go to the farmers market, get groceries, it’ll be crowded, family day-

i had a family

had.

oh.

your heart had start to speed up in your chest and part of you was scared simon’s military precision hearing would be able to tell.

judging by the look on his face, distant, quiet- he couldn’t hear the thrumming against your sternum.

you were thankful, it meant he kept speaking.

“my mum and my brother, tommy- he had a missus too and a kid”

had.

oh god.

he wouldn’t look at you, his gaze drifted out the window and onto the birds that were floating over the fruit tree in the backyard.

you couldn’t say there was much of you to look at, a hardline of your mouth and eyes that were willing themselves not to water.

“they weren’t in a good way- but i helped them get better”

the corners of your lips quirked reflexively but it fell away just as quickly, unable to escape the voice in the back of your head that kept saying the same thing.

had.

why is every thing in the past tense?

probably for the same reason this is the first time you’re hearing this story. when is the right time to get to this part?

the moment he cuts the rope, lets you down from where he’s had you hanging- you wish you could react in any other way.

instead, your mouth hangs open while your hand does its best to cover it.

the toast goes cold, so does the coffee.

the tears break through of their own accord.

and he still won’t look at you.

“oh, simon”

your mind races in a way you’ve never felt before, thoughts you’d never had before rising to the surface.

first, you want to hurt someone, anyone- whoever you can blame for doing this to simon.

(you quickly realise he’s probably already done that)

second, you want to take him by the shoulders and tell him that this was never his fault.

that there was nothing he did or could’ve done to deserve this.

and you’re sure that there’s layers to his job and things he’s done and seen that’d make him think that cannot be true.

but you don’t care- there is no human alive that could ever deserve what you’ve just been told.

you don’t care.

you love him.

third, you start to make sense of some of simon’s behaviours.

the way he calls your name when you’re at the other end of the house, just to know where you are.

the way you can turn around at any given moment and find him closer than your shadow.

the way he calls you on deployment only to hear you tell him you love him and you’re still home waiting.

the way he cannot exist without a hand on you, without knowing where you are, without knowing you’re still his.

and there you go again, wanting to hurt whoever put him in this position.

grateful to be able to love him how he needs but angry- blind rage in knowing what he went through to get to this point.

it’s why you’re out of your seat and wrapping your arms around his shoulders the minute you hear even a sniff.

you let him ruin your shirt with tears as strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you so close into him you wouldn’t be at all surprised if the particles shifted just enough for you to become one.

as if you weren’t already.

you’d never, never ever, questioned simon’s ever present need to be close. you’d come to accept it, enjoy it, miss it when he was gone.

it was never overbearing, never out of line, always right when you needed it.

reminding you that he was there.

that he loved you.

that he needed you.

just as much as you needed him.

and god, did he need to be needed.

did he need you to pass him the pickle jar (even when you could open it just fine)

did he need you to make him take the rubbish out (when you could do it yourself)

did he need you to call him when the car was making a funny sound (when you knew it was the fan belt)

did you need him to pull you into his lap at the end of a long day and rest his lips against the crown of your head as he rubbed slow circles into your back.

like you were doing for him now.

“simon, i just need you to know- i’m not going anywhere”

you made it to the farmer’s market, eventually. it was crowded, meaning simon’s arm never let your waist.

not that you mind.

not that you ever mind.

[aashiqeddiediaz]

do you ever think about how much it hurts eddie when chris expresses how much of his mother he's beginning to lose. because we know that he does his best to keep her memory alive, that they go to her grave and they talk openly about her. but there are things that eddie will never be able to replicate for him - her voice, the way she smelled, the way she'd walk towards him, how she felt when she held him close, etc - and chris will continue to lose those details even if eddie talked about shannon 24/7 for the rest of his life.

that is a sort of helplessness that i don't think anyone talks about enough, and that makes eddie's expression when he overhears chris talking to buck all the more wounded

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

hey uhhhhh what the fuck

and why are most of us dannies like is this why dannies are the way we are

[tiredlazyfrog]

Credit to @mellon_soup on Pinterest for the pose reference.

This is the first in a series of artworks depicting myself as an avatar of each of the TMA entities. I have also written poems that accompany each work, which will be put under the cut if you are like Jon and dislike poetry not written by Martin.

The Web

I have spent far too long

being pulled and guided

in ways I did not want to go.

The most terrifying thing

is to not be in control.

Having decisions made on

your behalf, without regard

for what you want.

my mother puppets me

into the idea of a perfect daughter 

and I strain against the threads

but her web is far too strong

and I am not able to escape.

if I choose to tear myself free

I leave behind the others snared within.

She tells me that choosing myself

means that I will never see them again.

Manipulation is a powerful thing

and I am just a fly

twisting and turning in vain 

as the web draws tighter and tighter.

[sunnydayzes]

When she was finally alone in that tiny trailer, it was as though she could no longer hold back the grief. She sobbed violently, the sound echoing around her new bedroom. This was her senior year - it was supposed to be the best year of her life. Instead, she had a funeral to attend in five days; the same day that she was supposed to go to the homecoming dance at school.

She remembered Ms. Barbara's words; Stay in school. It was important. And while she had made a promise to her own mother that she would do whatever it took to graduate, it just seemed like that was a pipe dream at this point. The only way she was going to be able to afford the rent on this tiny trailer was if she got a job - a real one. Not the babysitting gigs that she had picked up in her old neighborhood to bring home a little extra pocket change.

She felt guilty for being angry at her mother, but she was. She felt ill-prepared to survive in the world, and she didn't really have anyone that she could turn to for advice. Her mother hadn't had any family. She had been an only child and Lyla's grandparents had passed away early on in her childhood. As for her father's family; she knew as much about them as she did the man himself, which was absolutely nothing at all.

She didn't know how long she sat there on the edge of that bed crying before she felt her body laying down. She had remembered what Barbara said about the mattress, but she was too tired to really care much about it. In the morning, she would try and find a second hand shop in town to see if she could find a new mattress, and some new clothing. She couldn't return to her mother's home; it was likely she would be taken away into foster care if it was discovered that she was living on her own and that was the last thing she wanted.

It was a little after midnight before she finally succumbed to sleep, and, unbeknownst to her, she was being watched...

END OF CHAPTER ONE

[lightofraye]

In Memoriam

Before I proceed, I want to put warnings--content/trigger warnings. In this post, there will be references to cancer (also, fuck cancer), death, biological processes, grief/loss.

When we think of cancer, when we speak of it, I've noticed often times the phrase "evil", "monster", or some other dark term is used. Because it seems to be such a merciless, cruel thing to happen to people. It seems to strike without reason, taking the best and worst of us, young or old....

Today marks 18 years since my mother passed away from cervical cancer. She didn't have to die, not really. In a way, she chose to.

You see, my mother had an intense mistrust of "mainstream" medicine. I'm not sure where it came from, honestly. It was... it was a slow conversion. She kept turning to alternative means to treat problems, mainly our day-to-day diet (lord, we went vegan, Atkins-like before Atkins was widely known anyway), and various other kinds to "cure" our ailments, never accepting that some things can't be fixed by diet alone!). Then she kind of went off the deep end....

When she learned she had serious fibroids, she decided to try different "healing" creams to balance out her hormones, convinced it'd "dissolve" the fibroids. When she began to have heavy, intense bleeding, she chalked it up to the fibroids and not other issues.

Such as an abnormal pap smear test result... that she never followed up on.

It'd continue for years.

She even turned to an alternative doctor who told her yes, he saw the fibroids... but he also saw some seriously bad stuff. This doctor told my mother to go see her ob-gyn and get this checked out.

She wouldn't... up until she collapsed from the heavy bleeding in a grocery store bathroom stall. She finally turned to mainstream medicine, got it checked, got the biopsy....

It was Stage 2 cervical cancer.

She was referred to an oncologist. He, of course, brought up chemo and radiation. She refused, wanting to try alternative treatments first. He accused her of having a death wish (I was there, I wish I was joking!). He basically burned that bridge with that approach.

I can't help but think that... if he had said "Okay, I'll work with you. How about we monitor the cancer as you try it for a couple of months? If there's no improvement, will you try chemo and radiation then?"

Maybe she would've accepted it. I don't know.

So she turned to "mistletoe extract" injections. For a little bit, it looked like it was working. She was doing better.

Then... she developed increasing pain in her right leg. The doctor who originally told her to go see her ob-gyn stressed to her it was likely her cancer growing and getting worse. She didn't listen.

Then... she had increasing pain. Increasing issues. She got thinner... paler. She was so stubborn. There's numerous trips to the ER where they just prescribed her pain killers and sent her on her way. It took a referral to a specialist (I can't remember what they handled, maybe a different oncologist?)... and the blunt message.

"You're terminal."

I wept. My mother... she was just resigned. She transferred to home hospice care. She didn't want to die in a strange building. So my elder brother and I--we were living with her at the time--took turns caring for her.

She stopped eating. Stopped drinking. She's put on IV fluids and a kind of controlled dilaudid treatment. One night... it's as if she's aware. Her mind was going. She said her final goodbyes.

Then it's just her shell, her body, for two and a half weeks, that lingers, stubbornly. I'm the only one who was there who witnessed her last passage, the "death throes".

February 8, 2007. Just a few weeks shy of my 27th birthday.

She never got to see me graduate from college. She never got to see me married.... or divorced. She never saw me become a mother. She never saw me become a survivor, a fighter. So many things.

I have her eyes, I'm told. A deep brown with a starburst iris. My son has those eyes too. I resemble her greatly, I'm told. I don't have her curly hair... or her thinner nose.

Instead, she gave me her creativity, her love of art and writing. She loved books and reading. She loved cats as well, which I definitely inherited.

She had a lot of regrets... and sorrows.

I don't know if there is an afterlife. My relationship with God (or the Divine or whatever you want to call it) is complicated, to say the least. If there is, I hope I see her... and have the conversations we never had but should've while she was alive.

I miss you, mom. So very much.

[scaarletwiitch]

Snowed In

Agatha / Rio E rated TW: baby loss, fertility issues Summary: Agatha gets snowed in at her estranged wife/co-parent's house.

Agatha had paused before sending the text, but with a roll of her eyes she had done it anyway. Reading it back over only made the decision seem all the more reasonable and she tossed her phone onto the kitchen counter.

It immediately began to ring.

Agatha let out a frustrated growl before retrieving it. She cursed when she saw, as expected, her estranged wife’s caller ID.

“Hello,” she shook back her hair and adjusted her sweater.

“Agatha,” Rio’s even tone replied.

Agatha swallowed in the pause that Rio had created. “You got my text.”

“It’s barely snowing.”

“The Weather Channel is talking about a snowstorm of the decade,” Agatha reported with the same wonderstruck intonation as the newscaster.

“And if you leave now, you’ll have time to make the round trip.” Rio reasoned.

“And what if-”

“I know what you’re doing.” Rio’s even tone was gone and it caught Agatha off guard. “This is not what we agreed to.”

Agatha swallowed. There was nothing Rio could prove. There was a pending travel advisory and if that just so happened to mean Nicky had to stay another night or two with her, it wasn’t her fault now, was it? “I’m not doing any-”

“Yes. You. Are.”

Agatha inhaled deeply before answering.

“Fine. I’ll get him ready to go.”

“Thank you,” came Rio’s clipped response. “I’ll see you both soon.”

Read more on Ao3

[digenerate-trash]

the wheel really said 'time for some vanilla' 😭 🫶 but anyways, just want to say I love your yan ficlets and writing !! can't wait to read through them !!!

HE/HIM Sydney | HE/HIM Sirris

Tw angst | Tw parent death | Tw memory loss

Sydney pulls his bag from the library desk and he makes his way to Sirris's classroom. His father is just packing up and Sydney is careful not to disturb him...

Sirris smiles as he collects the last of his things. Though neither of them talks on the car ride. They drive past the temple and further out of the city and Sydney's thoughts drift out to you... he wonders what you're doing now... you're always so busy after school he can barely get a word in. But he appreciates everything you've done... opened his eyes to the real world... and what it means... though he's still holding on to the temple teachings.

"We're here-" Sirris says as he excitedly gets out of the car.

Sydney drags himself out and looks up at the little run-down Caffè. It rests between a gas station and the ocean. And Sydney's nose wrinkles at the smell of petrol...

Sirris leads Sydney inside and just like every year, Sydney is sat down at a table by the window while Sirris orders.

Sydney watches with detached curiosity as his father chats with the staff. They laugh and chat while they do the same thing they do every year. Sydney is not sure he's had anything else from this Caffè even though it's been years...

Sirris returns and sets down the coffee and grilled cheese pushing it toward Sydney.

"Thanks.." Sydney says. But it's hollow as he takes a bite of his sandwich. Stale... just like the rest of this place...

As if sending how uncounterable he is Sirris offers a weak smile "I can get you something else-" he says but he sounds reluctant.

"No- it's fine Dad. I'm just... thinking..." Sydney explains straightening up. He doesn't want to hurt his father's feelings. No matter how bad his taste...

Sirris seems to drift off as he looks at Sydney. It's strange as they sit across from each other...

"Your mother's hair was black..." Sirris says suddenly. It seems to break the silence and Sydney runs his fingers through his recently dyed hair... it was your choice... you said it made him look good...

"D-do you remeber her? At all?" Sirris asks. It's a desperate question. And Sydney tries... he does. But he can't remember anything of his mother. Not her face. Or name. Not even her voice...he knows it hurts his father but he shakes his head

"Nothing? Not even her birthday?" Sirris asks he looks like he's about to cry. But Sydney can't connect with the part of him that knew his mother... he's tried... but he can't it's like that piece of him is just missing. Lost as if it were some textbook in the hands of a careless child.

Sirris just nods and takes a sip of his coffee. They look out at the ocean as they Finnish their meal... Sydney can't even remember why they come here once a year...

[steddieonmywaywardson]

What about Steve’s parents who aren’t abusive or neglectful?

The Harringtons have worked their asses off for years to obtain and maintain the lifestyle they currently have. The house isn’t cheap and neither is the fancy furniture.

Things get tough when Mrs Harrington passes away due to an accident or long illness and Mr Harrington has to work harder to cover the loss of income and the horrific medical bills as well as making sure his beloved wife gets the send off she deserves.

More hours means less time away from his son. He knows Steve is hurting too but, with nobody else to turn to, and knowing his son is made of strong stuff, Mr Harrington has to go away on more business trips and for longer, just trying to keep a roof over his son’s head and not drown in debt.

Steve misses his mother, of course he does, but he understands his father is trying his goddamn best to keep the finances under control.

This isn’t the time to think about college. It can wait. He needs to work, needs to contribute. So he puts himself out there, gets any job he can. Even if it comes with a dorky sailor suit.

It’s why he cares so much about The Party. He knows just how much it hurts to lose a parent not only to death but to work as well. El, Max, Eddie, they’re just like him and Steve is going to fucking be there for them, show them that love and care and try his best to fill up some of that hole in their hearts.

And when his feelings for Eddie become something more? Well, the hole in his own heart starts to heal as well.

[chaeza]

Gladiolus

Gladiolus – from Latin word gladius, a sword. A perennial flower in the iris family. Given at funerals to honor the strength and integrity of the deceased.

Major Character Death, Spoilers, Rook goes by Rook and uses they/them pronouns, elf rook, grief, loss, mourning, alcohol consumption, disassociation, anxiety.

The chatter among the Veilguard, excluding Rook, faded as everyone went from the library to the kitchen. Rook sat in their chair, arms rested on either side, picking at the wood with their fingernails. The large doors that led to the fade shut behind their last departing companion with a reverberating thud. Footsteps – light and smooth – quietly approached them.

Emmrich patted the younger Watcher’s shoulder, urging them to join the rest of their friends. When they didn’t budge, he tried again. He gave them a gentle shake, which still didn’t work. Emmrich stood beside them, bending to one knee and leaning forward with the support of his staff so he could see their face.

“Rook?” Emmrich asked. “Rook, darling.” His voice was more stern, but still gentle. Placing a hand on theirs, he followed their gaze to the side of the bookcase where Lucanis stood minutes ago. He patted their hand, turning back to see them nodding gently, brows knitted together, focused. “Rook, are you alright?” He wasn’t sure they could even hear him. Emmrich was aware of Solas using blood magic to commune with Rook, but he didn’t exactly know what the Dread Wolf was doing to them outside of the times Rook willingly spoke to Solas during their meditations. The professor knew the fade well, but the intentions of a trickster god, and his capabilities, were not something he was well-versed in. He made a mental note to commune with the spirits later as he held Rook’s cold and clammy hand. He resumed matching Rook’s gaze, following their line of sight past the murals on the stairs, lingering just before the hallway to the infirmary.

Rook sighed, shaking their head to clear their mind, turning in their chair towards Emmrich, who was met with the same focused expression. Then, Rook’s face shifted quickly, as if Emmrich wasn’t allowed to see any of their less inspiring expressions. The older watcher’s lips were in a stern line, quickly wavering with a small curve in the corner of his mouth when Rook finally acknowledged him.

“Oh! Hello, love.” Rook said, squeezing Emmrich’s hand and becoming painfully aware that their own hands were icy cold. “Is everything alright?” They hoped they didn’t seem unwell. They only had a headache, and a slight pain in their chest, which they really couldn’t pinpoint the cause of in this moment. They offered a crooked smile, a reassuring squeeze of Emmrich’s fingers, the rings slightly digging into their hand.

Emmrich’s face was stern, analytical. He was looking at them like a problem he had to solve. This much they concluded. The intensity of his scrutinizing eyes made Rook more and more uncomfortable. They turned their head to hide the embarrassed blush that spread across their cheeks. Their pointed ears always gave it away though. Rook raised their eyebrows as they felt the grip of Emmrich’s hand fade. They turned to watch him stand upright, both hands on the staff, still looking down at them.

“You tell me.” He said, offering nothing more. A pause. Before the silence became any more awkward, Rook let out a sharp laugh, much to Emmrich’s dismay. Rook rubbed their hands on their pants and pushed themselves up. They rotated their wrists, a relieving cracking sound in their left one made them wonder if the noise was also the sound of Emmrich’s patience. Although he was ever the patient man, they really didn’t want to go down this line of questioning.

They were fine. The pain that swelled in the hollowness of their chest as they took in a shaky breath told a different tale. The hollowness grew from the first moment they confronted Solas in the fade. Every conversation with Varric after only filled it slightly, but the aching persisted after, and with renewed vigor. Rook had contemplated this each time, before ultimately deciding to distract themselves. There was plenty of distraction to go around these days.

“Come with me, Emmrich.” Rook said, sliding their hand into his and nodding towards the stairs. “We can discuss this in private.” They offered a small smile, purely performative, a peace offering. Emmrich returned with a much warmer, genuine smile. He hoped it broke through whatever mask they had put up. He hoped his eyes held a warmth that let them know they were safe to tell him anything. So, they walked hand-in hand to the meditation chamber, Emmrich stealing a glance to the infirmary door which hadn’t opened in days.

Upon entering the meditation chamber – Rook’s room – Rook deflated against the door, blowing out all the air left in their lungs. They sniffed, quickly going to the wardrobe and grabbing two glasses and some alcohol they found recently during the team’s travels.

“Would you like a drink?” Rook offered Emmrich a glass half filled with brown liquor. He politely declined with a raised hand and small shake of his head, careful not to disrupt the well coiffed formation. They shrugged, and downed the glass with one gulp. They hissed as they put the glasses and liquor back in the wardrobe, stifling a cough.

“I wasn’t aware you imbibed.” Emmrich said, though his tone made them aware he was curious. When did they start drinking? Why? Should they be?

Rook put their hands on their hips, responding with a breathy laugh. “It’s recent,” they said, “sometime after we got here. I just -” A sigh. They knew it was reckless. They knew better. “Everything is so much, and Varric…” A sharp pain, again. “Varric was-” A pause, as they rapidly searched for the right words. Their brain shuffled between two words as Emmrich inhaled sharply. He knew. Rook knew. They were stuck between the words “just” and “always.” Between describing what Varric had told them just nowin the library below, and what they remembered him always telling them during their months long hunt for Solas. “-just now telling me I need to trust you all…” The truth, then.

Emmrich nodded, hands laid on one another in front of him. He sighed, understanding, and reassuring. For a moment, Rook thought he was going to say “Ah, yes. I had a nice conversation with him the other day. It is truly remarkable the recovery he’s made in the weeks here!” He would be interested in seeing how the wound made by the lyrium dagger healed in the fade. He would be with Bellara and they would excitedly discuss their theories until Varric shooed them out of the infirmary, grumbling about mages and their weird shit. Instead, Emmrich, stepped forward and placed a hand on their shoulder.

“Rook,” was all Emmrich could say before the tears started flowing. Rook sobbed into his chest, loud and broken. The hollowness threatened to consume them. Emmrich embraced them, hugging tighter as their breath came too fast from choking on sobs. All Rook could hear was the throbbing of their own heartbeat in their ears, and the faint steady beat of Emmrich’s. They squeezed him tighter, knowing all too well this would not fix the hollowness inside them. Their breath slowed, and Emmrich stroked their hair and rubbed between their aching shoulder blades. They both knew this was a pivotal moment in mourning. The truth and acceptance of loss. Grief that hollowed out a hole the same size and shape of the departed in the hearts of the living. It could never be filled exactly, but it could heal, and honoring the dead was a balm. One that hurt like alcohol on a wound, but necessary.

Emmrich kissed the top of their head. It was a promise- one that told them they could stay like this as long as Rook needed. Their sobs turned into soft whimpers and sniffles before quickly rising to wails again. Emmrich wasn’t so different when his parents died, he thought about himself. A small pang in his chest as well, even after all these years. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on their head, holding them close as he watched the fish lazily swim about the aquarium.

END.

Note: I lost my father June 2, 2024. I realized as I was writing this piece that it has been 6 months since he passed. I miss him greatly. So, naturally, I projected my grief onto Rook by having Varric be a father figure. Thank you for reading! posted on ao3 as well.