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viking-raider · 3 years

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Bound - Part 14 *repost*

Summary: Henry’s called all your family on the way to the hospital and helps you settle in when you finally get there. The labor is really hard on you, but, Henry does everything he can to make you comfortable and support you. Henry, cuddling, playful bickering and listening to sappy songs, is what helps get you through and in the end, your and Henry’s daughter is finally born.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 3,783

Rating: PG-13 - Fluff, Arranged Marriage, Pregnancy, Protective!Henry, Protective!Kal, Pain and Comfort, Labor

Parts: Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5, Pt.6, Pt.7, Pt.8, Pt.9, Pt.10, Pt.11, Pt.12, Pt. 13

Author’s Note: The Henry and Kal protective train keeps on rolling! I really love writing this story, there’s so many places I can go with it!

Henry had called his family and yours to let them know you were in labor, as he drove you to the hospital.

When you were admitted and shown to your room, Henry helped you undress and get into the hospital gown. You sat up in the hospital bed, letting the nurses put in an IV port and everything else they needed to do to make sure your labor and delivery went smooth. Your OB came in a little while later to check on you, see how you were doing and to see how dilated you were.

“It looks like you've just dilated to three centimeters.” She told you, waiting patiently for the contraction you were having to subside. “So, you're officially in active labor and it's just a matter of time until its time to push.”

“How long can that take?” Henry asked, curiously, rubbing your arm as you relaxed.

“It varies, it can be as short as three hours or as long as five. But, all mums are different, especially new ones.” She explained to him. “We'll check how dilated you are in two hours, and go from there. Do you have any other questions?”

“No.” You shook your head at her.

“Nope.” Henry smiled, squeezing your hand. “How you doing, babe?” He asked after the doctor left.

You turned your head and cracked an eye open at him, giving him a look. “What do you think, Witcher?” You asked, smirking.

“I think, you're doing really well.” He blushed, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

“Well, at least one of us does.” You chuckled, pressing your free hand to your stomach as it slowly started to firm up again. “What did your parents say?” You asked, taking deep breathes and preparing yourself for the inevitable.

“My parents, Charlie and Heather are booking a flight to come out here.” He told you, rubbing your back as you leaned forward through the pain. “Your mom and Luke are doing the same thing.”

“Cool.” You said, letting out a long breath.

Henry got up and grabbed one of the wash clothes by the sink in the room and wet it with cold water, sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gently wiped the sweat from your face, pressing the cold cloth to your forehead, the sides and the back of your neck. You smiled softly at him, you always loved how caring and attentive he could be, the amount of love and affection he showed you never creased to amaze you. Henry smiled back at you, resting his hand on your flushed cheek and leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“Can I do or get anything for you?” He asked, setting the damp cloth aside.

“I'd kill for a cuddle.” You laughed, grinning.

“Shove over, then.” He laughed back, motioning at you with his hand.

“Are you really?” You giggled, surprised.

“You want to cuddle, we'll cuddle.” He said as you rolled onto your side and carefully laid down next to you, draping his arm over your side and gently caressed your belly.

He kissed the back of your shoulder as another contraction came, rubbing your tense stomach, shushing you as you whimpered and whined in discomfort and pain, pressing your back against his chest and grabbing at his hand, squeezing so hard you felt his joints pop and he grunted at the pain, but he didn't pull it away, you needed it more than he needed you to not break his hand. He kissed the back of your neck, when he felt your body go slack against his, wrapping his arm around your torso and hugged you back against him, curving his legs into yours, so you both laid in a near ball together. He picked up his head a few minutes later, when you started laughing.

“What's wrong?” He frowned, rather concerned that you were laughing so hard after a contraction.

“We're spooning.” You laughed, tears dripping down your face.

“Yeah, you wanted to cuddle...”

“I know, but...” You panted. “You're the big spoon, I'm the medium spoon and Lily is the little spoon.” You explained, and started laughing afresh.

Henry pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, and started laughing with you, grinning into your back. “I didn't even think of that.” He chuckled, pressing his lips to your spine.

“I've seen a lot of things.” Your OB said, walking into the room. “Spouses cuddling in bed, is one of them. But, I've never seen them laughing, while they cuddled.” She grinned, chuckling herself.

“Sorry, she made a funny observation.” Henry laughed, shaking his head and getting up.

“It's quite all right.” She assured you both, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Laughing during labor is actually very beneficial. It helps relieve tension, increases air intake and therefore increases oxygen intake, and helps give the full benefit of your endorphins, nature’s painkiller.” She explained, sitting on the edge of the bed, and started checking how dilated you were. “Five centimeters, you're half way there, y/n.” She praised you, smiling brightly.

“Thank god.” You sighed, resting your head back on your pillow.

“Just a little bit longer.” She assured you, then went to make her other rounds.

“I'm going to go get a drink, you want something?” Henry asked, standing up and patting his back pocket to make sure he had his wallet.

“Ice.” You told him.

“Just ice chips?” He made sure.

“Yes.”

“All right.” He nodded, kissing your temple and going out. “Mum!” He grinned, getting off the elevator on his way to the cafeteria.

“How is she doing, sweetie?” Henry's mom asked, hugging him.

“She's doing amazing.” He smiled, hugging her back. “She's five centimeters now, so a few more hours and the baby will be here.”

“How are you holding up?” She asked, rubbing his arms.

Henry took a deep breath, held it for a long moment and let it out, his shoulders dropping. “I'm scared shit-less, I don't know if I'm ready to be a dad. I don't even know, if I'll make a good one.” He raked his hand through his hair and looked down at his mom, reminding her of the little boy that would call her crying everyday at boarding school.

She rested her hands on his face and smiled up at him. “You are going to be an amazing father, Henry. I know you will, and so does y/n.” She assured him, kissing his cheek. “What room is she in?”

“She's in room 18C.” He told his mom, hugging his dad as he came up behind her. “Where's Charlie and Heather?” He asked.

“They're at the hotel settling the kids in, they'll be over in a bit.” His mom told him, pressing the up button for the elevator.

“All right, I'm going to get a drink and y/n some ice chips, so I'll meet you up there.” He said and went down to the cafeteria.

“Marianne!” You grinned as your mother-in-law came into your room.

“Y/n.” She smiled at you, throwing her arms around your neck and kissing your cheek. “You look glowing, love.” she told you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“That's very sweet of you.” You blushed, smiling at her.

She laughed, patting your cheek and moving out of the way so Henry's dad, Colin, could hug you next. You all talked, Marianne would hold your hand and use a cloth to wipe your face, while you had contractions, talking you through it and offered her support to you, Colin got you some water and tried to stay quiet and out of the way. Henry finally came back up to the room with his drink and your ice, he kissed your temple as he gave the ice to you. He'd been detained by Charlie and Heather arriving, they'd left the kids at the hotel with a friend to watch them. They all stayed in the room with you and Henry for a while, before the contractions got to be too much, then removed themselves to the family waiting room down the hall. A nurse came in and gave you a shot of Pethidine in thigh, to try and help with the pain, since you were refusing a epidural.

“You're doing so good, baby.” Henry encouraged you, rubbing your back and shoulders as you stood bent over your hospital bed. “I'm proud of you.”

“Easy for you to say.” You panted. “You're the one with the cock.” You told him, flexing your back and shoulders.

“I know.” He smiled, not taking anything mean you'd say personal, knowing it was just the pain and exhaustion talking, it was something he'd learned to expect from the baby books and birthing classes. “I'm still proud of you.” He told you, moving back and letting you pace the room.

“Thanks, Puppy.” You sighed, pressing your hands to your back.

Henry grinned as you held your arms out to him, wiggling your fingers for grabby hands and he crossed the room to you, letting you rest your arms on his shoulders, hands caressing the back of his hair and rested his hands on your hips, you started to sway together, like you had back home.

“How about we set the mood?” He grinned at you.

“Oh, lord.” You smirked. “Leave it to you, to wanna have sex on the maturity ward.” You teased him as he moved away.

“No.” He blushed, going into the baby bag he'd packed.

Henry pulled out a small speaker, turned it on and opened a music app on his phone, pulling up the labor playlist you and he had put together over the last few months, pressing play. You laughed, hearing Tell Me Baby, by the Red Hot Chili Peppers start to play, softly.

“Tell me, Baby, what's your story?” You smiled, singing the song to him as he rested his hands on your hips again and you put your arms and hands where they had been on his shoulders and in his hair.

“The thing we need is, never all that hard to find.” Henry sang back to you, grinning.

“Run for cover, my sense of fear is running thin. Undercover! Just like a candle in the wind, Tell everybody, tell everybody. Brothers, sisters, the ending is coming.” You sang to Henry, resting your forehead on his and closing your eyes. “Ohhhhh...We are fallen, we are fallen...Ohhhhh, We are fallen, we are fallen. Now, we're just gonna ride it out.”

You chuckled and rested your forehead on Henry's shoulder as Paul Anka's song Put Your Head On My Shoulder, started to play. Henry smiled, caressing the back of your hair and pressing his lips to your temple, shushing you as he felt the warmth of your tears drip onto the skin of his neck as a particularly hard and agonizing contraction tensed up your body.

“You're so close, Nugget.” He whispered into your ear, as you just let yourself have a moment and released all your pain, exhaustion, crankiness and just the general feeling of really being over being pregnant, in a good cry. “Two more centimeters, a bit of pushing, and it'll all be over. We'll have our beautiful daughter in our arms, and it will be worth it, I promise.” He purred, his lips brushing against the cove of your ear and wiped the tears off your face. “I love you, y/n. I am so proud of you. You're going to be an outstanding mother, because you are a phenomenal wife. None of this has been easy, the last two years, for us. Being shoved together by our parents, our first year, the divorce...”

“That lasted ten minutes.” You groaned, throat tightening.

“Still, it was hard.” He whispered, pressing his lips to your ear. “Then, you getting hurt and what happened after that. I know, this pregnancy hasn't been easy for you either. But, we got through it, Nugget. Both of us, together, as one, and we can get through this. Together.”

“As one.” You said, softly, relaxing and feeling better. “I love you, Henry. So much. You're going to be an amazing father, just like you are an incredible husband.” Henry rested his head on your shoulder and the two of you stood there at the foot of your hospital bed, resting against each other, swaying and rocking to the sound of the playlist that was still going, streaming out All of Me by John Legend. How insanely appropriate.

“Henry.” You whispered, almost soundlessly.

“Y/n.” He whispered back, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

“I have the very strong urge to push.” You told him, gulping. “You might wanna get the nurse.”

“All right, let's get you into bed then.” He said, very calmly, and guided you back to bed, making sure you were comfortable, before going to the nurse's station, to tell them you had the urge to push.

A nurse came into the room and check your cervix, finding you were now fully dilated. Things got chaotic after that, Henry rushed out to the waiting room to tell his family that you were getting ready to do the real work, then came back to you. You gripped his hand, super tight, nails digging into the top of his hand, but his focus was on you, using his other hand to mop the sweat from your face.

“You'll be all right.” He said, seeing the fear, you finally let show. “I'm right here.” He told you, gripping your hand with both of his and touch his forehead to yours.

“Don't go.” You panted, and let out a painful groan and whimpered.

“I'm not going anywhere, sweetie.” Henry smiled at you, brushing your sweat damp hair out of your flushed face, looking at you with most tender expression. “You're stuck with me.” He chuckled, starting to shake as emotion and adrenaline kicked in, it was finally hitting you both.

This was it.

In a matter of moments your sweet little girl would come into the world, and life as you both knew it, the life you and Henry screamed, fought, slipped, clawed together, shattered, redefined and created, through it all, was once again changing, for something so much more precious. It was never going to be the same. The world outside would look so different to both of you, seen through the eyes of parents wanting to protect and nurture their child, at any and all costs. This was the last puzzle piece to the picture, and the picture in a whole was so blissfully beautiful and bright.

You threw your head back, every inch of your body drawing tighter than a piano wire, and screamed, the veins in your neck showing as you did. The pain of the contractions now was unbearable and you really regretted foregoing the epidural, it was too late now to get it, too. So, you went to the next best thing, your hand trying to find out how much pressure it had to exert to break Henry's hand, which you so far hadn't achieved, thankfully, and yelling.

“Holy fuck!” You snapped as the nurse helped you bend your legs, getting into position for pushing. “You have to get her out of me, NOW!” You yelled, tearing at the sheets beneath you with your free hand. “Don't you fucking laugh at me, Henry William Cavill, or so help me God!” You threatened him, as he chuckled at you,

He didn't exactly find the situation funny, you were in agony and trying to birth his daughter. But, even being the hot mess you were right now, sweaty, flushed, crying and seriously pissed off, he still found you irresistibly gorgeous. He did find it humorous that you busted out his full name, yelling at him like he was your child, that was being naughty.

“Is this what our daughter has to expect, when she's in trouble?” He asked you, between contractions and smirking at you.

You rolled your eyes and your head in his direction, making him laugh yet again. “I swear, Henry...” You didn't get to finish the sentence as another one hit, and Henry decided to drop it.

“Are you ready to push, y/n?” Your OB asked, positioning herself between your bent and open legs.

“I was ready to fucking push; nine months, a week and three days ago.” You told her, straining against the pain and resisting the urge to push, until she told you too.

“You've been keeping count.” She said, amused and shaking her head. “Let me have a quick look, and we'll see, if you're really ready to push.”

“Fuck me!” You howled, arching your back and whining.

“Y/n.” Henry smiled, shaking his head at your choice words during the contractions. “Our daughter's first word is going to end up being, fuck.”

“Oh, fucking go to hell, you little shit!” You barked at him, purposely putting several cuss words into the sentence. “You say, fuck, more than I do.” You accused him, making murderous eye contact.

“Geralt!”

Henry instantly blushed, a huge and shy smile on his face as he dropped his chin to his chest to hide it. “More than fair.” He mumbled, still to shyly embarrassed to look you in the eye again, or any else in the room for that matter.

“All right, y/n.” The doctor cut in, smirking at your and Henry's banter.

She usually had the wife screaming at the top of their lungs about how much they hated their husband for doing this to them, or angry that they were touching them. But, she rarely saw you and Henry not touching throughout the long seven hours you'd been in the hospital, with some rather painful laboring, or arguing with each other.

Bickering, yes.

But, that's not the same thing. It rather impressed her, and part of her wished more of her patients and spouses were like you and Henry, it made her job a million times better; since she didn't have to play referee between them and goalie for the baby.

“I think, we're on time to push.” She told you, getting comfortable between your legs. “All right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, out of breath.

“You need to calm down now.” Henry whispered to you, in a gentle voice, petting your hair and caressing the side of your face with his knuckles. “Just focus on your breathing, clear your mind as much as you can and stay relaxed, and calm.” He coached you, so focused on you, that the pupils of his blue eyes were like pin pricks. “I'll be right here with you, the whole time, you have nothing to be afraid of, or worry about, all right.”

“Minus, pushing a whole human out of my body.” You said, trying to put the humor you actually felt about it, in your voice, but failed. Luckily, Henry got the jest of what you were trying for and kissed your cheek.

“Y/n, the next time you feel the need to push, whether it's during or after a contraction, do it.” the Doctor instructed you. “When you do push, I want you to hold it for five, then relax. All right?”

“Right.” You nodded, taking deep breaths in and out.

A few moments later, the very strong urge to push happened and you did what the doctor said, pushing down and held it there as she counted. One....two....three....four....five. Then, relaxed again with your eyes rolling shut, you were so exhausted and spent, and you'd only just got to the hard part. Another urge, another push and count to five, relaxing again. You did it several times, Henry praising you from your side, the doctor encouraging you from down between your legs.

“This is the most fucked up ab workout, ever.” You groaned, relaxing after another push.

“Soon, you'll have better abs than I do.” Henry joked back, wiping a cold cloth across your face.

“You can keep them.” You snorted, grunted and starting pushing again.

“You're doing fantastic, y/n.” the Doctor smiled. “I can see her head, so she's starting to crown.”

“My Princess, already.” Henry grinned looking down, but could see anything with your gown in the way.

“You are a fucking sap.” You chuckled, shaking your head and bearing down again.

“That I am.” Henry smiled, rubbing your back through it. “I have my Queen, and now I'll have my Princess. What more could I ask for?”

“You can ask her to come out faster.” You retorted, letting out a deep breath.

“That request might be filled in the next two or three pushes.” the Doctor told you.

“Two.” You told her, stubbornly.

“Then, make them good.” She remarked, looking up at you and smirking.

“Challenge, accepted.” You smirked back, and when the next urge came, you pushed as hard as you could.

“Little bit more.”

You took deep breathes in and out, in and out, staring up at the ceiling and preparing yourself. It wasn't any different than being on the track. If you could take a nasty fall on your bike and get up, and walk it off. Then, you could give one hell of a last push and welcome your daughter into the world, asking her what took so long. Henry could see the wheels turning in your head as you laid there, waiting for the next push, and knew that that one could be the one to do it. You'd grown exhausted and highly stubborn, a combination that made you dangerous. You slowly closed your eyes, feeling the urge start to build in the base of your stomach, spread up your spine and take control of your mind. Taking a sharp breath in, tensing every muscle you could and bared down with all your strength. Then, felt the incredibly strange wet swoosh from your core, a great pressure relieved in your stomach and let out the breath you were holding and laid back down.

A moment later, the absolutely magical sound of a babying crying filled the room and you knew everything was all right in this new world, feeling Henry's lips on yours and hearing his excited voice, you dozed off for a few minutes.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Bound #Bound *Fic*#Part 14 #Repost #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill x You #Henry Cavill x Reader #Fluff #Hurt/Comfort #pregnancy #Labor #Family #Daughter #Cuddles #Kal

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ray-ray-writings · 3 years

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Pip’s Birth Day

Drabble request “Hey ray what about a drabble when the reader was giving birth at that day where they were helding a party at techno's house and everyone in the smp is invited. Where the reader's water broke in the middle of the party and everyone is panicking except for nicki, puffy and hannah (let's pretend they know how to handle a pregnant woman giving birth).”

So I picture that it’s sort of a house warming party because you and Techno have just moved from deep in the tundra to a still snowy biome, but it’s a lot closer to everyone. And so Philza had convinced you two to throw a party because you were about to pop and it would be a great chance for everyone to see you two before you two get completely swept up in parent life. So literally everyone comes over for the party. Techno is a little uncomfy at first, but then seeing how happy you are to see everyone, he learns to live with it.

For the most part, you’re in the same place, ya know because your belly is huge and it’s hard to move. Sitting on the couch with people coming by and sitting next to you and chatting for a bit before they move on. Every once in a while, a sharp pain will shoot through your stomach which causes you to gasp a little bit, but you really refuse to bring it up because it’s a party and everyone is supposed to be having fun so you keep the pain to yourself. Of course Techno notices but when you meet his eyes you give him a reassuring smile and he hesitantly goes back to whatever he was doing.

Eventually you have to get up. You think that you have to go to the bathroom and so Wilbur, who was sitting next to you at the time, helps you stand up and as soon as you stand up, you kind of wish you hadn’t. A wetness runs down your legs and you freeze and your breathing gets heavy as an intense wave of pain hits you. Wilbur notices and immediately tries to make you feel better, “Hey, Y/N. It’s okay. Things like this happen, it’s not your fault. Come on let’s get you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up.” He tries to move but you just clutch his wrist tighter, making him unable to move. “Wilbur,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, “I didn’t pee myself… My water just broke” And the whole room freezes and goes silent. Somehow, everyone has managed to hear what you said and have fallen silent waiting to see what happens next. Techno moves first, he runs over to you and grabs your hand off of Wilbur’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “What? Love are you okay?” his eyes scanning your face. You can’t stop the scoff that escapes your lips and the wince that forms as a contraction rips through you, “Do I look okay? Techno I’m in labor” You snap out. Techno doesn’t even flinch at the harsh tone, but he just doesn’t move either. He is literally like a deer in headlights because even though he’s read many books about this, he doesn’t know what to do now that it’s actually happening.

Puffy is the one to gently move Techno away from in front of you. “Okay, Y/N. Can you hear me?” You’re breathing is more ragged now as the pain gets more intense, but you nod. “Okay. We’re going to move you to your bedroom okay? Get you comfortable. You’re going to have to give birth here. We can’t quite move you to Ponk’s hospital. Luckily he’s here and he’ll take care of you okay?” And once again, you can only nod. Puffy then turns to Techno, “Take them to your room and get them comfortable, put them in a nightgown or something, we’ll take care of the rest” Puffy commands gently, nodding her head behind her. You manage to look and you find Niki and Hannah also standing there, concerned but firm looks on their face. You can tell they know what to do. Techno snaps out of his trance and does as he’s told. He sweeps you off of your feet and rushes upstairs to your bedroom, lays you down on the bed, helps you get out of your pants and shirt, helps you into a loose gown, and surrounds you with pillows and blankets. “Are you comfortable?” He asks once he’s done, kneeling down and grabbing your hand, pressing a kiss to your hand. You let out a sigh, “As comfortable as I can be” you grit out.

While you wait, Techno is complimenting you the whole time. Telling you how strong you are for doing this and how beautiful you are. It both pisses you off but it also makes you feel just a bit better. The girls, Ponk, and Philza all enter the room at one point. Philza joins Techno by your side while the rest get to work. Hannah brings a damp rag to your forehead and wipes the beads of sweat that had formed on your brow away. Niki is attaching monitors and IVs to you to make sure that you’re taken care of during this, she also has Techno lift your hips and places a towel underneath you to try and contain a little bit of the mess. Puffy is helping Ponk prep all of the things that he’ll need to make sure this goes as smoothly as possible. They’re there throughout the entire process, making sure that you’re okay and have everything you need, but also making sure that Techno is holding up okay. After many pain filled hours, you finally have your sweet babygirl in your arms. You and Techno hold her for a little while before you allow Puffy to take her and clean her up and off. While Puffy does that, Niki and Hannah clean the two of you up. Niki takes it upon herself to clean you… down there. Something you feel a little embarrassed about, but she reassures you that it’s okay and tells you that she will stop if you want but that you don’t have to be embarrassed with her. Hannah takes care of your upper body. She wipes to blood from Pip off of your chest and wipes the sweat and tears from your face gently. Hannah gets a lot of it cleaned up before Techno offers to take over. He takes a new clean cloth and wipes your face down. The entire time, he coos about how proud he is of you and how well you’ve done. When Puffy is done with Pip, you tell her to give the baby to Philza so he can hold her a while. Once you’re all cleaned up, everyone encourages you to rest, you deserve it. Not needing to be told twice, you fall in a peaceful sleep. Techno takes this opportunity to thank the girls and Ponk for all they did. They brush him off but he’s insistent. He tells them that they’re welcome to come over to see you guys at any time, just to give them a heads up first. Techno also asks them to tell everyone that everything is well and that they will be invited back over in a few weeks to meet Pip. The girls and Ponk all smile and nod and make their way out of the house, all kind of tired from the day’s unexpected events. And although it was unexpected, it’s an experience that no one would trade or wish that it happened differently.

#mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt drabble #technoblade #technoblade imagine #technoblade drabble #dedicated series #ray responds #tw giving birth #giving birth

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luluwquidprocrow · 3 years

Text

and i’ve written pages upon pages trying to rid you from my bones

originally posted: august 25th, 2019

word count: 13,060 words

rated: not rated

beatrice/bertrand/lemony

heavy angst, canon compliant, with enough canon divergence that makes the canon compliance worse, epistolary

summary:

and if you don’t love me, let me go.

[a much less than 200 pages break up letter.]

opening notes:

title from the engine driver by the decemberists

By the time you read this

I guess an at least interesting description of us could be like ships passing in the night

I think now is

I think now might be the time for us to

First of all, I have canceled my subscription to the Daily Punctilio, which was just a good move on my part to begin with, and second of all, I couldn’t believe all that anyway, but third of all, do you know, Lemony

You’ll think me such a damn hypocrite, won’t you.

Why now? Why would I

Why would you do this now?

My Heart and I

ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.

We sit beside the headstone thus,

And wish that name were carved for us.

The moss reprints more tenderly

The hard types of the mason's knife,

As heaven's sweet life renews earth's life

With which we're tired, my heart and I.

II.

You see we're tired, my heart and I.

We dealt with books, we trusted men,

And in our own blood drenched the pen,

As if such colours could not fly.

We walked too straight for fortune's end,

We loved too true to keep a friend ;

At last we're tired, my heart and I.

III.

How tired we feel, my heart and I !

We seem of no use in the world ;

Our fancies hang grey and uncurled

About men's eyes indifferently ;

Our voice which thrilled you so, will let

You sleep; our tears are only wet :

What do we here, my heart and I ?

IV.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

It was not thus in that old time

When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime

To watch the sunset from the sky.

Dear love, you're looking tired,' he said;

I, smiling at him, shook my head :

'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I.

So tired, so tired, my heart and I !

Though now none takes me on his arm

To fold me close and kiss me warm

Till each quick breath end in a sigh

Of happy languor. Now, alone,

We lean upon this graveyard stone,

Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I.

VI.

Tired out we are, my heart and I.

Suppose the world brought diadems

To tempt us, crusted with loose gems

Of powers and pleasures ? Let it try.

We scarcely care to look at even

A pretty child, or God's blue heaven,

We feel so tired, my heart and I.

VII.

Yet who complains ? My heart and I ?

In this abundant earth no doubt

Is little room for things worn out :

Disdain them, break them, throw them by

And if before the days grew rough

We once were loved, used, — well enough,

I think, we've fared, my heart and I.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who knew what she was talking about

My Dearest Darling,

You call me a lot of things but, to be perfectly frank (not Ernest), Lemony, I think I’ve always liked that one the least. There was that summer where, among other things, Bertrand was trying to come up with nicknames for us in that charming way of his, and he came up with a real mess of awful nicknames and then I came up with the list we could Never Repeat In Public (capitals necessary) and then you said something very sweet to both of us, and anyway, we know what happened there, but the point of this is that you held us close and said, very seriously, that you would never ever ever ever ever (for the span of what I’d figure would be maybe two pages, short but evenly-spaced), no matter what happened, call Bertrand ‘Bert’ and that was damn good of you because Bertrand is not a Bert and never will be. We were right to veto Bertie, as well. He is a Bertrand, through and through. The other point was that you wound up calling us nicknames too but dearest darling was maybe the worst of all of them. Bea was my favorite. I liked the way you said it and I liked the way it sounded and I felt noble perfect unstoppable invincible worried fragile good when you said it. And that was good.

Speaking of, right now, Bertrand is with Kit, and don’t worry, they’re not talking about you (I know how you worry). They’re talking about boats and maps and cooking spices and Widdershins will probably come by later to give them both his version of A Stern Talking To (capitals debatable) about open water expeditions, which will probably be something like, ‘Fire this harpoon at anything suspicious! Aye! Shoot first and ask questions later! Aye!’ and it’s a real miracle that man doesn’t have a whole boatload of albatrosses hanging around somewhere. (Unless he does, and I just haven’t seen it.)

Bertrand and I—well, we’ve kept the house up. Even though he has that thing for natural light, you know what I mean. But we’ve managed to decorate it nicely. I got the Gothic Furniture (capitals required), he got his large windows, there is a last unopened root beer bottle in the fridge because every time we look at it both of us think about how you said it’s impolite to take the last one, and I thought, maybe I’d save it for when you came back but I don’t

The last thing I want is to

Bertrand and I, we’re going out to dinner tonight, because we’re still not all that comfortable with the kitchen yet. I mean, why did we get such a fancy kitchen? I’m sure one of these days I’ll come around to it and it’ll be fine but right now it’s, it seems a hassle, I guess. So we’re going out and I’ve already decided that I’m going to order this truly egregious amount of pasta and no one will stop me!

We don’t really have any plans for tomorrow. As it stands right now. We’ve both been sort of taking things as they come lately. Bertrand, Bertrand’s been very busy. Both of us have been busy, but I think he’s been trying to keep his mind occupied. A lot of us have. Even Hector looks more concerned than he usually does. I saw him the other day—not here, in town—and I didn’t think it was possible for Hector to look that harried. So much has been happening lately, I feel like even I haven’t had time to catch my breath, even in this part of the city. It’s like everything’s been going a mile a minute, taking me with it, and the moments where it stops, the moments where I have the time to think, are unbearably, agonizingly slow. But most of my life has been like that, you know.

And I know, I know you are too. Busy. And concerned.

I know.

When you

Did you

The last performance of our play was three days ago. Since the Daily Punctilio doesn’t have a theater section anymore, Bertrand and I haven’t been reading any rave reviews but we were rereading but, what can you do. Geraldine’s moved on to some other column now too, something about, I don’t even know, tax evasion? Shoes? I can never understand a single thing she writes. Even that ‘Secret Organizations You Should Know About’ thing didn’t even pan out, can you believe that? All she did was write about Esmé! All that trouble for

It looks like it’ll be the last play for a while. I know they wanted us to go on longer, but, well, that’s how it has to be. Don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without a script to lug around, but I’ll probably memorize something for kicks. Gilda Farrell’s lines, maybe, that’d be fun.

But it’d be better if you

This is really the first time I’ve had one of those unbearably slow moments in a while, and of course the first thing I think of is you. You and Bertrand have always filled those gaps for me, but now it’s different. It’s just

I saw Jacques the other day and he

Ramona’s the only one who hasn’t been so

I want to see you so much, Lemony. With everything I have, I want you with me, and I keep hoping that if I close my eyes, when I open them again, there you’ll be, alive and well and next to me and real. Or I’ll walk away from my desk and this letter and when I look back it’ll all have been a bad dream, the worst nightmare I keep stopping and hoping and when you’re not there and I’m still here I

I don’t know how to do this. I can’t

I didn’t want to do it like this.

I don’t want you to I’m, burying the lede, or doing any of this on purpose or anything, because by now you’ve definitely noticed how long this is (although, personally, I’m only at the beginning, but I have a feeling this is going to get long—I know I’ve said I could run laps around the city in the time it takes you to finish a single metaphor but between the two of us we both know I could go on for much longer and will), and you have a vague idea, or a concrete idea, or an idea you don’t want to think about, of where I’m going to go with this. If it was something simple it wouldn’t be like this. If I was just, telling you the news, I wouldn’t need so much time, and I need so much of it. I’m setting the stage trying to making sure I wanted to I can’t just

I am a weak woman, Lemony Snicket. And that is a complete lie, you and I know, but I am a weak woman and I don’t want to be but my hands are shaking.

You and I. You and I know so many things.

So why should we

We both know how to make Ramona laugh, and the right amount of sugar for Olivia’s tea, and where Jacques will be on Tuesdays even though he pretends he doesn’t keep a regular schedule, and where Monty has his keys stashed in his garden, and everything possible about Bertrand, including what book he’s reading right now even though you haven’t been home in two months (it’s still that cat book because he says he wants to see the look on your face when he reads it out loud after dinner) (it’s still that cat book), and what kind of records Kit wants for her birthday even though she never has the time to play them, and even what Esmé is going to eat tomorrow because would you believe that herring is still in, to her continued consternation. She can talk all she wants about how good herring is but I still see that look on her face when she eats it! Every meal, Lemony! I’m giggling as we speak and I wish you could see her because it is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my LIFE

Maybe those things are superficial, but they’re things we know about people, about ourselves, and that counts, doesn’t it? And—and I know what you look like when you wake up and I know what you look like when you’re fixing your typewriter and I have to help and I know what you look like when you think I’m not looking at you, and there was a time where that meant you didn’t look like everyone you knew had just died. You know what I look like at my worst, the worst I ever let you see. You knew it anyway. You It was enough.

And Bertrand. I know I’ve said it before but, you and I were so lucky. Lots of good things came from of this, right? The three of us, you and me and Bertrand. Our apartment and that wallpaper we took down in Bertrand’s when he moved out of his, with those horrendous yellow stripes. The cat we pretended to have and the elaborate medical history we made for it so we’d all have an excuse to go home early. (That poor cat, though. I don’t think it would’ve been possible for it to really survive like that. We should be better to our imaginary pets next time in the future.) Watching Bertrand dance to my records, which was terrible because we hadn’t taught him to dance yet. Trying out those new recipes. Keeping the windows open in the summer. The diner down the street, the ice cream shop on the corner, that night it rained and we all stayed outside and got soaking wet because why not? Bertrand making that excessive amount of soup the next day. You telling us we were the only things that mattered. Bertrand would push your hair out of your face when you were sleeping and I wanted to watch that for the rest of my life. I wanted it to be the last thing I ever saw.

Those moments, every moment. Reading in the dark, losing my glasses, you stopped dead the first time we were out with Bertrand and he was under a streetlamp and you both looked so beautiful and you kissed him for the first time and you didn’t even remember to be nervous.

And those million citations Jacques didn’t give us for public indecency during that spring he was disguised as a police officer. (He was definitely kidding when he brought it up. There was no way he could’ve seen us.)

It makes me so happy, to think about all that. I love you and Bertrand so much. I

Oh Lemony. I don’t think I can do any of this.

-------

In other better happier general news, Gustav let Bertrand and me see the pictures from the wedding, and then he archived them, because we agreed that was for the best, and Bertrand figured you’d probably say the same. I look absolutely stunning, and Bertrand looks incredibly handsome even though he finally admitted he agrees with you, that hat was not his style, and you, Lemony, in that white suit that matched Bertrand’s with those peach-colored flowers because peach is a better color than I ever gave it credit for and it looked so good in the spring because it was the color the wall in the living room turned when the afternoon sun hit, you look

It was such a beautiful day. Still spring, and right after Bertrand’s birthday. Us, Kit, Jacques, Ramona, Olivia, Dewey, Hector. Jerome was invited—or he was supposed to be, who knows what happened there. We barely saw Gustav the whole time too, since he kept climbing up into trees for better angles. The smallest place we could find that would hold all of us and be so out of the way. The cake Kit made, against everyone’s expectations. Ramona cried, because of course she did. All those flowers, no one could move the whole time for walking into at least six bees, but no one minded. So much love. It was palpable, and my whole body was alive with it, with such a soft warmth I could barely breathe. I don’t think I ever stopped smiling, not while dancing or singing or kicking my shoes off because such mortal trappings cannot contain me, or when you and Bertrand danced and you cried, or when a crow flew overhead and we all stopped, just for a single second, before every one of us decided not to care. For a few hours one glorious afternoon.

You look happier than I’ve ever seen you before and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you like that again or forever and I’m sorry, I was right, I can’t do this, I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this

-------

I’ve taken a few deep breaths and I’m ready to

Oh who am I KIDDING

Lemony I love you so much and I need you so much my heart is going to break with it

justice does not need eyes to see,

but truth built himself eyes

in the porcelain patterns of his world

and let them do the talking

in the skies he

so kindly

let them see,

with the eyes he gave them,

one after another

after another

i was something else

but i lived so close beside

that they could not accuse me

of being blind

but i could’ve seen everything

if i could see with every eye,

one after another

after another

after another,

every eye

a certainty,

every eye

the truth,

every eye

mine alone.

You told me when we were younger that I should give rhyming verse a try and, well, Lemony, not everything you said was good advice.

-------

I do, though. I love you a great deal. I think it confuses people. Besides the fact that some of them never understood our relationship with Bertrand (cowards), I get the impression some of our associates don’t know why I love you. Which is just stupid of them, and I don’t owe them anything, none of them are going to read this. It’s not their business why I love you, it’s ours. And I love you because

How can you explain why you love someone? Someone can say ‘they make me laugh’ as much as they want and sure it’s true but is that really why? Can you ever really say why? Isn’t it enough to love somebody, with everything you have? To say, that’s the one I want, for the rest of my life? Who could I possibly need to defend myself to?

I love you because I love you, because I look at you and think I love you, because I inhale and exhale that I love you, because every part of me only feels right with you.

I love you because you embarrassed me but I thought you were kind. I love you because I didn’t ever have to explain anything. I love you because you always came back to me. I love you because you made me happy. I love you because you didn’t let anything stop you from loving me. I love you because you loved me. I love you because when you took my hand I thought I could do anything with that love.

I love you because you were mine. I love you because you looked at me. And I love you because it was more than that, it always was.

I love you because of the records you played. I love you because of the time we taught Bertrand to make root beer floats. I love you because you’d rehearse our lines with us even though you can’t act. I love you because of the way you would stand in the kitchen and wonder what you should make for dinner. I love you because you said you’d plant strawberry bushes in the backyard. I love you because you could never stand Geraldine Julienne. I love you because we would all sit around the table in my apartment and critique the newspaper articles together. I love you because you’d never take the train. I love you because Bertrand and I found every shortcut in the city for you. I love you because you and Bertrand would knit me the ugliest sweaters on purpose. I love you because you would take care of the bats for me and you were terrible at it.

I love you because you were wonderful where it counted. I love you because we’d stay up late and watch movies. I love you because you would hold Bertrand like it was the most important thing in the world. I love you because you would furrow your brow when you read something you didn’t like. I love you because you’d take me to the beach when it was cold. I love you because we went on picnics in the summer. I love you because when I walked into our apartment and then when I walked into our house it always felt like home. I love you because we made up that cat. I love you because you’d sing with me. I love you because Bertrand would take us bird-watching and name the birds with us. I love you because you bought me flowers.

I love you because you told me what happened. I love you because we went back there with you. I love you because I went into the lighthouse. I love you because I wasn’t going to not go. I love you because no one else would’ve gone. I love you because we let you walk out the door there and I knew you would come back.

I love you because we used to make out in the back of the movie theater and we’d take turns with Bertrand and then try to piece together what even happened in the movie when we got home. I love you because you used to sit in dark rooms with me and pretend we were ghosts and scare the other volunteers. I love you because we could just read for hours and not say a word. I love you because you let me cry in the bathroom. I love you because you would make up songs on the accordion when I was upset. I love you because I would whistle along when you did songs I knew. I love you because you would go out of your way to buy crackers. I love you because you would say things like “when we first met, you were pretty, and I was lonely” and you let me laugh. I love you because you would write me notes during class. I love you because you looked the same way I did the first time we saw Bertrand—shocked, and then a little impressed, and then irritated, because who did he think he was? I love you because who did any of us think we were, really. I love you because we grew to not care. I love you because we became people I was proud of.

I love you because you would feed that cat in the back alley on your way home and I would watch you from the window. I love you because that cat followed us to our house and then we had a real live legitimate cat until someone across the street put out better cat food. I love you because of the way you would read out loud, because you couldn’t act but when you read it was like seeing the sunrise for the first time. I love you because the one thing you did that was better than Bertrand was make tea. I love you because you taught me all your cookie recipes. I love you because we got you to sleep in the middle so we could protect you. I love you because they couldn’t take that away from me.

I love you because I’m here in an otherwise empty house, some boxes still unpacked, letting the dust settle, pouring my heart out when I don’t want to, because I do love you with everything I have, every part of me, every bone and every sigh and every drop of blood, and that’s the end of that. That’s all there is, I love you. That’s what it comes down to, I love you. That’s the only thing I want to say, I love you.

I do, I do love you. Lemony, please believe me.

-------

I know Bertrand has his own thoughts, his own opinions. He doesn’t want to admit that he does, but he gets this, look, on his face. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, like he’s lost something special but it was there a moment ago, wasn’t it. He thinks I haven’t noticed. After all this time, he thinks he’s not supposed to be here, and you it hurts, is all.

And as much as Bertrand is a part of us, indelibly, forever, just as you are, both of you so a part of me that I ache with it, this letter is between you and me. Not because it was the two of us first. But because you know, for as much as I don’t want to, I’ll say the things Bertrand won’t.

That’s how this has to be.

-------

So.

Olaf’s started talking to me again, which I didn’t think would happen in a million years. Although maybe I shouldn’t call it talking? More like, he sort of shows up if he knows I’m at headquarters (which is far and few between anyway so, really, what the hell?) and lounges in doorways with these big smiles and says these dramatic things at me instead of to me, which he can’t possibly expect me to believe. How stupid does he think I am? Because I’m not. He keeps going, hey Beatrice, have you read the Daily Punctilio? And I don’t say anything to him, even though yes, I’ve read the Daily Punctilio, dammit.

You and I both know what’s in the Daily Punctilio, and for a while I thought, maybe you were writing those articles yourself, part of another fragmentary plot, and that you’d tell me about it later, and you’d explain it to me, even though I wouldn’t need it to be explained, not really. But you didn’t. Not that you didn’t explain, you just, you just didn’t tell me anything. And you were gone and I couldn’t even see you anyway and that was what really made it hard? It wasn’t like I doubted you. I didn’t. I didn’t doubt you. I knew you wouldn’t do any of those things.

But everyone looked at me and they looked so damn pitying, like, oh it happens to the best of us, only he’s not the best of us. Maybe you should’ve seen it coming, well you know what he’s like, as if nothing had ever happened? As if we hadn’t grown up together? As if we wouldn’t have followed you to the ends of the earth because we believed in you? It’s not everyone, but it’s enough. Like some of them don’t owe you their lives.

Bertrand says that people deal with things in different ways, and saying those things about you is probably just another way they’re dealing with everything. Don’t you think it’s harder, it’s gotten harder, as we’ve gotten older? But they don’t have to throw you under the bus to do it. They don’t have to vilify you to make themselves feel better. They don’t have to look me in the eye like that, like I’m some, some poor miserable thing, or like I have to be protected, or like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like they can’t even trust me.

But what does that make me?

And Olaf would grin at me and I would hold my head high and look him back and spit in his face. I wasn’t going to let it get to me. It had only been a month. How long is a month, in the grand scheme of things? What does a month matter, against the beginning of a lifetime? And when a month became two, what did that matter?

-------

I wouldn’t say that Hector and I were ever particularly close, but I’ve actually seen a lot of him lately. We meet up for tea because he keeps saying there’s something he wants to talk to me about but mostly he sits there and looks at his tea and I pretend I’m not super uncomfortable. And then he insists on paying the check, in exact change.

When I see Hector, I think about Haruki. I know how close they were. And Haruki respected you so much, more than anyone else. As in, he respected you more than he respected any of our other friends, but also more than maybe anyone else respected you, because that was how Haruki was. Loyal, the best of the best, and so fierce about it. I wanted him there at our wedding.

Haruki was really the first person we lost, I guess. And I hate how we’re never going to know how it happened, because they say no one else was there, and the one person we do know was there, he’s never going to say a damn thing about it, and we all know that for sure. But I remember everyone gathering around to write Haruki’s obituary and how little we had to say. Not because we didn’t know him. But because, what were we going to say? What did we have left to say, who did Haruki have left, besides us? And what were we?

Hector looks at me and I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know what to say to me. I’m terrified he’s going to tell me I should’ve known better too because then I won’t be able to stand it. But he just looks at me and I try not to cry and I’m trying not to cry now because he’s feeling it too, this awful business of feeling like things are starting to break. Sometimes I feel Hector is going to disappear, too.

--------

I guess the question I started to think was, how long was I going to wait. Bertrand and I had waited for longer, and then there were times where we never waited, and hadn’t we reached a point where we weren’t supposed to, anymore? But then, when you’re married, aren’t you supposed to do whatever you have to?

But doesn’t it go both ways? One half can do their part but doesn’t the other half have to do something too and how much is it before you’re asking too much but how long is it before you’re not doing enough and when you’re married aren’t you supposed to know the answers to all the questions, the right and the wrong ones, you’re not supposed to care and you’re supposed to be there and it’s all is supposed to be okay, and

We never did do anything traditionally, though, did we?

-------

I saved the article. I didn’t save all of them, but I saved this one.

-------

UNIDENTIFIED BODY IDENTIFIED

The unidentified body recently pulled from the downtown river has been identified as local ex-theater critic and renowned person of interest, Lemony Snicket, who was last seen surveying the river and saying, “How deep do you think it really is?”

“For the record,” said the local police, who preferred to remain nameless and sent in their response by postcard from three towns over, “it was three feet.”

Mr. Snicket was identified by a source who was also unidentified, but proved their credentials by singing a variety of showtunes for the newspaper staff, to great applause.

“Yes, I suppose that’s him,” said the source, when asked to identify the photo of the river, which was presented to them while they were drinking a glass of water, because they were parched after the showtunes. When the glass of water spilled on the photograph, the source went on to say, “Oh, that’s definitely him.”

The body in question disappeared as soon as it was found, but the police have no reason to suspect foul play, as no livestock was found at the scene, the morgue, or the local bakery, and neither does our source.

“Can I leave now?” asked the source. “I need to go pick up my glasses.”

Mr. Snicket has recently been the suspect in a number of crimes, including arson, lockpicking, theft, and jaywalking without a license. He has been described as “that’s not what I would call a grey suit, it leaned closer to charcoal.” There is no planned funeral service at this time.

-------

Bertrand and I laughed a lot, because it was the most outrageous article we’d ever read, and we kept talking about what sort of bakery would even allow livestock inside, and of course we knew it was about you, but of course it wasn’t you, because we didn’t know where you were but we knew you were alive. You were alive, so no matter what we read or what anyone told us, no matter who wanted to believe what, we knew the truth.

And, again, Lemony, it wasn’t that I needed you to explain. It was that I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to let me in on it. I wanted you to call or come by and tell us, your husband and your wife, hey no big deal but I’m gonna fake my death for the foreseeable future, is that okay? And instead I have to find out from Olaf waving it in my face? I have to find out from some absurd article I shouldn’t have even looked twice at? I have to find out from people I thought were my friends telling me I should have known better?

I sure don’t need to tell you, but, we just got married, Lemony! And we had a house and a life and plans and no matter what happened, no matter what else we had to do, because there was no way we were ever going to give this up and we knew that, we were going to stay together, we were going to do this, what we promised, not to other people but to ourselves, and each other, and

Sometimes I want to think that you planned it like that, that you sat down and thought to yourself about the best worst way to do it and you thought, leaving us alone like this and faking your death and not saying a single word was the greatest way to break our hearts, especially after marrying us, that would hurt the most, you wanted to do it so you did it and you got away from us for good like you always wanted because you were never going to stay and you knew it, because then I can hate you like I’m supposed to and stop thinking of the way you smile at me

I hate that you aren’t a cruel person, I hate that you didn’t do it on purpose, I hate that the real true human tradition is that people are human and nothing else

How am I supposed to do this?

a bird up in her chamber

eats love for breakfast lunch and dinner

and steadily gets thinner

sings songs she won’t forget,

in the darkness by the lamps

says the shapes of lonely words

said by lonely people

in lonely rooms

to feel better about

being

what is a life with this alone

what is a life

like this?

“when we grab you by the ankle, where your life is ours to take

you’ll soon be doing wicked things, they’ll keep you long awake

when your whole life is a secret then you’ll be a volunteer

and you’ll scream a long time later, for

the world was never quiet here.”

-------

Bertrand has been making lists. You know his tendency to organize, but the funny thing is he just keeps leaving them places. I’m sitting on like, three of them.

To Do

-Check maps

-Apologize to D

-Extra key

-Secure boat

-Study family trees

To Buy

-Thick, sturdy rope

-Do they make portable record players?

-Paintbrushes (for then and now, so get extra)

-White curtains? Will they match? Check ‘To Think’

-Extra wires, no candles!

To Think

-Ask Kit about Bernadette

-Examine garden for hiding spots

-Turtles or foxes?

-What if it turns out to be true?

-Or birds??

Definitely not birds.

-------

You know, I haven’t seen Jerome in a while. Maybe it’s also been two months, I’m not sure. I feel like, even before the wedding, we weren’t seeing much of him—although it wasn’t like Jacques paraded him around or anything in the first place—but since then, I don’t think Jacques has even talked about him.

This means Jacques’s Tuesdays are open now, although you’d never know it. He still only shows up when he wants to. And if he doesn’t want to, then you have as much luck finding him as finding a grammar rule Jo doesn’t know. It must run in the family. I hate to

I had Kit get ahold of him for me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what to say to Kit anymore, which is unsettling, but Kit acts like she always does. She comes over and makes herself at home and talks to both of us like this is average everyday Kit business for her. I don’t know if I admire her tenacity or if it’s going to be something else I can’t stand down the line. I don’t know yet. She hugged me when she left, though. That’s just how Kit is. And I don’t really want to lose that.

I wasn’t sure if Kit would know, the thing I wanted to ask Jacques. I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if she did, but when I saw her I thought, maybe she didn’t know. She didn’t talk about you at all. And it wasn’t the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I’m Being Purposefully Vague For Reasons, Now Deal With It’ sort of silence, it was the ‘I’m Kit Snicket and I Refuse to Admit I Don’t Know This Piece of Information, So I’m Going to Rearrange Your Bookshelves’ sort of silence. Still don’t know where she put T.S. Eliot. I think she took it with her.

Jacques didn’t want to talk to me. He’s too polite to say it, but I could tell. He kept making excuses, and by the time we finally got him to come here, he was uncomfortable and I was on edge. He came right out and said he couldn’t stay long. He knew why I wanted to talk to him and he told me straightforward that he couldn’t tell me.

I’m not proud of what I said to him.

-------

If it was the last day, but it probably was but Lemony, I don’t I sure didn’t know.

I will remember every second until the day I die.

We waited until after the wedding to move into the house, especially because the only honeymoon we wanted was for the three of us to be there together, alone, for a little while. It was on the outskirts of the city, away from everything else, and we barely told anyone. We didn’t even tell everyone from the wedding.

I watched the sunrise, the soft shadows sliding along the sheets on the bed, catching on the suitcases we still hadn’t unpacked all the way, you and Bertrand warm beside me, and I didn’t want to get up. We put the best bed in the whole world in our room, and rightly so. High bed posts but no canopy because Bertrand was worried about dust. Crisp white sheets and I was so excited to look when we finally got up and see the wrinkles mashed down in them from where we slept because that meant it was ours for real. That rich wine comforter that it was too hot to use the first night so we still had it folded up at the foot of the bed, but you had this look in your eyes when we spread it out like you couldn’t wait for winter and when we’d be squished up against each other underneath it for warmth.

That morning, I just wanted to lay there and savor it. It wasn’t like we’d never been in the same bed before, or that we even needed to be married, but! To know I could hold it in my hands, that’s what it was.

And then Bertrand rolled over and got an elbow into my side somehow and you mumbled something about Wedding Pancakes (capitals implied) and then we had to eat breakfast.

I checked. The wrinkles were all there.

-------

Bertrand and I.

We haven’t

We’ve been

We’ve been angry at each other.

And you know Bertrand, he doesn’t get angry, really, he gets, more disappointed than anything, but he’s. He’s been angry. At me. I know.

I get scared, because I don’t know what to do, so I, I can’t hold a conversation without yelling at somebody, and it’s usually Bertrand, and I hate yelling at him and sometimes he starts to yell back.

We’re not. Okay. Right now.

We weren’t supposed to do this without you and I don’t want to find out that we can’t, Lemony. And I know we can but I know it’s also not a matter of doing it with or without you, because that’s awful, I just keep wondering what if you were what held us all together and if you’re not here how are Bertrand and I supposed to go on like this. Saying the wrong things, avoiding each other, not coming home. I guess that’s how we’re ‘dealing’ with it but that’s sure some sick way to do it.

I don’t want to lose anybody and fighting for them means that I want to keep screaming until everything stops.

-------

Jacques said you’d be back soon enough.

I told him I needed to know how soon was soon.

He said soon enough.

I said that wasn’t enough.

I never though of Jacques as one to yell. And he didn’t really yell, he mostly raised his voice, like I couldn’t hear him. I mean I was definitely talking over him but it was because I could hear him and I didn’t want to.

No one can tell me anything I don’t know. I know they think I haven’t felt the same worries as everyone else but that’s because I never wanted them to think that I did. And I did too good a job, apparently. I know we live hard lives, Jacques. I know it requires sacrifices, Jacques. I know there’s no guarantee, Jacques. I know there’s things you have to give up. I know you can’t be childish or selfish in this business. I know we knew what would happen. I know sometimes no matter how hard you try, you’re just going to fail.

He told me to wait for you.

-------

After breakfast, we organized the library, because we still had so many things in boxes but we agreed we had to get that done. We put everything in, every repeat copy and every notebook because we actually had room for everything instead of trying to cram it all into smaller bookshelves. The library was the biggest room in the house and had that beautiful windowseat. (It still does. We’re still in this house, after all, but this moment, this day, just isn’t right now.) I’ll admit I spent more time lounging on it than I did organizing books, but, you sat on that windowseat with me, you knew how comfortable it was. I loved those windows and how bright the sun was (really.) and how good I knew it was going to look when it was raining. And you agreed, and Bertrand rolled his eyes at us, and I told him, he got his natural light, what more did he want?

For two people to stop lazing around and figure out if we were going in alphabetical order or by genre or by which ones most recently made us cry over lunch, Bertrand said.

It was alphabetical, of course.

We forgot about lunch, because we put the record player in the library until we could find another place for it and started playing our favorites. Bertrand could dance by then, obviously, we wouldn’t have married him if he couldn’t. We were very good at dancing together, after practicing for so long. No one was ever going to do a better three-way tango and we all knew it.

We picked through the fridge and some of the wedding gifts, once we got hungry and tired of dancing. We found out Jerome somehow still sent us at least thirty coasters, and learned that he apparently wildly overestimates our social life, because there was no way we were going to be inviting thirty people at a time over anymore, or at least, not for a while. You and Bertrand stacked them in the dining room in a cabinet, and those you organized by color. Then we stood at the window there and looked out into the garden (the best view of it was from the dining room) and talked about the flowers we were going to plant, and how Ramona was going to send us (express) a clipping from one of the rosebushes in her garden, the ones we’d look at during her family’s masked balls.

We went to the corner store down the street and you and Bertrand pretended to fuss over tomatoes while I was looking at loaves of bread and when I turned around you were buying flowers for me, red and bright and beautiful. We put them in the kitchen while we all made dinner (salmon, with cherry tomatoes). Somehow I found the time to make sorbet for dessert and it was only then we realized how late it was and we laughed a lot that day and laughed a lot then because we didn’t need to care about things like that. Our house was barely put together and we tried to find a way to use every single coaster from Jerome and we hadn’t had words with the city about the electricity yet because there was so much we’d had to do beforehand that we had to use candles. We all had matches, and we weren’t naive enough to think we wouldn’t have them.

I can’t tell you how powerful I felt, lighting those candles, because I know you and Bertrand felt it too. This was our doing and ours alone. This space was ours. We looked at each other over the candles, the shadows on our faces, and we’d never looked clearer.

We could’ve lived forever, in that moment.

-------

I called your brother a coward and I told him that whatever happened to Jerome now that he wouldn’t protect him was his fault and his alone and if he could live with himself that’s fine but I couldn’t if I didn’t try to do this and if he didn’t tell me where you were I was going to kill him where he stood and he shouldn’t even think for one second that I wasn’t capable of doing what had to be done and if that meant I had to kill for what I wanted then I would.

-------

You kissed us in the morning. You smiled. You walked out the door and then came back because you forgot your hat and Bertrand and I were still laughing even as the door shut behind you.

And then you were gone.

-------

Kit came by again, after.

We sat in that silence.

She told me that it was the one thing they hadn’t told her. She hadn’t known, until I asked Jacques. We don’t have anywhere else to go, she said, in a moment of unprecedented candidness. So we always come back.

“I underestimated him,” she said.

I told her she could keep The Wasteland, since it was practically hers because it had been yours. Kit smiled. She didn’t say much else.

-------

Bertrand and I aren’t the only ones losing someone here and I forgot that.

Jacques and I looked at each other for a long time. I tried to apologize and he kept shaking his head. He told me where you were. He told me he didn’t know when you’d be back—or if you would at all. He told me he was the one writing the articles in the Daily Punctilio. He turned away from me. Then he gave me his handkerchief, and put his hand on mine, and got up and left.

-------

What it feels like, Lemony, is like you

It feels like you picked

It feels like we didn’t matter and

And it’s not like we could ever choose or have one or the other I know I know I know but

We’re never going to be without it but I thought that

WE GOT MARRIED, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, LEMONY SNICKET

You picked an idea of nobility that you spent the past ten years struggling with and denouncing and promising you’d never

It wasn’t like we ever set out to save you anyway I

At the end of the day, that’s it. You picked the organization over us. And I didn’t think we were going to have to draw lines like that. At least not now. At least not right now. Because that means I have to make a decision. Because it means I can’t only think about me. Because it means I can’t keep waiting. And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

-------

I found out the other day.

I had a feeling, though. You just, you either have the feeling or you don’t, right? And I did. And I keep thinking about what your reaction would be. What you’d say. I keep thinking about your eyes, bluer than blue. I keep thinking about the world we said we were going to make when we were kids, the people we said we’d be. We were tiny and young and idealistic and you’re really only that way once in your whole life and when you’re not anymore, you can’t go back.

-------

We can’t go on like this.

stripped off my dress like a skin,

peeled

so you could see everything

not only then,

but always.

didn’t know i was doing it,

guess i never really ran out of clothes.

you took off you shirt

and I was jealous.

you only needed to do it once and there you were.

I thought.

but now I keep finding shirts

in the places where I found you

and I can’t

find anything

that was mine

to put back on

I really can’t do anything

-------

Enclosed you’ll find the ring. I know it’s not just the ring I married you with, but the ring I married Bertrand with, but whenever we look at it we think of you and I’m the one who has to wear it all the time and I can’t.

But I don’t want to give it back because what if it’s the only thing I get to keep of you? But it wasn’t ever mine anyway, or yours, and who knows, maybe Ramona will marry Olivia with it someday, and maybe you’ll be there, only you wouldn’t be if you got the ring back, you’d never show your face again.

And that’s not what I want, I don’t want you out of my life, Lemony, but if I give it back then maybe I do. Maybe that is what I want. Maybe I never want to see you again like this.

-------

Okay, I have to ask. I have to, because Jacques kept his mouth shut about this.

The last time you saw us. Not the day, but the morning, walking out the front door. Did you know you weren’t coming back? You just left like you always did, to go to the newspaper, before Bertrand and I went to the theater, and as far as leaving someone for good goes that’s so

Did you meet up with Jacques, or Hector, or Jo, or even Kit, and did they tell you? Did headquarters address you personally? Did you take an assignment from someone else? Did someone corner you and were you trying to protect us? Was that the only way you could do it, going into hiding and faking your death? Who else was involved, besides Jacques? How long was it going to go on for? Did they expect you to do it by yourself? Did you have a plan, did any of them have a plan? What fragmentary plot was it even a part of? Did you know you weren’t coming back? Could you even come back? Did it even happen right away? Did it start out as some mediocre assignment you were going to tell us about later and then what happened so that I was reading the paper and there you were being accused of things I knew you’d never do? Why didn’t they ask me? Why didn’t they ask Bertrand? Why didn’t they ask us? You knew we’d do it together, we swore we’d do it together, why didn’t you tell us? What made it so that you couldn’t?

Or did you really decide for yourself that that was it?

I don’t want to believe that. I don’t, Lemony. I want to believe that it was one thing and then another but do you know why I can’t, why I keep asking? Do you understand why I need to know the truth? Why I need to be able to put it together? Why waiting and trusting isn’t enough anymore?

--------

No one could ever extinguish my love, Lemony, no one, nothing, not a single solitary thing ever, nothing could do it, but my trust is a different matter. Loving someone and trusting someone are two different things and I know you know that as much as I do. You. Knew. All. Of. This.

-------

You know. If it had ended at the article. I might’ve been okay with it. I might have. Not making any promises, because we both know better than that. But I might’ve. I could’ve.

It didn’t end with the article.

Olivia had a short-lived assignment working the telegrams recently. She gave Ramona a very specific telegram. Olivia was honestly surprised it had come through at all. That something like that would be sent over such an insecure line. And of course she showed Ramona. They didn’t show it to anyone else. Which was lucky, because you know Olivia. She wanted to do whatever she could.

Ramona sent it to me. Right away. I got it yesterday. She said she’d never felt worse in her entire life. She said she was sorry. She’s the only one who didn’t sound patronizing about it.

J.S.,

AS WELL AS CAN BE EXPECTED STOP GOING ON FULL STOP

M.K.

I never liked Monty Kensicle all that much as a name either.

-------

Lemony I can’t help but think that you’re sick of me, sick with me

It wasn’t like I ever—like I did it to be similar, I would NEVER, because both of us had our reasons for why we did what we did, you on that train, me and Bertrand at the opera. We knew what we were doing. Did we regret it? Enough for it to hurt, on the wrong days. Not enough for it to matter, in the long run. But enough for it to stop me every once in a while, in the way I know it stopped you.

But, but did you think, you couldn’t love someone who

Which would be, extraordinarily hypocritical of you, not to mention

I know you still think about it and I know how much it

I paid my price for what I did, Lemony, and so did you, and I didn’t

Is that how it works? Is that what happens? Is this what else I have to give up, for some shred of nobility, is my life going to be one mistake after another because I followed an order and I though they were right enough? Not even right, right enough, how stupid—is everything that happens to me going to be because of that? Am I losing you because it’s what I deserve?

Don’t I deserve good things? Don’t I still deserve happiness, and stability, and love, and a family, and all those things I worked so hard for? Because nobility wasn’t the end of it for me, this was what we wanted, something better, something for us, something we deserved, and this can’t be it, this can’t be the only thing we get for all of that, there has to be something else! And if I lose everyone close to me because of this organization Lemony I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do I feel like I’m going to lose my mind like this

--------

I think of you out there, alone, and probably cold because you never bring a damn jacket with you anywhere. It’s summer but I’m imagining you as being cold, but I think that’s just because it’s sort of what you do when anyone thinks of someone as being anywhere alone.

Or, I’m just—I’m thinking of you out there, alone, for sure. I’m doing that. I’m thinking. About you. Alone.

I’m

thinking.

I think of you. Out there. Letting Jacques know, letting Olivia know, because you had to know who was working the telegram, otherwise you wouldn’t have sent it, I think of you going out of your way to tell your brother and not me and Bertrand and maybe you thought they’d tell me anyway but I had to pull teeth to get it from Jacques and if it had been anyone else! No one but Olivia would have said! You got lucky! But not enough! Because you still didn’t tell us! You went out of your way to not!! You! I think of you! Doing that instead of having the nerve! The decency! To tell us first! You!

How could you

-------

I think of you, out there—hiding in the middle of nowhere with only the occasional newspaper for company, which, let me tell you, Lemony, is a very frustrating existence. You know what? I keep wanting to hope that you are dead because somehow that would make this easier, I can be angry at a dead man. But I can be angry at anyone, can’t I. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter. I can be angry.

I want to hope that you never sleep comfortably again. I want to hope that every sea is too uneven and every desert is too hot and every mountain is too cold and everywhere you go it’s too much. I want to hope that you try and come back and see how good and happy Bertrand and I are without you and you have to realize, you really did mess up. I want to hope that your boat goes down in the middle of the ocean and I know for sure! I want to think that you’ll be so miserable without us and it’ll never have been worth it!!

You’re out there, without us. Without me.

I hope it was worth it.

-------

What am I going to do?

I’m not picking. It’s not—I’m not capable of that, picking between you two, and I know you both had this ridiculous fear that I was going to, but I wasn’t, and I’m still not. I am selfish and clingy and I know what I want and I love what I have, and I love both of you and Bertrand loves both of us and I was ready to stake my life on the fact that you loved both of us too.

And I hate that I have to say it! Because I do! Apparently I do have to, Lemony! If it comes down to, who would I rather do this with, who would I raise a family with, who would I trust more than anything, and you made me make this choice, I’m sorry it can’t be the man who ran away from me! And part of me keeps thinking I’m not even me for saying that, I’m not, I’m not the Beatrice that was going to tear a room apart with her bare hands to get what she wanted, who would scale walls and climb buildings and shoot a gun and could ski and fence by fourteen, I’m not, taking risks, I’m not doing whatever I have to, and that everyone who told me Bertrand was boring (because there were people!!!) and safe and uncomplicated was right and that I’m betraying some fundamental aspect of myself by not even trying, and that I’m hurting Bertrand especially for making him a damn pawn in what I think my life is

But it’s not like I never did! It’s not like I didn’t spend years and years of my life trying to be a good person, trying to create the life I wanted, all of this is me, every ugly thought and every bad decision and every unfinished book and every theater script I keep leaving around places and every single page of this as I try to figure out where I want to go from here! And it just comes back to one thing, Lemony, just one thing! That we can’t do this! That I can’t have you in my life like this! That I didn’t believe it would happen but here it is, it’s happening!! I can’t avoid it! You walked away from me and expected me to be okay with it! You expected me to wait! You expected me to do it! You expected EVERYTHING from me and I only have so much to give, I’m only so much, I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING

And do you know what I am? Do you know what I am, really, when I get right down to it?? I am this, this awful woman with blood on my hands asking you for something that even I could never give anybody, not you or Bertrand or myself and I’m so sick of everything, I’m so sick of myself, I hate everyone and myself most of all, for being like this, for turning into this person, I hate hate hate hate hate all of this and how we were raised and what our future is going to be and what I’ve done and what is it going to take, for things to be better, for me to be better, for—what is it going to take, Lemony, for you to walk back through that door again and not do it over and over and over and I can’t keep letting you do this, I can’t, not to me or to Bertrand, I can’t keep hoping you’ll be there when I wake up and I can’t keep dreaming we’re going to die and I can’t keep pretending that anything about us has ever been okay or ever will be okay! Nothing about this is okay and how am I only realizing it now? How long have we been fooling ourselves into thinking that we could do this? How long do I have to be kind about this? How long do I have to play nice about you and this?

I’m UPSET and I’m ALLOWED TO BE and I

don’t

know

can

forgive

you

I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I can look at you anymore.

I don’t know.

Do you know how it was, Lemony? It was us first. You and me. From the second we saw each other in that green-walled room, it was you and me. Lemony and Beatrice. Root beer floats and being purposely mysterious to each other when we talked and being too clever. And I thought that meant we could do anything. We could die and I’d be happy because I was with you. As long as I had you.

And then there was Bertrand. And life felt different. Bertrand made it different, Bertrand made life different, he made it worth something else. And the bond that you and I had? Irreplaceable. And what we created with him only made it better. We had room in what we had for something so good. It really was Bertrand. I don’t know what would’ve become of us if it hadn’t been for him. And I saw that in you, too. You thought it too.

That was when I worried. When I started dreaming about terrible things happening to us. To you. I kept running from it because I didn’t know what else to do. I just didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose.

I’m scared to do anything. I’m scared to be wrong. I’m scared to know anything else.

I’m scared to die.

I don’t think you are.

I’m not sorry.

-------

Here are some questions. Here are some facts. Here are some things.

1 – I’m tired.

2 – I can’t even wonder if we should have done things differently anymore, right after that moment we met. In that room, I never imagined any of this.

3 – Sometimes I do think you lied all along. And that’s not a reflection on our associates or anything but just, see question/statement 1.

4 – You had to have thought about what would happen.

5 – How could we have a family like this?

6 – Did you think you could run all your life? Did you think that would work out? That Bertrand and I would be satisfied with that?

7 – Did you want me like that?

8 – What am I supposed to do?

9 – How long did you think we could keep this up?

10 – Was I wrong?

11 – What did you want?

12 – I know you’d thought about what a family with us would look like and I didn’t think you’d let anything stand in the way of that and maybe that was where I was naive.

13 – What would you say if I asked you this in person?

-------

After all this, I—

Bertrand has asked me if I have any spare pens.

-------

Lemony—

A long time ago, I sat in the diner near your apartment. We’d all known each other for a while, and you and Bea were very much together, and I didn’t quite feel like a third wheel anymore but I also didn’t feel like I was a part of everything yet. We were still dancing around each other, and I was doing it truly, incredibly badly.

I was in the habit of meeting Jo on weekends, when we would go over our reports together because we worked in similar places. We’d meet in the diner. I would arrive early and take a seat near the door. It had the best view of your window. You never turned the lights on, but I would look at it and think about you and—I’m completely serious—write the worst poetry ever to exist. You and Bea have always been much better at it. Jo would take it upon herself to help and suddenly they were these grammar-specific poems, which meant I definitely was not going to send them. Jo is many things; Jo is just not particularly a writer of romance.

I never told you or Bea, because it didn’t seem noteworthy, once we were together. But, things happen in your life and you wish you’d been able to say so much more than you did. I wanted to tell you about the face Bea makes when you aren’t there. She bites her lip and frowns around the kitchen when there’s a lull in the conversation in the spots you would usually say something clever. I wanted to tell you how the bed doesn’t feel the same when you aren’t in it. Bea says the wrinkles don’t set the same, and I feel like it’s emptier without you. I wanted to tell you that the hottest summer days—and I feel like there have been an endless amount of them so far this summer, humid and muggy and not the least bit sultry—even they feel cold when we can’t see you. I wanted to tell you that every time I do the laundry, I remember how you can’t fold socks. I wanted to tell you that I’ve stopped folding socks altogether, which has become quite the problem. Bea and I have stacks of socks in the bedroom now, which is just silly. I wanted to tell you that I love watching you put your hat by the door when you come home, resting it on the table as gently as possible, giving such a small gesture has such a big importance.

I took those things for granted. So much of my life, I’ve thought that loving things so fiercely and so determinedly could be enough, and I’ve relied on that love to get me through what we had to do. Even when the three of us weren’t together, I think I would’ve been happy to stay that way, because I could still love both of you regardless, and just that would’ve been enough. Just to be able to love you, and have your companionship. I would have cherished that always.

I’m the one who’s been so lucky, Lemony. When we all got together, I felt like my life began. I felt like you and Bea pulled me along into something beautiful and breathtaking and nothing would ever compare. I felt like it would always be there, for the rest of my life.

And I’m—

I don’t hate you. I could never. You need to know, that no matter what happens, I will never hate you. I can’t promise to not be upset with you, because I am, and a little angry, and a little disappointed, and a lot sad. But I don’t hate you.

You and Bea have such beautiful ways to say things, and I’ve always been so jealous of the way you two write. You told me that both of you were jealous of my tendency to be a little more forthright, at least when I got down to it, because let’s not forget, I did spend two months coming up with nicknames for all of us instead of just telling you how much you meant to me. But I don’t have lengthy or passionate ways to say certain things, is what it is. Actions, definitely. But when I have to say it, it comes out.

I love you.

And I wish you were here.

I never wanted to think about it, I guess. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking of things I didn’t want to think about. We do difficult things and live difficult lives. It takes its toll, and I’ve watched it happen. I thought if I held on tight enough—to you, to Bea, to myself—that we could escape some of it, no matter what we’ve done. And we’ve done a lot. We’ve been kept up in turn by sleepless nights and bad dreams and wondering too much. We’re not going to leave—not for good, and each of us know that—but it could be more manageable, together. We would figure it out, when we needed to. Perhaps I was a bit too optimistic about how well I could do it.

I hate to think it was something we did, or something we didn’t see. I hate to think that you gave up on yourself or on us. I hate to think I didn’t do enough. I know it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault. I know Bea keeps telling me I’m too kind for my own good, and I think it’s because I’m afraid to really feel anything. Feeling it makes it too real, something I have to actually contend with, and I don’t want to. I really don’t.

I want to say—I don’t want to tell you, I just want to say it—that I’m more hurt than I’ve ever been, and I don’t feel like I belong here without you, and that I think, you didn’t want to do it, but you knew what you were doing, and you did it because some things just sound easier, or hurt more but hurt less than others, and that I despise the people that we’ve become. I despise the things that we’ve been made into, and I don’t know how much of it we did to ourselves. I don’t know how much I can change.

I won’t lie, Lemony, because I’ve never been much of a liar. It’s been hard without you. Bea and I haven’t been talking very much, and we get into arguments when we do. We’ve been avoiding each other. It’s hard to avoid someone you live with, for a lot of reasons. But we’ve been managing to do it. I’ve been hiding at the Denouement. Absolutely, definitely hiding. Dewey’s not pleased but he doesn’t say no to the help organizing the archives. Bea’s been going to the theater, even though she’s technically off-duty for the next seven months (it was self-imposed off-duty, which I’ll admit was surprising). When we do talk to each other, Bea has a tendency to raise her voice, which I don’t mind, necessarily, because I understand why she keeps doing it. I have a tendency of late to do the same, which I’m not proud of. Taking it out on each other isn’t good or responsible of us, but it’s where we are right now. It is a miserable place to be.

Bea assumes I’m upset with her, but I’m not. I’m upset with myself, mostly. I keep thinking that none of this would have happened if I wasn’t here, that I made things worse. If you and Bea had just gone on by yourselves, maybe there would be so much less unhappiness. Maybe I was what made it hard for you to stay. Maybe I pressured you, maybe I pressured myself. Maybe this is my lot in life. They’re awful things to think, but I’m thinking them. That’s what people do, when upsetting things happen. We try to figure out where we went wrong. We don’t come up with any answers, but it’s better than sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves, which we do enough of too. I know eventually we’ll stop hurting each other, Bea and I. It just feels a long way away right now. A lot of things feel that way. You, myself, my friends, anything I thought I knew or had.

I’m being very unkind, to myself. That’s not your fault. It’s just something I’m realizing now. I’ve spent a lot of my life being unkind to myself. I don’t know how not to be. There are many things I don’t believe that I deserve, a sentiment I know you understand. It’s hard to feel like we deserve anything, even what we love. The more I think about it, the more I think, maybe that was why. And that breaks my heart and scares me so much, Lemony, that we—you—are capable of feeling such sadness.

Honestly, part of me wants to keep waiting. The part of me that is a fairly patient person is probably willing to do so. But the other part of me that is less patient and a husband to both of you is the part that hurts, and the part that reminds me that I am allowed to say that there is only so much I can take. I want you here more than anything, but I know for sure none of this is ever going to be that simple again.

But going forward from this, I want to feel like I deserve things. There’s only so much time I can spend regretting, or hating myself, or wishing that I had done something different. It’s easy to get caught up in all of that, and I think I still will be, for a while. I think I’m going to keep thinking miserable things for some time to come. But on the other side of that is something else. Not necessarily a happiness, or a satisfaction, but a certain kind of existence. Or, I guess, a kindness.

I love you very much, Lemony, and I can’t imagine doing this without you. I still don’t want to.

But if you have to—Bea and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here. I can’t promise in what way, but we’ll be here, if or when or anything at all. I hope you can meet us in that something else one day.

Until then, with all my love,

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

to give your heart a song to sing,

and then a kiss, but more than this,

I wish you love.

And in July, a lemonade

to cool you in some leafy glade,

I wish you health,

and more than wealth,

I wish you love.

My breaking heart and I agree

that you and I could never be,

so with my best,

my very best,

I set you free.

I wish you shelter from the storm,

a cozy fire to keep you warm,

but most of all,

when snowflakes fall,

I wish you love.

Bertrand

face the sun

in the night,

find it in the night

in the pieces,

dig for it,

dig it out with my hands alone.

yes.

what I left –

fragments,

every last eye,

unwelcome.

piling it back in.

new sunlight.

-------

So—the sad truth is that the truth is sad. The real truth is that I never wanted to believe you were right about that. I thought I could get by on good looks and sheer force and well-hidden optimism and believing I was right. I was wrong. We were all wrong, some of us more wrong than others.

Where you went wrong is thinking that we—that I—would be okay with this. And that was where I went wrong too, I admit. The blame could be with all of us.

What I do know is that we can’t be together like this. Not like this. This is where it ends.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. I don’t know what Bertrand and I will do. And the two of us—Bertrand and I—can figure that out. In whatever way that is. Whatever you’re doing, I leave you to it.

You will—always, always, always—be (somewhere) in my mind, and (deep) in my heart, and wherever (wherever.) (parenthetical required.) you are. Be it a boat, or a cave, or the city, or a grave, true or false. That’s the way you want it. That’s the way I will accept it. Good luck.

Beatrice

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events

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sweetness47 · 4 years

Text

Pinky Promise

Pairing Bucky x reader

This is a late present for @sherrybaby14 😊 Happy Birthday Sweetie <3 . There are some flashback moments in italics, part of the background story.

Warnings: some underage smut-ish stuff, smut, some fluff, language, child abandonment, child kidnapping, parental rejection dark moments, etc… MATURE 18+ READERS ONLY!!! DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU!!!

Summary: You and Bucky grew up as neighbours, you always watched each other’s backs, always defended the other. Both of you were close with Steve as well. But it was Bucky who was particularly close to you.

Five years old, Kindergarten

A shy YN entered the classroom, clinging to the skirt her mother wore. She didn’t want to stay here, there were too many people. And they all looked super scary.

“Mama, I want to go home!” she pleaded.

“You will be fine sweetie, promise. I’ll come back in a couple of hours to get you, ok? You’ll have lots of fun.”

The teacher, Mrs. Bird, came over. “You must be YN. I’m Mrs. Bird. There’s some dolls over here, I can show them to you if you like.”

The teacher held out her hand, and YN looked at her, then looked more closely at the room. Toys filled all the corners, there were dolls, toy cars, building blocks, coloring books. Slowly, more out of curiosity, she took Mrs. Bird’s hand and together they went over to where other girls were playing with dolls and clothes. YN’s mother took that opportunity to sneak away, thankful for the distraction the teacher had provided.

She knelt down, finding a blonde hair baby to play with. She took some dresses and began trying them on her, then another girl came and snatched the doll away.

“My doll.”

“No! I had it first!” YN yelled back.

“Too bad.” The other girl sneered at YN and pushed her.

“I think that girl had the doll first. Give it back to her.”

Both girls turned to a young boy. “Buzz off kid.” The other girl turned to ignore him.

The boy took the doll, and gave it back to YN. The teacher came over, and pulled the other girl aside to talk about her manners.

YN looked at the boy who had now sat down beside her. “Thank you. I’m YN.”

“My name is James.” The boy said, holding his hand out for her to shake.

She did. “This your first day?” she asked.

James nodded. “You?”

“Yeah.”

He turned to her. “Wanna be best friends?”

“Sure.” She replied.

“Here.” He held out his pinky finger. “Let’s pinky promise. We will always be friends, always help each other, always.”

She connected her pinky with his. “I like that promise.”

Her mind wandered, away from the pain, away from the nightmares. The memory, if that’s what it was, was nice, a good distraction. Where was this? When?

The conditioning resumed. Tears fell from her eyes as her mind took her away again.

16 Years Old, High School

“You gotta be kidding Buck. No way. Uh uh. I am not wearing heels that high. Nope. Not happening.”

“C’mon YN, they will look really good with the gown.” He pleaded.

YN turned to Steve. “Are you gonna let him rag on me like that?”

“Leave it Buck. She doesn’t have to wear the shoes. They are a bit high. You don’t want your prom date to end up on crutches do you?” he said to his friend.

“Fine.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “It was only a suggestion.” He placed a chaste kiss on YN’s forehead. “No one’s going to notice the shoes anyways, they will be too busy staring at the dress.”

Steve laughed and nodded. “True enough.”

“You guys are going to make me blush.” YN chimed in as she did a fancy twirl. The gown she’d picked off the rack was perfect size. The blue satin moved gracefully around her, making her shiver when material brushed against her skin. It was a halter top design, the low V accentuating her breasts. Small beads adorned the waistline, giving the illusion of a belt, and completing the delicate piece of clothing. “This is definitely the one.”

“I have to agree.” Bucky came over to stand beside her. Steve joined as well. “You look stunning.”

She blushed furiously, and went back to the change room. Bucky paid for the dress and made arrangements to get it shipped to her house.

Bucky had been right in suggesting everyone’s eyes would be glued to the dress. YN always dressed plain, not wanting to stand out, yet here she was, the most beautifully dressed tonight. How had she let Bucky talk her into this? Her mind screamed at her to run, seek safety of her home, but her heart was right where she wanted to be, with James “Bucky” Barnes.

Her eyes flitted open, the room was blurry. She watched as people walked around, whispering amongst themselves, all kinds of tubes and needles everywhere. Her body was strapped down, helpless…she didn’t know what or where she was, she wasn’t even sure anymore who she was. The conditioning resumed as one of the fuzzy figures injected something into her IV.

16 years old, Graduation

The party lasted well into the night. James took Steve home, then drove YN back to her place. “I love you Buck.”

The words surprised them both. Yeah, they’d been dating for a while, but neither had actually said the words…till now. Bucky leaned over to kiss her, his lips soft, inviting YN to open hers. He moaned as his tongue found hers, dancing together in the heat. “I love you too, YN.”

The kiss deepened, Bucky reaching to hike up her skirt, while YN worked at undoing his belt and pants. Truthfully, they hadn’t planned to go far, but neither wanted to stop. It felt right. YN lifted her hips as Bucky slid off her underwear, then moved his hands to cup her mound. She was soft, wet with desire for this man. He slipped a finger inside, and she gave a soft cry as her body adjusted to the invasion. Then he moved it, slowly, covering her passionate pleas with bruising kisses.

His hand then left, and he moved her to lay on the seat of the car. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Always the gentleman, she thought to herself. “Yes.”

Bucky nodded, and in one swift moment, he was in, thrusting past the barrier of her innocence. Tears stung her eyes, but she smiled up at him. His look of concern was heartwarming, so she gave a nod of assurance that indeed she was ok. He moved then, pulling out then pushing back in. YN experienced her first orgasm, the explosion sending unimaginable pleasure through her.

“Bucky! Oh god…”

He moved faster, spurred by her response, and YN found herself wrapping her legs around his waist. He was all muscle and pure sin. And he was hers. He came shortly after, spilling his seed inside her, collapsing on top of her. Both were panting and sweaty, but neither regretted that night.

“Her conditioning is complete. She is ready for testing.”

“Well done Dr. Let’s see what she can do.”

YN looked at the room she now found herself in. She was no longer strapped down, no tubes attached to her arms, and she was fully clothed. The suit was light, breathable, and allowed her to move with ease.

Two soldiers came in, no guns, but stood ready to strike. YN looked almost bored.

Until they moved to attack her.

It was almost too fast to see with the human eye, the way she grabbed the arm of the first soldier, tearing it from his body, then gouging his eyes out. The second soldier wrapped his arms around her, trying to contain and limit her movement, but she took both hands and grabbed his head from behind. She pulled him over her, and punched a hole in his chest, literally, pulling out his heart and smashing it on the ground.

All that took about 20 seconds.

She stayed there, waiting for instructions. The Doctor and the other man came in to the room. The man looked her over. “Hail Hydra!” he saluted her.

“Hail Hydra!” she replied.

Yes. She was ready.

Steve looked at his friend in wide disbelief. “No way. She was too smart to have ever been captured by Hydra.”

Bucky stared right back. “She wasn’t, originally. She was like me. A victim of circumstance. I wouldn’t lie about this Steve. You know me. You know how I felt about her. You honestly think I would make shit like that up?”

“It’s entirely possible that this YN could have fallen victim to the same circumstances as James.” Natasha interjected.

“Maybe, but if that’s the case, who knows what kind of conditioning she’s been through. And would we even be able to get her back?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders at Steve. “You got me back Rogers. Don’t you think she deserves that chance too?”

Cap sighed. “True enough. But it’s going to be tough getting past the defenses. Hydra’s pretty well fortified.”

Black Scorpion. That’s what they called her now.

Her old name and old life a distant memory, fading farther as the days went by. She no longer heard the name YN. No longer did anyone treat her with anything but respect and indifference. They were probably scared of her. She was the best weapon they’d ever made. Even better than the Winter Soldier had been. She was flawless.

They had used an improved version of the Super Soldier Serum. Superior to any used before. Her skin was impenetrable now, she had no need of bullet proof garments. Knives were useless as well. She was the perfect killing machine.

It was based on nanite technology, tiny microscopic robots that had integrated with her DNA, bonding with her blood, giving her instant healing and armour.

She’d been part of Hydra’s experiments for decades. YN was given the original Super Serum to preserve her life, then they worked on perfecting it, and her.

The Black Scorpion lived true to the name, the perfect Hydra operative. She never missed a target, never botched a mission, never failed…period.

She’d encountered the Avengers a few times, but her mask shrouded them from making any kind of headway as to her identity. When not working, she remained inside the base, she had no need for food or sleep, so she trained, meditated, and trained more.

Those Hydra soldiers who weren’t scared of her tried to get her into their beds, but were unsuccessful. She had no need of such activities, and she certainly wasn’t going to engage in them with those losers.

There were times where, if she did close her eyes, she would have flashes of what seemed to be dreams, images of a child and others like her, playing together. Visions of going to school, eating at diners, plagued her.

But there was one that haunted her most of all.

It was a boy, well the first images were a young boy, but they were friends, then more than friends, then…well that’s where it usually ended. She could never see anything beyond that. And while she no longer had emotion or knew anything other than what was current, the images continued to appear, eventually even happening while she was awake. It never affected her missions, and no one was ever aware this was happening. She never told a soul.

Her outside façade never showed anything but the calm, cool, collected Black Scorpion. Her mind struggled between the conditioning and the flashes of this boy. She had to find out who he was, and why she was dreaming of him. But she didn’t have any security clearance for the computers that occupied the rooms. So she had little to help her in her quest, but was determined none-the-less.

“You’re absolutely sure this is where she’d be?”

“I’m sure.”

Nat stood by Bucky. “I believe you. Let’s get your friend.”

Steve sighed. “Ok. But, stealth? Please?” He looked specifically at Bucky first, who rolled his eyes, then at Natasha.

“Duh.” Nat stuck her tongue out at Cap, who shook his head.

Bucky scoured the area, counting the guards and gathering intel, including the easiest way in. He found it: a service tunnel that lead to a secluded grove of pines. The electrical building was there. It was a perfect place to sneak inside and get to YN.

But their stealth was no match for a certain Hydra operative who happened to be watching the fields, desperately trying to find a way into the computer systems, hoping it had some intel on her past. The flashes and images were becoming more frequent, and it terrified her, she who had no emotion, who’s humanity had been stripped away by decades of brainwashing.

She didn’t alert any of the other soldiers. There was no need for anyone else. She had taken on these people before, and could easily do so again. Donning her mask, she made her way quickly to the service tunnel she saw them heading toward. Her plan…take them out…permanently.

She hid in the shadows of the first corner, listening for the anticipated footsteps.

Bucky was the first down, followed by Nat and then Cap. The tunnel was dimly lit, but manageable. There were no guards down there, it was just the opposite, an eerie quiet filled the long hallways. Bucky’s senses were on high alert, as were the other two. They moved cautiously down the passage, listening for anything.

Almost too late, Bucky caught a very faint intake of breath from around the corner, just before Black Scorpion came charging at them. The three Avengers scattered, avoiding the long sword flying in their direction.

“There will be no escape this time. You will all fall to Hydra!”

“Not in this century, bitch.” This from Widow, who took out her own baton to combat with.

Her laugh sent chills down their spines. “Your imaginary feats of escape and heroism are small, and will ultimately lead to your demise.” She scoffed. “Why would only three of you come here? Do you have a need to die so quick?”

“We’re looking for a friend of ours.”

Scorpion turned to the famed Soldier. “We don’t have any of Shield’s agents in our cells, though you are welcome to become prisoners.”

“She isn’t a Shield agent. She is a friend. From our childhood. Her name is YN. YFN YLN.”

Scorpion stopped, staring at Captain America. Then her eyes floated over to the man beside him. Dark hair, scruffy, but the eyes…blue as the sky on a clear day. It couldn’t be. The boy from her visions was Hydra’s traitor?

Bucky caught the confusion in Scorpion’s eyes. “Please. If you know where she is, tell us. I love her. I always have, always will.”

Scorpion couldn’t speak. She had to retreat, clear her head. She turned to flee, but Bucky’s swift motions caught her attempt, grabbing her arm and swinging her around. The force of the movement caused her mask to fly off, leaving two speechless Avengers.

The object of the mission was standing right in front of them.

Nat snuck around while Scorpion was preoccupied and gave her enough sedative to knock out a tyrannosaurus. Her stinger was made with a metal alloy not of this world, able to penetrate anything, even Cap’s shield. The perfect weapon that was Black Scorpion slid slowly to the ground, her eyes never leaving the Winter Soldier’s.

17 Years Old

Her period never came. It was due two weeks ago. She smiled to herself. Bucky would be thrilled when she told him. They were going to have a baby. She knew she was young, but they would make it work. He already had a good job. They could get a small place somewhere, settle down, get married.

The only other thing she had to do was tell her parents. They were good role models, loving, caring. She couldn’t not say anything. This was going to be their grandchild. They would surely be happy, right?

“Mom? Dad? Can we talk?” she approached them after dinner.

“Sure honey. What’s wrong?” her mother coaxed, motioning for YN to sit on the sofa beside her.

YN bit her lip and looked down at her lap for a moment. “I’m pregnant.”

There, she’d said it. Now all she had to do was wait for the shouts of joy, the hugs.

But they never came.

Instead, her father stood from his chair. “What?”

Her mother looked horrified. “You’re pregnant? Who…?” she stopped. “It’s that boy, James something. Isn’t it? What did he do? Did he force you? Is that what happened?”

YN shook her head. “No. Nothing like that! James and I love each other. He’s going to marry me, and we’re going to be a family.”

The hard slap echoed through the room, tears stinging the reddening cheek on YN’s face. “You slut! How could you shame us like that? Your parents! We loved you, cared for you, and this is how you repay us? You ungrateful little girl. Go to your room, NOW!”

YN ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door and flinging herself onto her bed. Never, in her 17 years, had her mom and dad ever hit her. That hurt almost as much as the actual slap. Possibly more. Why wouldn’t they be happy? It wasn’t like James was going to abandon her. They had to know that, right?

She cried herself to sleep. When she finally woke, she was greeted with a splitting headache, and the realization that she wasn’t at her home. In fact, she was pretty sure she wasn’t in the same city. Where was she? How did she get here?

She wandered around, the dark alley producing frightening shadows, hints of danger lurked everywhere. She walked to and fro, up and down the streets of the foreign town, hoping this was just some bad nightmare. But no luck. After hours of aimless searching, the pregnant teen sat on a nearby park bench, shivering, crying uncontrollably, praying for a miracle.

Her eyes flew open, immediately tensing as she glanced around the white room. She was in some kind of hospital room, or infirmary. Same thing. But what, why…Her mind reeled over what she could remember, which wasn’t much at first. Scared and confused, she hopped off the bed, only to be met with one kickback of a dizzy spell. She collapsed, shaking, as her weak limbs struggled to get up off the cold cement. The nanites that were inside her had gone dormant, sleeping while she slept. They would get her back up in a few minutes, but that wasn’t the biggest concern.

Numerous flashes of different scenarios crossed her mind: murder, fighting, killing people…then children playing, laughing…

The boy with the blue eyes.

She was unaware that someone had entered the room. Strong arms lifted her off the floor, gently placing her back into the comfort of the bed. Those same blue eyes met hers, concern etched across his beautiful face.

“You ok?” his voice was just as sinful as the rest of him. She nodded. “What do you remember?”

She shook her head. “I…I’m not really sure. There’s so many chopped up images in my head right now, it might as well be an entire theatre of movies times 50.”

He chuckled. “Do you remember your name?”

“Bla…” she paused, “No, it…it’s YN.” Her eyes widened. “Buck?”

Bucky let out a huge sigh of relief. “Yeah doll, it’s me.”

YN began to frown, which was quickly replaced with tears of remorse. “Oh god…Buck, I’m so sorry. I…”

He gathered her into his strong embrace. “Shhh, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you YN. It was Hydra.”

She held up her hand. “No, Bucky, please let me finish.” He stopped, facing her. “I never wanted to leave you. I wasn’t given a choice.”

He leaned back. “What are you talking about? You wrote me a letter saying you were going to college. You wanted to remain just friends. I stopped hearing from you, eventually, and I joined the army.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t go away to college Buck. My parents sent me away.”

His features darkened. “Why?”

“Because I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby.”

His jaw dropped. His voice barely a whisper, “What?”

“They were so mad, telling me I had shamed them. I went to my room and cried myself to sleep. When I woke, I was in a strange town, no other clothes than what I wore, no money, no note, no goodbye. Nothing. They abandoned me.”

The metal hand curled into a fist. “Those bastards. Why didn’t you contact me?”

“I couldn’t. I had no way to do anything like that. I was almost starved to death when this couple came by and saw me alone on the park bench. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for 2 days at that point. They offered me a place to stay, and I accepted. That was my first encounter with Hydra.”

“It was too good an offer to pass up at the time. I was scared, pregnant and alone…and I was hungry. I didn’t know much about them beyond what they told me. I told them about the baby, and they appeared even more concerned. So they took me in and gave me a new home. They helped me go shopping for clothes for the child, a cradle, everything I would need. They seemed to live a simple life, no phones or anything. They bought whatever I needed or wanted, so I never had any need for an allowance or a job.”

“When the baby started to come, the couple rushed me to a special ‘hospital’ where I could have ‘the best care’ possible. We had a son Buck. But then everything went downhill. I wasn’t even given a chance to hold him. He was taken from the room and I never saw him again. That’s when they started experimenting on me. They gave me the Super Soldier serum to keep me from aging while they worked to perfect it. They did outside trials too, hence Captain America and you, but it was my body they used as their test subject. While I was under, they had subliminal messages playing, conditioning to make me forget who I was. This went on for decades.”

Bucky listened in horror, his stomach threatening to heave his recent meal. He couldn’t believe those assholes had done this to her. To his YN. “God, YN. I never knew.”

“I know. I don’t blame you. I would have contacted you if I knew how, or had the tools to do so.” She bit her lip. “But our son is out there now. They are probably raising him, training him right from birth that Hydra is his life. We have to find him.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “We will. Promise. But right now, you need to rest.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

She smiled. “Pinky promise?”

“Always.”

#happy birthday sherrybaby14 #bucky x reader

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slashhinginghasher · 4 years

Text

Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 5: Gratitude

Summary: Marena meets some of the staff. No one gets a good first impression.

This work is on Ao3

It wasn’t the worst night Marena had endured - not by far - but it still sucked. A lot. At some point between the beginning and end of her bout of hysteria, she’d gone from sitting upright to lying sprawled across the concrete floor. Her throat felt raw, her face wet with blood or sweat or tears, or maybe all three, and her limbs didn’t even have the strength to tremble anymore. The room seemed to lurch and sway like the berth of a ship in some terrible storm, like the ship that had taken her away from...

Her stomach clenched violently. She tried to stand, but somehow found herself face down on the ground. Long past any semblance of dignity, she dragged herself in what she hoped was the general direction of the drain she’d seen in the corner. Her fingers brushed cold metal moments before her empty stomach revolted, retching up thin strings of spit and bile. This went on until it didn’t, and then her arms gave out, and she was curled up on her side, and her brains were probably leaking out through her eyes and nose.

She felt… split. Outside of herself. Like there were two of her, one limp on the floor and choking on occasional hiccups of laughter, the other suspended in air and looking dispassionately upon her wretched counterpart. An abyss was opening in the back of her skulls, filled with the fog and static of greyspace. Her heads throbbed, the gaping emptiness yawning wider and wider with each pulse.

The lights snapped on like a dagger to her eyes. She tried to flinch but couldn’t figure out which body to move. There was a sense of motion, of lifting. She swatted blindly at the hands grabbing at her with all the strength of a milk-drunk kitten, digging her nails in when they encountered soft skin. A sharp pinch in the crook of her elbow. Marena tasted blood and fell back into the grey.

***

Two black-haired girls stood face-to-face in a stark grey void, twin reflections like a mirror. The one on the left shivered in a threadbare linen shift.

“Please.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Help me.”

The one on the right stood silent, stoic in her heavy hooded cloak.

“Then let me die,” the Left One pled.

The Right One pushed back her hood, letting the cloak fall to the floor. Her flesh was cracked like porcelain, meat and bone showing through the larger gaps. Black blood oozed slowly from the wounds like tar..

“This is nothing but what you deserve.” Blood dripped from her mouth and eyes.

The Left One shuddered as her skin began to crack in patterns mirroring the Right One’s. Orange firelight glowed in the fissures, burning brighter by the second. Black smoke seeped from the Left One’s wounds, poured from her mouth and nose. The Right One bled faster.

They reached for each other, and crumbled to dust the moment before their fingers touched.

***

She was handcuffed to a hospital bed. An IV was in her arm. And she was clean. She could feel, without opening her eyes, that someone had scrubbed away all the sweat and dirt, bandaged her cuts, even neatly combed her hair. And it was that, out of everything she’d been subjected to over the past few days, that almost broke her.

Marena was no stranger to abuse. She was deeply familiar with it, almost used to it, if one could ever get used to the kind of violence she’d survived. She knew how to switch herself off during a beating, how to hold back the pain until she could get to a safe (as if safety was something she’d ever known) place to lick her wounds. But the thought of having such tenderness inflicted upon her, especially while she was unconscious and vulnerable, made her want to rip her skin off. People were never gentle without ulterior motives, and she felt sick thinking about what those motives might be.

An impatient shifting drew her attention to the man sitting in the chair next to her bed. He was unfamiliar to her. Unlike SkullBitch, this one had a full head of hair, a wicked Glasgow grin across his pretty-boy face, and although he was sitting, Marena could tell he was a normal human height, unlike his freakish giant of an associate.

“Sleeping Beauty awakes at last!” One thing Marena had learned fairly early on was that Americans were obsessed with referencing fairytale princesses in daily conversation. It annoyed the shit out of her every single time. She fixed the man with a blankly impassive stare and waited. His smug grin shrank with each passing second of silence until he looked as irritated as she felt.

Good. No one gets to enjoy themselves, suka.

“You’re not his usual type,” he said, switching tactics. He dragged his gaze over her, but it felt impersonal, like a farmer at the meat market. “Not sure if that makes your chances better or worse.” His smile held a malicious edge this time as he leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re his new Veronica.”

Marena lunged at him, teeth snapped shut a scant inch from the tip of his nose as he jerked back. She hadn’t really been trying to get him; she just wanted him out of her face. The brief flash of panic in his eyes was a nice little bonus, though. He shot to his feet with a poisonous glare, trying to look menacing, but he was too much of an open book to be a real threat, even though Marena’s hands were literally tied.

“You little--”

“Preston!” The sharp voice startled both of them. A short brunette stood in the doorway, a lanky figure in scrubs hovering behind her. “You aren’t authorized to be in here. Leave. Now.” To Marena’s surprise, Preston, as he was apparently called, didn’t argue. He gave Marena one more murderous look, then stalked out of the room with his fists clenched at his sides. The small woman sighed once and smoothed a non-existent wrinkle from her slacks.

“Sorry about him. He’s a pain in the ass.” The woman strode forward with a placid smile that reminded Marena of Dr. Call Me Linda, the “let’s be friends even though you have at least five reasons to kill me” smile. She stopped next to Preston’s vacated chair and folded her hands behind her. “My name is Spann. How are you feeling?”

Of all the dumb fucking… Marena couldn’t have formulated a response to that if she’d wanted to. Unfazed by the lack of response, Spann continued.

“You had a nasty concussion, as well as--”

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?” To Spann’s credit, her courteous expression barely wavered.

“I don’t give a fuck what’s wrong with me. Just shut up.”

Spann was probably excellent at poker.

“I know this is a difficult situation for you, but after your little stunt in the basement, a little gratitude wouldn’t be out of place.”

This bitch is delusional.

“Gratitude.”

“Yes. Very few people have seen my employer’s face and lived, let alone been left in one piece.” Marena chewed on that for a moment, though she was mostly fixated on the “employer” bit. She briefly wondered if she’d fallen into the hands of the world’s most melodramatic bounty hunter, then decided that it was unlikely and also that she didn’t care.

Spann appeared to be waiting for an answer.

“If he was on fire and I had a hose, I’d strangle him.”

Marena didn’t get to see the other woman’s composure slip, as Spann chose that moment to turn and gesture the person still lurking in the doorway forward. He was a lanky, nervous-looking man with glasses. He was carrying a metal tray, and when he set it down, Marena could see a syringe with an intimidatingly thick needle, and a black leather collar.

“The syringe has a microchip with a built-in tracker,” Spann explained. “The collar also has a tracker. Pick one.” Marena eyed the tray, a tense ache rising in her chest and throat.

“Is quick death an option?”

“No.” That infuriating smile had returned to Spann’s lips. The man in scrubs shifted on his feet. “I recommend you make up your mind quickly. None of the others were even given the option to choose.” Spann gave her a pointed look. Fucking gratitude again. The ache grew sharper.

“The fucking needle,” Marena spat between clenched teeth. Spann raised her eyebrows in mild surprise but said nothing as she gestured at the man again. Marena fixed her eyes on the ceiling and barely flinched as the needle slid home just above her collarbone. It was over in a heartbeat; the man dabbed a spot of blood away with a cotton pad, placed everything back on the tray, and left. Spann was halfway to the door when Marena couldn’t hold her silence any longer.

“How many?”

“Pardon?” Spann glanced back over her shoulder.

“How many other girls in the house?” Forcing the words out was like pushing boulders up a hill.

“None,” Spann said, seeming confused. “There’s only you.” Marena shut her eyes briefly and swallowed hard.

“And how often do I...” The question stuck in her dry throat, the threat of a revolving door of faceless men looming over her. She didn’t need to finish the sentence for comprehension to dawn on Spann’s face.

“Mr. Cromeans is not in the habit of sharing,” the brunette replied. “It’s just you and him.” She walked out, the door clicking shut behind her. Marena sagged back against her pillows and tried to focus her breathing.

She was not reassured.

#my writing #jesse cromeans #chromeskull #marena polunochnaya #laid to rest

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reeree1500 · 5 years

Text

The Return- Part 10

Disclaimer: YALL IM SO SO SO SORRY.😭😭 I have been horrible and not updated this story for at least a month.😬 I can explain though... University has been kicking my ass and between that and my co-op placement at a law firm.😅 Ive had absolutely no time to do anything😩 BTW IVE MISSED YALL SO MUCH❤️And Ive read all your messages and asks. And yes my mental health is now better and y'all are so understanding and supportive 💕 honestly could not have asked for a better group of individuals☺️❤️

Part 1 part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9 Part 11

Anyways onto the storyyyyy.....

Warnings: ANGSTY AF (kinda figured out that im probably a smut and angst writer at this point🤷🏽‍♀️), sucky ass grammar and spelling like always, my cliche imagination and the fact that Im probably a horrible human being😬😩 Also made it extra long cuz I felt baddd

PLEASE DONT KILL ME FOR THIS ONE😬

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @camatsuru @youbloodymadgenius @calum-hoodwinked-me @cutegyrl927 @wuxiesalt @readsalot73 @cindy-exo @affection-rabbit @amy8220 @mel0nch0ly @queenofallthyfandoms @limbo-limbo-limbo @ragnarssonsbitch @supernaturalvikingwhore @ifihadwings128 @paintballkid711 @jenny-the-lover @funmadnessandbadassvikings @blonddnamedhandz @hallowed-heathen @pinkrockstar19 @ivarthethiccness

Sorry if I missed any of you💕 Lemme know if you want to be tagged. Also requests are open, and I’ve got a ton of them to do and finish. Hopefully Ill be able to post them soon enough

Arthur’s POV

“Arthur please! Open the door my love, I know what it may seem like to you, but I assure you that its not.” (Y/n) pleaded from the other side. I sat down on the mattress in our chamber contemplating whether or not it was true. Should I believe what my wife so desperately is trying to reassure me off. Or should I stick with my gut feeling and tell her how I have felt for the last 4 years. Her constant pounding on the door finally gets to me and I make my way to open it. “I wish to be left alone at the moment (y/n).” Her arms circle around my waist and I can feel her face wetting by back with tears. “Arthur please, talk to me. Why have you run off. You know that I love you. I do not want him, all he does is bring me pain and you take that away. So please, talk to me!” (y/n) murmurs into my back. As much as it pains me to do so I pry her hands off of me and sit us down on the bed. All I do is long for her touch, but this is not okay. I cannot keep feeling this way and go on pretending that I could have ever stood a chance against him. “(y/n), look at me. I love you and I always will. But its evident that you love him. and I honestly can say that I know I will never stand a chance against him, because the thought of you possibly running back to him has always been on my mind since the day we got married.”

Her eyes showed so much pain that confessing this felt as if I was driving a knife through her heart. “Arthur, I love you. What can I do to show you that. Yes I confess that I was in love with him, but that was long ago and I have left it in the past in order to build a future with you. Whom I love and who I share and will continue to share beautiful children with. So please don't shut me out, Arthur.” She says leaning our foreheads together and holding my face in her gentle hands. “Ok, however I want to be able to process things by myself. So I have decided to have the guest room across the hall prepared only until I figure things out.” With out giving her a chance to fight back, I place my lips on hers and savour the kiss as if it were our last. Meeting her eyes was something I wanted to avoid as I knew that just looking at her broken expression would make me change my mind. I hastily make my way out of the room, but sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to find my wife staring off into the direction where I once sat. With tears streaming down her eyes...

Your POV

What had I done? Why was I such fool to not see what my husband was clearly going through? Millions of questions rushed into my mind about how to go about this situation. I loved Arthur, I was clear on that. But he spoke the truth, there was something in me that could not let Ivar go and it took hurting my husband and Ivar to figure that out. As I sulked I forgot about the doctor whom I had asked to see me earlier. I was having really bad stomach pains and my breasts were more tender then they had ever been. So I wanted to make sure that I was not sick, as that would have been the last thing I needed on my plate at the moment. “My Queen, are you alright? Do you wish to push back this appointment, I dont mind coming by later when you're better.” The doctor spoke from behind me. “Yes, it seems so. Ill let the servant girl know if I need you doctor. Im sorry for the inconvenience.” “Nonsense your majesty, it is my pleasure to serve you.” With a bow the doctor retreats from the room and Im left to my own thoughts once again...

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“(y/n), wake up... its seems that you fell asleep on the floor. Come on I’ll help you up.” Upon hearing Hvitty’s comforting voice my eyes flutter open and I cant help the tears that song come down my face like a cascade. “(y/n)! are you alright are you hurt anywhere? Why are you crying?” Hvitserk’s eyes scan my face and my body looking for the source of my pain, which is held in my heart, but he’ll never know that. “Arthur... He...” I try to find the words to say. “What! What did he do! Did he hurt you? I swear ill kill him!” With that Hvitserk tries to let me go and run out the door, but somehow I manage to stop him. “Hvitserk, No! He didn't hurt me. I hurt him... He believes that Im in love with Ivar, and I fear that their maybe some truth to it...” I say just above a whisper, with my head held low. “(Y/N), Ive known that since before you were married. It was obvious, but I would never say anything to you because I found that it was best if I kept such observations to myself, before I found out about your father.” Lifting my head and staring directly at him, I move my head to the side with a puzzling look. “What do you mean about my father, Hvitserk?” Hvitserk now mirrors the same lost look that I have on my face. “I thought thats why you and Ivar had gotten together, because Ragnar’s not your father...”

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Ivar’s POV

“Aghhhh!”Is the sound that comes out of my gritted teeth when the medicinal herbs are placed on my face. “That hurts like a bitch, get out! Ill do this myself if I have to. GO!” I yell at the servant girl who tried to cleanse and tend to the cuts on my face. “Ivar, please let the servants tend to you. I still cannot believe that Arthur punched you in the face. Hehehe, you deserved it though, how could you question the paternity of his children and not expect him to want to kill you?” Bjorn laughs as he chugs the rest of his drink down. “Well, if you actually cared about your children and the heir to your throne, you’d also be quite upset to find a Christian King claiming to be their father. Those children are mine! And its pretty evident, just look at Marjorie. She's my spitting image.” I snarl at him as the anger begins to rise in me again. “Ivar, thats your mistake and why you’ll never get (y/n) back. You believe that everything should be yours. And that people are things you can govern over, but they're not. Because those are children. And yes they may be yours, but you cannot take away what they have known because you want to be selfish.” He says with a stern look on his face, whilst getting up from his chair and making his way to the door. “Now get ready and fix yourself we have a intimate dinner to attend to with MY sister and the love of your life.” Unbeknownst to us, there was Freydis on the balcony listening to our whole conversation. And little did I know that it would come to be the thing I regretted the most.

At the dinner I notice (y/n) sit on the opposite side of the table from Arthur. This wouldn't have affected me if it wasn't for the look on both of their faces. They seemed distraught and broken. Arthur masked it well, but (y/n) was an open book for all of us to know exactly how she felt at that moment. Not much talking happened, besides Marjorie and Erik shouting at each other on who was better at riding. They reminded me a lot of myself and all I wanted was to tell them the truth, that they were my children and that they would go back to Kattegat with me to learn about the true gods and not the fable that had been told to them about their so called ‘God’.” “(Y/n) are you alright, you do not seem quite like yourself tonight.” Bjorn states with a concerned look that we all share. Even Arthur looks a bit concerned, but his body language makes it seem as if he is alright and nothing is wrong. “Sarah, could you please put Marjorie and Erik to bed? Its getting late for them and they have their lessons early in the morning.” She says with a stern and cold look in her (e/c) eyes. “Su...sure your majesty. “ At that Bjorn stands up as if to accompany Sarah, but is quickly stopped by (y/n)’s icy glare and venomous words. “Sit your ass down.” At that we all look astonished, but Hvitserk only stares at her with sadness and what seems to be sympathy. He must know why she is like this then.

Bjorn slowly sits back down on the table. A shocked look graces his face, as he cannot comprehend why she is acting this way towards her beloved older brother. “How long.” Is all she grits out through her teeth. “What do you mean, (y/n)?” My eyes meet Hvitserk’s own and the realization dawns upon me. She knows...

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Your POV

“Stop with the bullshit! I cannot take anyone else lying to me!” I scream as I bang my hands against the table, stunning everyone in sight. “How long did you know that Ragnar was not my father! How long have you kept the truth from me! How long have you known that Athelstan was my father!” I could careless about everyone staring at me as if I was a mad woman. I had been lied to my whole life. All I had known had been a lie, and the people who I trusted the most in this world had been the ones keeping it a secret from me. “(Y/N)... I..I’ve know since the moment you were born. But father had sworn me into secrecy and I could not break a promise. This doesn't change anything though. You are still my sister and you will always be.” Bjorn says in a haste as tries to come closer to me, but I step back and move as far back as I can. “Did you know? Tell me! Ivar did you know that we were not siblings!” Ivar didn't even have to answer. I knew from the look in his eyes that he too had been lying to me.

“I knew.” Arthur says staring right at me. “I knew that you weren't his daughter and I knew that Ivar wasn't your brother. But I kept that information from you because all I wanted to do was have you by my side. I’m sorry, for the pain I have caused you (y/n). Im sorry for being selfish and not telling you the truth, but I now see that I was wrong and as of tomorrow you are free to go back to your country. I promise that your title and lands will not be taken from you or from the children. May they be mine or his. But I cannot go on with this facade anymore.” Arthur says in the most calm demeanour as he stands up and comes to me. “You hypocrite! How dare you make me feel like shit for harbouring feelings for Ivar when you knew all along and knew that my whole life was a lie.” I scream as I run at him and slap him across the face. But before I can get another punch in I feel a strong grip holding me from behind. From the shocks and the utter feeling in my stomach I knew it could have only been Ivar. As I try desperately to release from his vice grip, my whole world comes crashing down when Sarah enters the room. With blood all over her.

“Your highnesses...Erik.... he.. he..” She tries to say through her shock. “What! What is wrong with my son!” Ivar, Arthur and I scream at the same time. “He.. he’s dying!”

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We all simultaneously run after Sarah towards the doctors quarters. Ivar with his brace on, manages to run faster than all of us and busts the doors wide open. if I wasn't so worried about my son or upset about the fact they all knew Ragnar wasn't my father, I would've been impressed. “What are you doing! Get away from my son!” At that Ivar rushes towards the doctor who is bleeding Erik out. Grabbing him by the collar he slams the doctor on the wall and his sclera go into bluish hue, showing that he is in danger of breaking a bone. “Ivar stop it! Let the man go, he is just trying to help.” “Help my ass! I will not let you harm my son, do you understand me! I will not let you harm him!” At that Ivar lets the doctor go, but not without staring him down. And the doctor looking like he is about to shit himself. Rushing to Erik’s side I notice something strange. The colour of his skin is now fading and his eyes have bags under them. But what hits me the most is the memory of Uncle Rollo teaching me about poison. “He doesn't need to be bled, he needs medicine. He’s been poisoned...”

“Mama! What is wrong with Erik! He will be okay right? He has to be okay!” Marjorie begins to say as she shakes with fear. Before Arthur or I could say something to console her, Ivar bends down and takes her hands in his. “Marjorie, listen to me. Your brother is a fighter and so are you. After all were related aren't we?” Ivar says as he lifts her chin. “Yes..I suppose that we are. Is it true what they say though? Are you our father?” At that Ivar turns to me looking towards me for permission. At this point I think to myself how hard it was to learn my whole life had been a lie and that I would not want that for my children, so I nod. “Yes, Marjorie I am your father. And no your mother is not my sister. It was something that we had to say because she needed to be kept safe.” He says ever so calmly. “Safe from who?”She questions “From my mother. Your grandmother.”

Cough*Cough* Spurts of blood cover me in seconds. My attention becomes focused in on my son again. “Where is the damn antidote! Please someone hurry!” At that Hvitserk runs into the room with a small green vial. “Here take this it should help him. Lagertha gave it to me before her and father left. Something about it would come in handy some day. Here.” Shoving the vial in my hands I open it quickly and lift Erik’s head. “Drink this Erik. It should help you, my darling. Please be strong, I know you're scared, but you’ll be alright ok. Everything will be ok.” I say through tears. Today had been the worst day by far. “Mira... please help my son. I know you're always with me, but please help me now. Pray for my son and ask God to save him.”

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A few hours had gone by and nobody had moved from the room. Arthur sat on the chair next to the bed with his elbows on his knees, looking straight and focused in on Erik. Bjorn and Hvitserk sat by the fireplace and were wetting some towels so that we could place them atop Eriks head. I sat on the bed next to my son and caressed his beautiful face hoping for a miracle. I had dismissed Sarah and told her to take Marjorie with her, but she would not budge. Sarah left, but Marjorie stayed and sat in Ivars lap asking him if Erik would pull through. Ivar was sweet to answer as best as he could, and I could tell that he truly cared for his children even if his demeanour wasn't the greatest. I knew that deep in my heart I would have to let him get to know them, but it still hurt especially knowing that he now was married. “Wait, where is Freydis? I haven't seen her since yesterday.” I say looking towards Ivar. “I dont know earthier to be honest, she's probably looking at some damn flowers anyway. Its best if she's far away anyway.” “Why would you say that about your wi-” “she's not my wife, at least not yet. Were not actually married, (y/n). I just said that to piss you off.” Taking a deep breath I go to stand up from the bed in order to fetch a bucket of water and some new cloths. Instead I end up on the floor cradling my belly, with a burning sensation in my chest and blood pouring out from my mouth. “(Y/n)! Mama!” I can hear the shouts around me. “Fetch the doctor! Now hurry!” The voices around me begin to fade and not before long I can feel myself drifting away.

“My baby... Save my baby...” And with that everything turns pitch black...

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

The Unicorn - Chapter 26

The Unicorn: A Pepperony Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Word Count: 1640

Pairing: Tony Stark x F!Reader x Pepper Potts

Warnings: birth stuff!

Synopsis: After being on bedrest for a while, the twins decide it’s time to make their entrance.

Chapter 26

If being on maternity leave had been hard for you, being on bed rest was nearly impossible. Thankfully Pepper was now on maternity leave too which meant it wasn’t just up to him to entertain you. It was definitely much, much harder to think of ways to entertain you now. So having two people to sit and keep you company helped.

Still, there were a lot of pages from FRIDAY throughout the day. Sometimes it was to bring you some plans you’d been working on. Sometimes it was because you were sick of using the tablet to read and now you wanted a book. Sometimes it was because of cravings. Sometimes it was because you wanted a back rub or a foot rub or the babies were kicking and you wanted him to tell them to cut it out. Sometimes you didn’t even have a reason exactly. You just wanted him there.

He played like it was this big deal. Slumping in the room with every page. Rolling his eyes. Making over exaggerated groaning sounds. He loved it though. Or more, he was happy doing it if it meant you and the babies were safe.

Pepper while not being as demanding as you were, still liked taking advantage of the fact that if she said jump, Tony asked how high. Sometimes you and Pepper would each just lie together in bed talking as he rubbed both your feet.

The babies were healthy. So he was happy. He’d do whatever he needed to to make sure you and Pepper were both relaxed and happy so when the time came he’d have two healthy moms and three healthy babies. He wasn’t risking that for anyone.

The birthing suite was finished being built and he’d noticed with the promise of a school and a childcare center and special maternity care the usual turnover of scientists and field agents wasn’t happening. Maybe that would change. His people were poachable and if other companies and organizations wanted the best, they took them from him. This year though, it dropped to less than half previous years numbers. It turned out, having kids wasn’t just going to be good for him. It was good for SI and the Avengers too.

The pregnancy progressed well from the incident. Though you were being carefully monitored. Each week that passed meant Tony let go of that fear of losing them and started getting excited again. When you reached 35 weeks Tony actually thought maybe you had a chance of getting to the 37 weeks they wanted. Even if you didn’t. You were full-term for twins. He would relax if he wasn’t so excited about it.

It was almost 36 weeks when he was making you one of your pickle and peanut butter sandwiches that you disgustingly seemed to be craving at the moment. He couldn’t even make sense of that. You were supposed to be over them. He didn’t argue with you though. If you wanted a pickle and peanut butter sandwich. Then you would get a pickle and peanut butter sandwich.

“Mister Stark, they want you in the bedroom,” FRIDAY said.

He sighed and shook his head. “Tell her to be patient. I’m doing it.”

“No, Tony. This is different. You don’t need to worry about the sandwich.” FRIDAY replied.

Tony froze, the knife falling out of his hand and landed on the counter with a clatter. It felt like his heart stopped. “FRIDAY what is it?”

“Perhaps you should just go into the bedroom, sir.”

Tony spun and ran into the bedroom pulling up hard when he saw you out of bed and Pepper helping you out of your nightgown.

“What is it?” He asked trying to take in the room and get an idea of what had happened. The blankets were pulled back on the bed and there was a large wet patch in the middle of it. “Is it the babies? Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” Pepper said as she tossed the nightgown into the laundry hamper.

“My water just broke.” You said.

“What?” He said coming over and putting his hands on your stomach. “You’re not having labor pains?”

You shook your head. “No. Nothing yet. But that was crazy dramatic.”

“We gotta get her down to surgery. FRIDAY has paged the medical team.” Pepper said and went into the closet.

“We’re having the babies?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, we are. Ada and Edwin are on their way.” You said.

“Oh, my god.” He said and kissed you. It was an excited kiss, full of love and hope and a little tinge of terror that you weren’t quite ready yet. “Oh my god, honey. It’s happening.”

“It is. Now let me get some clothes on so I don’t have to walk through the compound naked first.”

He let you go and you dressed in a simple maxi dress and you and Pepper tried to support you as the three of you made your way down to the medical wing. Not that you made it easy for them. Given you weren’t in any pain yet and you hadn’t been allowed out of bed for much more than trips to the bathroom, you were pretty adamant you could walk yourself.

When you got to the medbay a large group of people was waiting for you.

“Two of the babies going to join us today, huh?” Doctor Singh said greeting you all.

“Seems that way.” You said.

“Well come through here and we’ll check you out. See what happens next.”

The examination showed you were two centimeters dilated so you changed into a surgical gown and were moved into the surgical room, where Tony had you lean on him as they put the epidural in.

“God that is a huge fucking needle,” Tony said as they put the local anesthetic into the site they planned for the epidural.

“You’re not going to faint are you?” The anesthetist asked.

“How dare you? I’m Iron Man.” Tony joked, but he was worried it might be a close call.

Luckily it went in with no problem and you lay down and the rest of the preparation began. IVs were put in, a screen was put up and the surgical site was prepped. Pepper and Tony sat side-by-side next to you. Tony held your hand and Pepper kept hers over yours. He could vaguely see what was happening past the curtain. The passing around of sponges and suctions and scalpels. He resisted the urge to look, instead just focusing on you.

“Feels weird.” You said, grimacing.

“Are you in pain?” Pepper asked, her voice full of concern.

You shook your head. “No. Just… like pressure and pulling.”

“It won’t be long, but yes, it’s a very odd sensation.” Doctor Singh assured you.

She wasn’t kidding it was less than ten minutes before the first baby was eased out of you. “You have a son.” She said, clamping the umbilical and cutting it.

He looked just like you. Like none of Tony’s genes were passed along at all. He was wiped down quickly and shown to you. “Oh my goodness. Look at him.” You said, tears pricking your eyes.

“He’s beautiful, honey. Look at our little boy.” Pepper said, her own eyes glistening with tears.

“Make way for your daughter.” The doctor said as she eased Ada out.

Tony was shocked by how quick it all happened. This time the baby just reminded him of him. All his dominant genes coming out and overwhelming Pepper’s. The two babies started squalling as they were held close to your skin.

“Do you both want to come and do skin contact with them?” The nurse asked.

“Please don’t leave me.” You said looking around panicked.

Tony’s hand tightened in yours and he looked from the babies to you to Pepper.

“You go,” Pepper said. “I’ll stay here with her.”

“You’re sure?” He asked.

Pepper nodded. “There will be plenty of time to hold babies.”

Tony nodded and got up and he was lead to the Intensive care room that the babies would be kept in until they were ready to go home. They were taken to be weighed and cleaned up. They were given their first vaccination and their vitamin k injection and then put into diapers. Tony took off his shirt and sat down in the big lounge chair and both Ada and Edwin were placed on his chest. They were so tiny and so fragile and they both stopped crying within a minute of him holding them.

His heart felt full as he looked down at his tiny babies. Both of them looking up at him with wide eyes. The dark, jewel-like blue that occurs in babies due to the way they melanin still settling, looked so otherworldly. They were wrinkling and weird looking, yet the most beautiful babies he’d ever seen. He loved them. He loved them in a way he’d never loved anyone before. Completely and unconditionally.

“Hey there, little ones. I’m your dad.” He whispered as he stroked his thumbs down his back. “I promise I’m not going to be anything like my old man was. You guys are gonna be so loved and so well taken care of. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

He sat with them for a little while before the nursing staff took them again. They were hooked up to feeding tubes and monitors and put into the incubators where they would spend most of their time as they got bigger. He sat and watched them until Pepper came in. “Our girl is out of surgery. She’s just in recovery now. How are they doing?” She asked.

“They’re good. A little small. But they’re strong.” He said.

She smiled and kissed the top of his head. “Just like their dad.”

// NEXT

#tony stark #pepper potts #iron man #tony stark x reader #pepper potts x reader #tony stark x pepper potts #iron man fanfic #pepperony #pepperony x reader #tony stark x pepper potts x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #fluff #angst #polyamory #the unicorn

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rheyninwrites · 5 years

Text

Hitchhiker Part 2

Jacob and Rook were finishing their beers, getting ready to head to the cabin Rook hoped she’d be able to find. Whitehorse had hit the road about two seconds after dropping the key and map in her hands, ready to get home as soon as he’d made sure that the second trainer wasn’t going to cost the county extra. He was an asshole, but the kind of guy who was an asshole because that’s what he had to be in this kind of town in order to get respect. You could look in his eyes, or see the way a smile twitched under his bushy mustache, and know it was all an act in a heartbeat. Jacob felt like he could understand that, at least a little bit. He’d spent more than half of his life putting on a face that never really felt like him, for one reason or another.

As he got into the truck, he wondered to himself why on earth he was trusting this woman. There was a time when he’d have instantly mistrusted anyone who offered him kindness, assuming it was some kind of trick to get him to lower his defenses. He still struggled with that most of the time, biting back cruel words that came to the tip of his tongue unbidden if anyone so much as held the door for him. But since he’d gotten back in touch with Joseph, he felt more like he had to try. He felt he owed it to him.

In the years since he’d last saw him, Joseph had become a preacher, taking over one of the two still functioning parishes in Hope County. He’d had his own struggles, falling into drugs and depression for many years after losing his wife and child, before ending up in rehab and falling in love with a girl twenty years younger than him but, in his words, “infinitely wiser”. It was her who had lead him into the church, so devoted that she’d officially changed her name from Rachel to Faith. She helped him get clean, got him healthy and on medication for the schizophrenia that had unknowingly plagued him for most of his life, and he’d contacted Jacob, crying. It was the first time Jacob had heard from him in years, and he was begging him for understanding, to forgive him for distancing himself after Jacob had been through so much to protect him. He was only a bit younger than Jacob was, so he had some memories of the time they’d spent together in foster care, unlike John. When his brother begged to see him, how could he deny him? His brothers had always been both his weakness and his strength.

A long ride down dark and winding roads, and Rook’s old truck pulled up in front of a cabin that looked barely big enough to turn around in, much less for two people to live together in for the next month. The exchanged tentative glances as they approached, and as she opened the door, Rook let out a low whistle and shook her head. When she stepped aside to let Jacob in, he could see why.

There was a single twin bed, pushed up into the corner right beside the bathroom door. It may once have been a set of metal bunk beds, but the top half of it had been mangled a long time ago. The bottom half didn’t look too stable, either. Still, when Rook checked the mattress, it seemed alright, no holes or mysterious stains. It was foam, too, so there was no worry about broken springs. Unfortunately, it was also the only place to sleep. The only other furniture was a single broken dining chair. Rook quickly checked the stove and fridge, finding them in working condition, and then made sure all plumbing was appropriately functional.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been put up in worse.”

She walked back outside, returning with a large duffel bag and a garbage bag she flung on the floor in front of Jacob. While he looked on, she pulled the mattress off of the bed frame and scooted it against the wall beside the door. It only occurred to Jacob after she was done that he probably should have helped her, and then she was busy rummaging through the garbage bag, so there wasn’t exactly anything he could help with. Instead he stood there, nervously opening and closing his fists and feeling useless - not a feeling he was used to. Eventually, she pulled out a set of sheets and handed them to him, asking him to put them on the bed. Grateful for something to do, he went to work immediately, while Rook used the blankets that were left in the bag to make a pallet near the mattress. When they were done, Rook turned to him.

“Do you want the mattress or the pallet tonight? I was thinking we’d switch out. That saves the argument about who gets which.”

“I was thinking that you could just take the mattress, since-“

“I swear, if you say ‘since you’re the girl’ I will completely rescind my offer.”

“I was actually going to say ‘because you’re being so nice to me’. I feel indebted to you, and I don’t like that feeling.”

“Then work your ass off to repay me.” Rook ran her fingers through her hair again, “Listen, I’m gonna jump in the shower. Feel free to rummage through my bag to see if there’s a book you like, or a snack you want.” She took a set of clothes to the bathroom, then locked the door behind her. She was being nice to him, but she wasn’t about to let herself be stupid.

Jacob quickly changed into a different t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, ready to be out of his still damp clothing. He laid his jacket over the broken chair to dry, and hung his pants and shirt on the remains of the bed frame. By the time he’d finished, he heard the bathroom door open, and instinctively looked over.

Jacob’s stomach flopped. Maybe it was just because it had been so long since he’d been interested in someone, or maybe it was just her, but he didn’t think he’d seen anything prettier in his whole life. It wasn’t even like she was wearing anything revealing, just an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts, her wet hair hanging half over her eyes. He found himself watching her as she crossed the room, eyes fixed on her legs, and mentally chastised himself for it. He wasn’t here to date, he was here to see his brothers. As if on cue, Rook asked him if he was planning on seeing them tomorrow.

“It’s Sunday. One of my brothers is a preacher, so he won’t be free in the morning. I can probably meet him after, though.”

“Ok. Just let me know when and where to take you..”

Jacob shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you any more than I already have.”

“It’s not a bother, really. Besides, how are you gonna get there if I don’t take you?”

He had to admit, she had a point,.

The next morning, they were sitting in a church parking lot together in Rook’s truck, watching people stream out of the double doors and get into their cars. As the crowd thinned, a couple appeared in the doorway, holding hands and waving to the last remaining churchgoers. Jacob’s heart lurched.

“Nervous?” Rook asked. When Jacob didn’t answer, she reached over and put her hand on top of his where it sat on his knee. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m sure of it.”

It was just then that Joseph must have caught sight of his brother, because he cam running over, a smile spread wide across his face. Jacob barely had time to get out of the truck before he was wrapped in a warm embrace. Rook thought he looked a little uncomfortable, but to his credit, he tried his best, putting his arms around his brother and patting his back. When Joseph ended the hug, he reached up and put his hands on his brother’s face, tears streaming freely. A young, blonde woman who must have been Faith approached, rubbing a hand on each of their arms. Joseph started asking Jacob a million questions before stopping suddenly.

“Why don’t we all get lunch? Faith always makes an extra big meal on Sunday, so there’s plenty leftover to make plates for people in the county who need it. That way we can all catch up.” Joseph nodded to where Rook sat. “Your girlfriend is welcome as well, of course.”

Rook and Jacob both stumbled over themselves to correct the misunderstanding, eventually getting the whole story out. Joseph insisted even more zealously that she join them then, with Faith joining in, but Rook declined as politely as she could, feeling that the reunion would probably be better if it were private. She waved them goodbye and headed back to the cabin, watching with a smile as a bewildered Jacob was lead away.

Jacob came in the cabin later that night, knocking politely before he entered. Rook was laying on the pallet, legs resting against the wall while she read a book. When he entered and she heard the sound of a car pulling away, she shifted to a sitting position, looking at him curiously.

“You don’t want to stay with your brother now?”

Jacob shook his head. “They’re nice, and I’m glad Joseph’s found something that makes him happy, but I’m not really into religion.”

Rook nodded. She felt the same.

“Besides,” Jacob said, “Ive got work tomorrow. Right?”

Rook smiled. “Of course.”

#farcry fandom #farcry5 #farcry #faith seed #john seed #joseph seed #jacob seed #soft seeds

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ohalemalia · 5 years

Text

Daily Dose - Part 12 (S.M. Imagine) ((Finale))

Pairing: Scott McCall x Sick! Reader Warnings: none idk A\N: that’s all folks ))): this is the end of DD. Thank u for three months of love on this fic. I can’t believe I actually finished a piece of writing that was more than three parts, that’s insane to me. Again, thanks for everything. Imma still be writing on here ofc. In the middle of writing this i came up with a Stiles fic idea so we’ll seeeeee :~) Word Count: 2917

SCOTT’S POV

“Is it supposed to take this long?”

“I mean she’s not bleeding black, right? That’s a good sign.”

“She also hasn’t opened her eyes in 46 hours, so…”

“You’re not helping, Stiles.”

“I’m not helping? Why don’t you tap into those banshee powers and tell us what’s going on?”

“Yeah, sorry, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Guys,” Scott pulled his hands away from his mouth to look at his friends, “Please. Neither of you is helping to be honest.”

Lydia and Stiles both deflated in their seats and mumbled apologies. Scott placed his clasped hands back over his mouth and continued staring down the hallway where Y/N’s room was. His mom had told them that since Y/N had been in so much pain, they basically loaded her up with sedatives. She assured Scott that she was fine, just taking a long needed rest and the doctors were doing some tests to see how she was doing. It was hard to see how her body was reacting to the bite since she was basically lying as stiff as a board.

The whole thing was nerve-wracking.

So Scott had been sitting here for as long as the hospital would let him. He was here when visiting hours opened and there when they closed. He let sat at Y/N’s bedside and read her books since she couldn’t read them herself. He brought food to eat, even if it was just him eating by himself. He told her about school and their friends and how Kira wished her well. He kissed her forehead, told her he loved her and that he couldn’t wait until she opened her eyes again.

But he had been waiting a long time.

Scott spotted Melissa coming down the hallway and stood up to meet her.

Melissa held her hands up as if Scott would barrel right past her to Y/N’s room.

“We don’t know yet, the results are going to take a couple hours to get back to us,” Melissa looked at the three teens who each looked like they got varying degrees of sleep within the last two days, “You guys should get some sleep. You look wrecked.”

Scott shook his head, “I slept in the chair, I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah, beauty sleep?” Lydia made a dismissive motion with her hand, “Who needs that? Or, you know, the eight hours of sleep it takes to perform basic human functions.”

At the exact moment she said, Stiles had reached for his cup of coffee. His hand accidentally knocked the paper cup over instead and hot coffee poured down the side of the table and pooled on the hospital floor. Stiles looked up.

“Sorry…”

Melissa sighed, “There are paper towels in the bathroom.”

Stiles bounced up and headed toward the blue doors leading to the bathroom. Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose.

“You guys can leave if you want,” Scott told her. She shook her head.

“We’re not just here for you, Y/N was our friend too.”

“Is.”

“Huh?” Lydia asked.

“Y/N is your friend too? You said was like she….”

“Oh,” Lydia immediately looked uncomfortable, “That’s what I meant. Is. She is our friend.”

Melissa placed a hand on Scott’s arm, “Do you want to go see her?”

The room looked the same as when he left it, no surprise there. A book was resting open and face down on the bedside table. Scott frowned, he knew that Y/N hated that. It ruins the spine, he could hear her saying.

He picked the book up, closed it and set it back down on the pile of books Y/N owned.

“Hey, I was reading that.”

Scott froze in his spot. He turned around to face and saw Y/N peering at him. When their eyes met, she gave him a small smile.

Scott’s body nearly collapsed as he took her in. “Y/N,” he said, breathless.

“Well, I’m definitely not your mom,” Y/N smiled, quoting one of the first things she ever said to him. Scott, overrun with the emotion in the room, ran over and engulfed her in a hug. She didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him. He buried his face into the crook of his neck. Y/N heard sniffling, and with an ache in her heart, she realized he was crying.

“Hey,” She cooed, smoothing the hair on his head, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

Scott held her tighter, afraid that if he let her go, she’d really be gone this time. Y/N placed her lips to the top of his head and kissed it gently. She kept petting his head until her hand drifted down to rub his back. She let him cry. Scott hardly ever got the chance to, this was probably the second time (but who counts these things) she had seen tears fall from his eyes. She felt the shoulder of her hospital gown becoming wet, but she didn’t care. All that matter was that she was okay and Scott was here.

When he got it out of his system, Scott pulled away, keeping his head bowed down. Y/N took her thumbs and used them to wipe the tears off his cheeks. He gave her the smallest smile. She smiled back at him.

“How are you? How do you...feel?”

Y/N nodded, “Better, actually. If you can believe it.”

“Yeah, I actually can,” Scott wet his lips.

“I need to tell you something--”

“Did you get my letter?”

The two looked at each other and laughed, having talked at the same time.

“Yeah, I did, Lydia gave it to me.”

Y/N nodded, “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting to be here for the aftermath. Which is probably a really shitty thing to do, you know? Tell you I love you and then disappear off the face of the earth.”

“It’s okay, I don’t care,” Scott intertwined their fingers together, “You’re here, so I’m guessing that it worked.”

Y/N leaned back to give Scott a look, “What worked?”

Scott opened his mouth but found himself without the right words to say. He clamped his mouth shut and thought for a moment. “Y/N, I just want you to listen--”

“I am, Scott.”

“No, close your eyes and really listen.”

Y/N gave him a quizzical look, but with a sigh did what he said anyway.

“Tell me what you hear.”

Y/N’s POV

Keys jingled. A stretcher’s wheels raced down the linoleum floor. A nurse tried not to hack as she emptied a bedpan. Two nurses gossiped about the patient in room 304.

“He’s not gonna make it.”

Someone cried. Someone banged their fist against the vending machine. There was typing on a keyboard. A phone rang. A door closed. A beep. Another beep. Another beep. Someone laughed. There was another beep. It was constant. Another one joined in. And another. Another. Until they were all beeping at different times, different pitches. It rang the middle of my eardrums and pierced my brain. It had to stop. Who was doing that? Stop. Stop.

“Stop!” My hands were pressed at the sides of my head, trying to keep the noise out.

“Y/N! Hey!” Scott pulled my hands away from my head and looked at me, his eyes glowing red. The noise seemed to dull down to a dull hum. There was a quieter thump, thump, thump. A heartbeat. Mine?

I shook my head, “I can hear everything. Why can I hear everything? Am I dead?”

Scott shook his head, “You’re not dead.”

For some reason, my palms were burning. I looked down at our hands and saw that mine were balled tightly into fists. Scott’s hands were wrapped around my own. There was something red pooling in the palms of my hands. I pried my hands open to find them bleeding. I screamed. Instead of my nails being there, there were dark, long, pointed claws.

I jerked quickly away from Scott, but he held me in place.

“It’s okay, Y/N, it’s okay.”

“What’s happening to me?! What is this?!” I inspected my hands, trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

“Y/N, baby, listen--”

I pushed myself away from him and got off the bed. I needed to get to the bathroom. I forgot about the IV in my arm and I paid for it dearly. I yelped in pain as the IV was yanked out. Scott tried to help me, but I brushed him off.

I ran into the bathroom, flicked on the light and stood in front of the mirror. I screamed. Again.

My features had become sharp and angular. I didn’t have eyebrows. The skin where my eyebrows were supposed to be, was instead a lot closer to my glowing yellow eyes, making it look like I was angry. Hair grew out of my cheeks. The bridge of my nose was wide and flat. My canines were razor sharp and poised to kill.

Scott stood behind me, a soft look in his eyes. I could hear it again, the /thump, thump, thump. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and the tempo was off. It wasn’t my heart I heard, it was Scott.

There was something in the air. Something that smelled hot and sour. It smelled like the feeling you have right when you have to get up in front of the class to give a presentation. It’s the feeling when you’re sitting in a roller coaster, waiting for it to take off and questioning if you should’ve gotten on in the first place. The feeling when the teacher is handing your test back and you’re waiting to see your grade. The feeling...of anxiety.

Since when did anxiety smell?

“I’m…I’m…”

“You’re alive,” Scott said firmly, “You’re changed. But you’re alive.”

I didn’t know what to say. My hand reached up to touch the tuft of hair on my cheek.

“This isn’t permanent,” Scott reassured me, “You just freaked out a little, it’s all new and different but...but I can teach you how to control it. I learned, Liam learned, Malia. And you’re one of the strongest people I know, Y/N, and I know it’s going to be rough but...you can do it. And I’ve got you.”

I looked at the palms of my hands. Right before my eyes, the wounds from my...claws, started to close up. The skin was pink and puckered and then second by second, any evidence of the injury was gone. Like it never happened. I watched the wound from my IV do the same thing.

“I...did I…” I turned to look at Scott, “I healed myself. My body, it healed itself.”

It was amazing being on the opposite side of the spectrum. Seriously. I was so used to my body adamantly fighting against me, I’d never seen it take the nurturing side and fix itself. I was overcome with...glee. I laughed. And I kept laughing. Scott looked as if he was nervous I would have a psychotic break. I threw my head back at laughed. Take that lupus! Jokes on you! I threw my arms around Scott’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m cured,” I told him, “You cured me, Scott. You healed me.”

Scott shook his head, “No, Y/N, you said it before. You healed yourself.”

Seven Months Later~

“I’m so nervous,” I smoothed my skirt down and looked over the living room again, “That pillow isn’t fluffed enough.”

“Why are you so nervous?” Scott asked me as he picked up the pillow and fluffed it more for me, “They’re your parents.”

“I know,” I ran my hands along my thighs, “But I haven’t seen them in, what, a year? And things are different now. A lot different.”

“They’re still your parents and they’re not going to care if the pillow is flat, they’re just going to be really happy to see you.”

I stopped my anxious rampage to pause and smile at my boyfriend. I walked over, grabbed his face and pressed my lips to his. Scott’s eyes fluttered open as I pulled away.

He gave me a crooked grin and laughed, “What was that for?”

“For always knowing just what to say,” I smiled, took the pillow away from him and sat it on the couch next to him. I turned around to do a quick check of the living room.

“Okay. Fresh flowers, hors-d'oeuvres, vacuumed and they should be here in--” I checked my phone, “Four minutes, geez, did we get everything?”

“Yes,” Scott sounded exasperated but as loving as he could. He stood up, walked over to me and placed his hands on my arms, “Yes, everything is perfect. It’s going to be great.”

I nodded, “Heads up, my dad is really, you know, he might give you a hard time--”

“I know.”

“Because you’re my boyfriend and he’s got that macho man “Grr, no one is good enough for my little girl” mentality--”

“I know.”

“And he might threaten you with some sort of public display of strength, like an arm wrestling competition. Or maybe he’ll ask what your goals and ambitions are.”

“Good thing I have goals and ambitions then, right?”

I smiled, “But my mom absolutely adores you. I mean, my dad does too, she told me. But he’s going to try to put on this whole show.”

Scott smiled, “That’s totally fine.”

I tilted my head at him, “You are so cool, calm and collected, how do you do it?”

Scott shrugged, “It comes with the Alpha status I guess.”

“Well, I definitely need to borrow some of that.” I grinned up at him and leaned up to press my lips to his again. Just as Scott’s lips were brushing against my own, I heard a car door slam from outside the door.

“Baby, can you pop the trunk, I’ve got to grab the bags out of the back?”

“Of course. Oh my god, the house is just as beautiful as I remember it, aw.”

“And I’m sure our daughter will be too, speaking of which, where is that kiddo?”

“Probably inside, I’ll call her right now.”

“They’re here!” I broke away from Scott, ran over to the front door and yanked it open. My mom was walking up the path, her phone to her ear while my dad wrestled bags out of the trunk. As soon as she saw me, a bright smile broke out on her face. Before either of us could say anything, I ran down the path and launched myself into her arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around me, the smell of perfume was nearly suffocating at this proximity, but I didn’t care.

I pulled away and saw my dad standing next to us. He had bags in his hands and I nearly knocked him over as I tackled him into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re home.”

“You look amazing, oh my god,” My mom wiped tears away from eyes, “I’m sorry, it’s just, the last time I saw you, you were in that hospital bed.”

“Your hair was longer too,” My dad glanced up at Scott who was making his way down the path toward us, “And you didn’t have a boyfriend, either.”

I looked back at Scott and wrapped my arm around his waist, “Yeah, a lot has changed since the last time you saw me. But it’s not...bad. Not at all.”

Scott and I smiled at each other. I turned to look at my parents, “I made dinner, let’s get you guys settled in and eat?”

“That would be great,” My mom placed her arm around me, “We picked up some souvenirs for you. And you have to tell us everything we missed.”

“Scott, is it?” I could hear my dad ask Scott.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t you help me with these bags? Huh? You look pretty strong.”

I rolled my eyes, but Scott happily agreed to help my dad.

“Listen,” My dad’s voice was low, so I assumed he didn’t anyone else to hear what he was about to say to Scott. This only piqued my interest more and I couldn’t stop myself from eavesdropping. I mean, having heightened hearing didn’t help either. “If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll probably deny it. But I wanted to say...thank you. Thank you for looking out for her.”

I smiled, a warmth filling my heart.

“Of course, sir,” Scott replied, “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I mean it. I’m glad you were around for her, even when I wasn’t. You’re good in my books.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I stopped eavesdropping to turn to my mom and give her my full attention. I gestured to the door, “Do the honors, Mom.”

My mom turned the knob on the door and walked inside, I could hear her marveling at everything inside. My dad followed behind, lugging their suitcases. I turned around and Scott was standing right behind me, like always, with me every step of the way. I grabbed his hand that was free and we stepped inside my new house, my new life, together.

He was right. Everything was perfect right now. And even if it all came crashing down tomorrow, it didn’t matter. Because I knew that I could always count on my daily dose of Scott McCall to make things better.

<< Previous || THE END

@honeymoonavenuue @janeschwartz1 @captainam-erika-trash @a-gir1-has-n0-name @pinkwinds

#teen wolf imagine #imagines #tw imagine #teen wolf #fandom imagines #imagine teen wolf #Scott McCall #scott teen wolf #scott mccall imagine #scott mccall imagines #scott mcall imagine #daily dose #dd

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fairyscribbles · 6 years

Text

Boiling Bite. (Chanyeol, Wolf!au) 2/2

Hello guys! A few little changes!

I will try to again re-update a lot of the lists that I have here, because not only they were not up to date, they are a bit glitched, as I saw when uploading that Baekhyun story!

I also thought of putting up my ko-fi link again. I stopped doing it for a while because I was pretty content, but as I started working, my financial needs rose up as well, due to travel, food etc etc. I am also really shooting to go to the JLPTs again and obtain the highest level (N1). For that, I need the books for it. I already bought the grammar book, so I need the vocab, kanji and reading so I can prepare and hopefully go try out the summer dates of the test!

It’s also a bit hard to update for me now not only because of school but also because of the house renovation. My desk is really cluttered from all the things I’ve had on shelves and my laptop has been connected to the TV for about three weeks now and has been exclusively used for Netflix ^^’ I did go back to writing into notebooks though, and I’m biting through a few of the requests. Who knows, maybe once I’m done, I will open them again!

Well now, after this super long essay, let’s enjoy the second part of the Kris story I have posted a while back!

If you need to refresh your memory, here is the first part! If you like what you read, you can support me on ko-fi!

♥

Everything burned and everything hurt. You didn’t remember when was the last time you were conscious for more than five minutes. The pain always knocked you out before you could go insane with it.

You could clearly remember that night... the dark alleyway... Kris’ mate crying into her phone, begging Kris to come and save you.

The two vampires standing, ready to pounce.

You stepping between the vampires and Kris’ mate.

And then the bite.

It was as if somebody suddenly poured acid into your veins and the blood carried it all over your body. It felt horrible. You wanted to die as you felt the ice cold fangs digging into you, sucking the life out of you.

It might’ve been gone in a few seconds, but it felt like hours to you.

They came and saved you. But it was too late, as you crumbled to the ground and you screamed in pain.

You felt someone, Chanyeol probably, picking you up and cradling you to him, but it didn’t do anything with the horrible pain that coursed through your body.

That’s when you blacked out the first time.

The first time you came to was when you felt someone settle down next to you.

“Ch-Chan…” your voice was too raspy for you to continue, a coughing fit interrupting your question.

“It’s me, ___.” Answered the voice that did not belong to your mate. Kyungsoo wiped at your forehead, the wet cloth gathering the sweat that trickled down your face.

“What…what…happene-“

“You were bitten. It’s the werewolf genes and vampire saliva that’s making you hurt.” You whimpered as the washcloth trailed down your face onto your neck, to the bite mark. A strangled scream ripped through your throat when the cloth dabbed at the wound and you immediately cowered from the pack’s healer. You heard him apologize, but everything was pronounced so slow and the way your eyelids seemed to drop, you knew you were out of it once again.

“Alright, ___. We need to get some of the bad blood out. This is going to hurt a lot, so we’re going to do it by bits, alright?”

You slowly grew accustomed to the pain, you were beginning to understand how it worked, how it always came in waves at you. It could’ve been two days since Kyungsoo’s visit, but it could’ve been two weeks as well.

You nodded shakily, tilting your head to the side and revealing your neck to him. Kyungsoo sighed, placing everything he was holding onto the nightstand before looming over you, his lips on your neck.

“Try to hold on as long as possible…” he mumbled quietly, his breath ghosting over your skin, before his lips closed over the wound. The first suck had you arching against him in a scream, your fists bunching in his shirt. You screeched, pleading for him to stop, trashing from side to side. You could feel the lift slipping from you from every suck by Kyungsoo’s lips. It ended just a few seconds after, yet it felt like eternity.

Kyungsoo spit out the blood he held in his mouth, its color a washed out red and more yellow than anything else.

“You did great, ___.” Kyungsoo gently stroked your cheek, trying to somehow calm you down.

“Chan…” you coughed heavily after that.

“What was it, ___?”

“Where…is…Ch-Chan…Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo fell silent for quite a while after that. Every passing second was like a dagger to your heart.

“He’s out hunting. He left three days ago, he didn’t come back yet.” Kyungsoo told you and yet you somehow knew it was a lie. You swallowed the tears that crept up on you and nodded to the tense Kyungsoo.

“You should try to get some sleep, ___-ah. We’ll try to get out more tomorrow.” His voice was gentle as if he was talking to a child. You nodded again, the grip of consciousness already slipping past your hands.

The last thing you thought of was Chanyeol’s voice, desperately calling your name.

Chanyeol sighed as he walked through the door. His body was full of kinks and soreness that wouldn’t be able to go away even after extended rest. As if he could do that, anyway.

For the past few days, he hadn’t thought about anything else, but revenge. He spent the past three days hunting down a vampire coven, making sure he would get every and single one of those suckers.

He kicked off his muddy boots and entered the house, his jacket a bloody pool on the floor. As he passed the mirror, he noticed the deep bags under his eyes and hallowed face.

He was only a ghost of what he used to be. He felt it, in his skin, his bones, in his very form, something changed. And he didn’t know how he would bring it back.

They switched every day. At first, only Kyungsoo would come, but later on, Suho replaced the healer, calling in Jongin to hold you down while sucking out the poison. The day after, the two switched and after that, Minseok and Luhan took their turns in trying to make you feel better.

You had already filled a whole glass with the yellowish substance and your mind was free from the sticky mist that clouded your senses.

It had its downfall, as it made the pain of healing clearer and the realization that since the night you’ve been bitten, Chanyeol hasn’t seen you once. Not a single time you felt his presence beside you and that made you tear up.

You probably disgusted him. You were bitten. And broken. Who in the right state of mind would want a broken mate? You thought as Kyungsoo gave your neck one hard last suck.

“Kyungsoo…” you choked out, stuttering over the lump in your throat.

“Yes? What is it?” he answered after cleaning his mouth, the poison still rocking slightly in the cup.

“K-Kill me.” You sobbed, the tears sneaking up on you. You could almost feel Kyungsoo freeze.

“What?” he wanted to you repeat as he slipped his hands around yours. You gripped him desperately.

“Please, just…let me have it over with. Just kill me and let that be…it.”

“Are you crazy? What about Chanyeol?” his voice sounded as if he still didn’t believe what you were saying. You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked at the ceiling, illuminated by moonlight.

“He…he doesn’t care about me anymore.” You had to wait a moment after saying that to calm yourself down. It was far too painful.

“I don’t blame him, though.” You added with a smile, even through the tears.

“Who would want a mate that is tainted by the enemy?” Kyungsoo squeezed your hand, rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve heard, ___. And I’m in a pack with Jongin, which means I’m listening to stupidities on a daily basis.” You could hear the smile in his voice and you couldn’t help but to chuckle shortly.

“Chanyeol wants you all the time. NO matter how you act, look or feel.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” Kyungsoo was quiet for a long time, weighing out his options. IN the end, he sighed, shaking his head.

“I would like to know that, too.” He rubbed your hand some more. It wasn’t the same thing as being comforted by your mate, but it came close.

“Just go to sleep, ___. You did good today.” You squeezed Kyungsoo’s hand one last time, before slowly rolling on your side. You instinctively awaited Chanyeol’s arms wrapping around you and pull you to him, but that never came.

Before Chanyeol could sigh and slip off his jacket, he was shoved back by a furious looking Kyungsoo.

“You need to start taking care of your mate.” He growled in a low tone, his eyes flickering gold.

“I am.” Chanyeol mumbled under his breath, trying to keep his cool.

“I’m avenging her. Killing every motherfucker I can get my eyes on.”

“She doesn’t need that. She needs you. But you’ve been too much of a pussy to face her.”

“What?” Chanyeol hissed, his beast stirring. Kyungsoo’s face showed he was being serious about what he said.

“I said, you’re too much of a pussy to look at her. You need to start taking care of her.”

“Do you even know how it fucking feels like? Being in my place?” Chanyeol asked, his tone menacingly passive as he came closer to Kyungsoo.

“Do you know the fucking feeling, when the person you love the most, the person you would die for, gets hurt? Like that? In front of your own fucking eyes?!” Chanyeol’s growl gradually turned into roaring.

“Do you even know how I feel when I walk around the room and I hear her screaming? Because I was unable to help her? Do you know the feeling?”

“And do you fucking know what you’re doing to her now? Did you even know that she asked me to kill her yesterday?” Kyungsoo’s words were like a thousand daggers, stabbing into his heart. As he heard about your wish to die, his knees buckled.

“W-What?” Kyungsoo smiled grimly as Chanyeol’s shock-ridden state.

“She thinks you don’t want her anymore. She told me that you probably think of her as disgusting since she was bitten by a vampire.” Chanyeol sighed deeply, sliding down the wall he was leaning against.

“Fucking hell…” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. Kyungsoo knelt down next to him, laying his hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder.

“Look, I’m not going to try to convince you that it wasn’t your fault. You wouldn’t listen to me anyways. But killing vampires won’t help her. She needs you close. She needs to know that she’s still wanted.” Chanyeol sighed, nodding. He was too weak to say anything else.

“The sucking of the poison is very painful for her. She needs her mate. If you would do it, the poison will be gone in a few days.” When Chanyeol still didn’t answer, Kyungsoo patted his back once more and he stood to leave.

“Kyungsoo…”

“Hmm?” he turned around to look at Chanyeol. Only then he noticed how the biting affected him. He looked like hell- there were big bags under his eyes, his clothing hung on his disappearing frame and his shoulders seemed slumped with eternal luggage.

“Thank you. For everything.” Kyungsoo smiled softly.

“We’re brothers, Chanyeol. I would do anything for you.” At this Chanyeol smiled slightly.

“Even so. Thank you so much.”

You stirred when your bed dipped with another weight settling on it. Your fever had gone up again, so you didn’t recognize what was happening until the unknown person cupped the back of your neck and tilted your head to the side. Your blood started running faster as you realized what’s happening.

“No, Kyungsoo…” you whimpered quietly, your fists balling into his shirt. The body seemed different from Kyungsoo’s though.

“Please, no more…” you tried to cover the wound by tilting your head, but he nudged it aside with his nose. As you tried to fight back, more weight settled over you.

“Calm down, ___-ah…” a low voice rumbled above you and you suddenly knew who it was.

“Chanyeol?” he answered you with a hum, as he lightly licked your neck. Your breath hitched and you wound your hands around his torso, bringing him close. Chanyeol swiped his tongue over the wound once more before he closed his lips around it, giving it an experimental suck. He shuddered when the bad blood entered his mouth, but it didn’t stop him from sucking harder. It was much different, the cleansing with your mate. It was almost pleasurable for the first seconds and you pushed him down onto you some more, panting quietly. Chanyeol paused a while to spit out the venom in his mouth before diving in for more. This time, it was more uncomfortable, and you squirmed against him, your hands bunching in his shirt and tugging on it, to pull him away. He stayed relentless though, as he sucked harder. The first hard suck was painful.

“Chanyeol…” you whimpered, squirming some more. Once again, he leaned away to spit out.

“One more time, baby.” He assured you, closing his mouth around the wound again.

It was painful the last time, just as it was with the others. You arched your back, trying to get him from you, you tried swinging your head from side to side, but Chanyeol’s hold on you was tight, not letting go until you actually screamed out.

He quickly spat out the remaining poison and had you in his arms in seconds, holding you against his chest securely.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m sorry…” he kept repeating in your hair, stroking it comfortingly.

It took a while for you to calm down and to realize that he was actually with you. After the week of separation, it seemed unnatural.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore…” you mumbled under your breath, holding onto him tightly. He reciprocated the grip, kissing the crown of your head.

“Are you kidding me? You’re my mate. I warned you about this before you signed your soul- it’s a job for life.” You giggled tiredly- the cleansing always had a dizzying effect on you- maybe because you lost a lot of blood.

“Will you stay?” you asked, looking up at him. You didn’t let him have much of a choice. There was a small chance he would be able to get out of the grip you had on him, anyways.

“Forever.” He said, kissing your lips.

#chanyeol #chanyeol story #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol exo #exo chanyeol #exo story #exo scenario #werewolf #werewolf au #werewolf story #werewolf scenario #exo werewolf #story

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

Text

Joe & Ronnie

Joe: how much you got on you rn Ronnie: enough for me Ronnie: you aint piggybacking Joe: enough for me then Joe: not suggesting you send it first class Joe: 'less you know how to do that Ronnie: I do but in what world mckenna Joe: however much you reckon you'd need to do it Joe: i'll double it Ronnie: use that ingenuity for your own score Joe: yeah whatever Joe: all chat Ronnie: like ive got anything to prove to you Ronnie: least of all how well i can be your bitch when you holler at me Ronnie: cry is more accurate Joe: fuck sake Joe: forget about it Joe: it's a stupid idea Joe: you gonna give me a better one Ronnie: not one for the scrapbook was it cunt Ronnie: dry your eyes & do your own running Ronnie: you need me to hold your hand everytime now Ronnie: big enough to take it go find it Joe: ha ha Joe: like I'm running anywhere Ronnie: this where we play doctor yeah Ronnie: you tell me how bad it hurts & I make it better for you Joe: exactly Joe: now we're on the same page Ronnie: nah you think you can tear out some pages & spit ball em at me to get my attention but why should I give a shit bout these playground games boy just 'cause you heading back home to your mammy Ronnie: im sound Ronnie: dont care how loud you're crying she's the one who's gotta show up for that Joe: i don't want yor attention Joe: i want some heroin Ronnie: maybe she's still got old school connections Ronnie: find her little black book son Joe: maybe Joe: one of you could be useful like Ronnie: wounded & bleeding Ronnie: shit junkie you are house full of people to shake up & shit to steal but you coming to me Joe: just looking for that big sisterly advice Joe: obviously Ronnie: fuck you Ronnie: you sound like the littlest one what is he 4 like Joe: feel it Ronnie: trying to make my heart bleed now yeah Ronnie: grow a fucking pair before it really hurts Joe: if you wanted to scare me you shouldn't have given me the gear Joe: realistically too late anyway but who wants to hear or think about my idyllic childhood yeah Ronnie: if you couldnt hack it you shouldve cried off then Ronnie: save the tears now Joe: and i thought i was the only one with obsessive thought spirals Joe: when i get some i'll remember to feel good about how much you miss me Ronnie: like youre special baby Ronnie: please Ronnie: weve all got mad minds hows that not clicked in yours Ronnie: how many kids shes squeezed out & you reckon were the only self medicating Ronnie: hit up another sibling to fix you Joe: am though Joe: she's always told me Joe: ⭐ boy Ronnie: talk her up with that foreplay Ronnie: be good for £££s Joe: no tah Joe: not my type Joe: and it's only ever worked on you Joe: but you've given me another idea so cheers Ronnie: i dunno whats funnier that youre trying to tell me you dont wanna slip your mum one or you reckon you know what works on me Joe: lemme know when you work it out Joe: 👍 Ronnie: let me know when youve stopped playing happy families Joe: you reckon i wanna be here Ronnie: didnt see no fingernail marks on my floor or walls Ronnie: still reckon you were dragged though yeah Joe: check your thighs Joe: ain't all perks being the favourite 💔 Ronnie: [sends him pics cos that bitch haha] Ronnie: grow a pair whipping boy Ronnie: before she says jump youre on the ledge Ronnie: its pathetic mckenna Joe: see Joe: ain't been that long Joe: only feels it, babe Ronnie: you'll need all that sweet talk for the local dope dealer Ronnie: but if you wanna think of me when you're turning tricks for them it'll go easier Joe: lovely as that'd be Joe: not in progressive london now Joe: gonna have to pay like the rest, worst luck Ronnie: go beg for your pocket money then kidda Ronnie: before she picks a new fave Ronnie: younger & prettier like Joe: nah Joe: we want her to Joe: remember Joe: then me and more importantly my student loans can come back Ronnie: bullshit if you wanted her to you wouldn't have gone Ronnie: you love it Joe: can't just go way uni and never come back Joe: send out a search party Ronnie: use your ⭐ as a beacon cant they Joe: let's hope not Joe: i come here Joe: keeps 'em away rest of the time Joe: yeah Ronnie: if you want em to fuck off commit to it Ronnie: stop being such a pussy Joe: ain't that easy Ronnie: find a ditch to lie down in Ronnie: it ain't hard Ronnie: youre a junkie motherfuckers don't support that Joe: far as they know Joe: i ain't Joe: let 'em catch up Ronnie: do it yourself if you wanna slam the door Joe: see how this goes Joe: not really thinking about them right now Joe: you know Ronnie: youre on one about that lot constantly Joe: just on one constantly full stop Joe: why else would i need the shit Ronnie: dont need to go that hard playing doctor baby Joe: 💘 Joe: you always know just what to say Ronnie: not used to you talking Joe: i know i know Joe: in an ideal world neither of us would be here Ronnie: like not born yeah Ronnie: but she cant keep her legs closed Joe: such a dreamer, you Ronnie: not the one who cant get high without their hand held Joe: n'awh Joe: that's the dream Joe: so romantic too Ronnie: yeah im living it loads of gear close & you far as Ronnie: greedy prick Joe: miss you too baby Joe: in a bit tho, gotta go pick up Ronnie: fuck off soft lad Ronnie: you miss me spoon feeding you Ronnie: you cant talk to me with a dealers cock in your mouth I know Ronnie: multitasking hard enough pretending not to be junkie scum yeah Joe: sure the whole mummy kink ain't your thing Joe: i'll try and get involved but kinda a mood killer Joe: which is kinda rude, know you don't want me to score Ronnie: thats all yours but I'll try anything once Ronnie: 'cause a whinging dope sick baby is really a turn on for me like Ronnie: just gotta keep that going Joe: no judgment here Joe: gotta do what you gotta do Ronnie: you gotta Ronnie: im sound Joe: and i'm happy for you Ronnie: lie to them don't lie to me Joe: alright Joe: will be a bit when I get mine but still Joe: you don't have to be here so Ronnie: you dont Ronnie: grow up & cut the fucking apron strings Joe: you've stopped being helpful for the day? Joe: right then Ronnie: fuck you Ronnie: not flying over to fuck you cos your ma aint in the mood & thats as helpful as it gets Joe: why not Ronnie: youve got another sister Ronnie: see if shes into it Joe: but you're so special yeah Ronnie: but shes a good grooming age Joe: leave it out Ronnie: or what Joe: or what Ronnie: asked you first joseph Joe: alright veronica Ronnie: alright weak cunt Joe: probably Ronnie: pick up before you make me sick Ronnie: jesus Joe: waiting on the man Joe: as per Ronnie: if id known rattling had made you shit out your whole spine id have sucked his dick for you & sped things along Joe: so sweet Joe: one of the many things I like about you Ronnie: list just gets longer the longer youre away yeah Ronnie: dont come back & maybe you'll fall in love Joe: i know you want that less than you want me back Joe: don't lie Ronnie: you care what I want now Ronnie: 💘 Joe: only when it benefits me too, darling Joe: junkie scum 101 Joe: was on my timetable like Ronnie: theyve really done a number on you if youre on your knees for my truth Joe: who Joe: mummy dearest or my school Ronnie: take your pick Joe: ain't tryna hide it Joe: just doing my bit to be the whiny baby you want rn Ronnie: cheers then Ronnie: nailed that Ronnie: tell your ma i finally get how she feels 'cause its too late to get you scraped out Joe: 😂 Joe: on it Joe: assuming i ain't 'bout to get kneecapped Joe: or worse Joe: stood up 💔 Ronnie: i'll cross my fingers for raped & robbed Ronnie: standard Joe: you know i ain't gonna have that much of a good time without you 💘 Ronnie: stop trying to make me say I hate you so you can rub one out Ronnie: i dont do sexting Joe: worth a shot Joe: just killing time here Joe: trying not to puke Ronnie: hot Joe: mhmm Joe: like that attempt at enthusiasm Ronnie: you really know how to make a girl wet what can I say Ronnie: gotta romance my dealer out of want instead of need now Joe: thought I'd return the favour Joe: just how I roll Ronnie: course you do golden boy Joe: you ain't that mad about it Joe: i know Ronnie: i aint as fucking thick as you so again course Joe: true Joe: [time for drew to show and not deliver] Ronnie: made up about all these compliments Ronnie: who knew you could be this much on my tits from this distance Joe: just that good Joe: obviously Ronnie: you aint shit Ronnie: don't lie Joe: whatever Joe: can't touch me now Ronnie: only your ma is turned on at the sight of you Ronnie: but she will Joe: alright Joe: cba rn Ronnie: how are you still crying Ronnie: did he not show Joe: he did Joe: but he was about 12 and had no gear Joe: got enough tranqs to knock out an elephant but still Ronnie: when i told you to hit up your siblings i meant the freckled one not one of the toddlers Joe: yeah right Joe: like he knows a great smack dealer, even if we did talk Ronnie: hes a coke head Ronnie: give him 5 Joe: nah Joe: opposite direction Joe: only way is up Ronnie: whatever just get on a plane Joe: yeah Joe: i'm gonna Joe: fuck this Ronnie: ill be waiting with shit that aint a fucking joke Ronnie: you can owe me Joe: yeah? Joe: good Ronnie: don't talk me out of it Ronnie: christ you're annoying Joe: 🤐 Ronnie: only want you back on your feet so I can kick em out from under you myself Joe: hot Ronnie: like you said, it ain't been that long Ronnie: you know I am Joe: yeah Joe: where was this distraction when I really really needed it tho Ronnie: baby when have I ever been good for you Ronnie: selfish to my core Ronnie: we're here for me Joe: works for me Ronnie: just get to the airport & stop fannying about Joe: I've already taken 'em so hold on Joe: no packing now never mind going through customs Ronnie: fuck's sake Joe: i had to Ronnie: when then Joe: still today Joe: just later Ronnie: fuck you Ronnie: call me Ronnie: maybe i'll answer if it ain't too late Joe: can i call you now too Joe: i gotta stay awake Ronnie: I'm good but no guarantees I'm that good Joe: they ain't kicked in that good yet either Joe: just keep my eyes on the road yeah Ronnie: how much did you pay for baby aspirin mckenna Joe: was cheap as fuck at least Joe: just a kid Joe: barely broke a 50 for all of these so Joe: [photo] Ronnie: not as green as you feel yeah Joe: want me to bring some back Ronnie: too late to rob the boy now Ronnie: & you'll take em yourself before you see me I know you Joe: yeah Joe: i will Joe: but had good intentions, babe Ronnie: take em to church Ronnie: what use is that shit to me Ronnie: gimme bad ideas or don't come around Joe: got plenty of those come on Ronnie: like what Ronnie: come on Joe: what Joe: tryna focus here Ronnie: you wanna stay awake Ronnie: play the game Joe: alright Joe: yeah Joe: you gonna come back to mine Joe: flatmate's gone home Ronnie: are you gonna make it worth it if she's not there to kick in the teeth Joe: won't need to miss her once I'm back Ronnie: fucked her yet? Ronnie: we could do it together Ronnie: I dont normally slip one to virgins but I already made the exception for you Joe: no and funny Joe: keep me as the only exception Joe: how else will i feel special Ronnie: keep hitting up preteen dealers that'll help Joe: he was pretty Ronnie: if im ever in the area like Joe: i wish Ronnie: you & your ma both Ronnie: my turn to feel special Joe: weird ain't it Ronnie: for me Ronnie: you love it Joe: nah Ronnie: not a question Ronnie: you do Joe: don't Ronnie: liar Joe: maybe from you Joe: I'll allow it Ronnie: those pills better be kicking in Ronnie: if youre chatting this much shit sober you can stay in ireland Joe: 😂 Joe: they are Ronnie: book a flight Ronnie: i ain't your ma im not doing it Joe: lemme get home, like Joe: be more obvious you're tryna kill me Ronnie: what im trying to do Ronnie: you gonna call that your home now Joe: you know what i mean Ronnie: yeah Ronnie: i know youre full of shit, mckenna Joe: nah Joe: just bars Joe: make it up to you Ronnie: bullshit Ronnie: x it as many times as fits Joe: k Joe: prove it when i see you Ronnie: you reckon Joe: not a question Ronnie: nah just bold claims for someone who still fucks like a virgin & has to check in with his ma Ronnie: can you without her permission Joe: get the slip signed if you're so worried Joe: chill out Ronnie: fuck off Ronnie: couple of chewable vitamins & you're chill yeah Joe: you said you got loads Ronnie: I said enough Ronnie: & that was before babysitting you Ronnie: you make me need to spike every vein Joe: need Joe: want Joe: same diff we both know it Ronnie: not trying to make it matter baby Ronnie: put any words in my mouth you want Ronnie: or need Joe: here Joe: wish me luck on telling 'em i'm off Joe: or don't Ronnie: i'll do it for you Ronnie: point me at the relevant mckennas Joe: even stoned Joe: know that ain't a good idea Ronnie: pussy Joe: love u 2 Ronnie: 💋 Joe: [suitable amount of hours for the shit to wear off to a manageable level, avoid the parents and get out on the sly] Joe: [airport photo] Joe: tada Ronnie: we reckoned you'd bottled it Joe: taken a poll like Ronnie: yeah know you like to feel special Joe: warms my cold dead 💘 Joe: honest Ronnie: walk your corpse to me then Joe: and she says she don't sext Ronnie: you wanna be the only exception so bad or what Joe: you know how bad i want it Ronnie: dont leave again & maybe I'll buy it Joe: being dopesick was almost a nice distraction from thinking about you Ronnie: that warms my 🖤 Joe: thought so Joe: nothing does it quite like me being near-death yeah Ronnie: i do like you pathetic Ronnie: but don't think that any of it comes close to me yeah Joe: you saying you're better than heroin Ronnie: im saying you think you were hurting earlier Ronnie: ill show you pain Ronnie: all you have to do is fuck off again Joe: i won't Joe: i need to be there Joe: with you Ronnie: leave me & I will fucking break you Ronnie: i mean it Joe: i know Joe: i'm not gonna Ronnie: how did you get out Joe: parents weren't in but i said a uni friend was in a car accident and they couldn't get hold of his parents Joe: going hell anyway Joe: and someone on my course was hit by a car so if any of them are that concerned to go snooping Ronnie: thats beautiful Ronnie: you're not as much of a useless waster as youve sounded for most of the day like Joe: steady Joe: was almost not an insult Ronnie: who isn't turned on by a good lie Joe: only when I lie to you Joe: got it Ronnie: don't you fucking dare lie to me Joe: couldn't if i wanted to Ronnie: think about what kind of welcome back you want Ronnie: 'cause I can be nice or not nice Ronnie: its on you & what you say to me Joe: baby Joe: already told you I basically missed you more than heroin, how nice can one boy be Ronnie: you wont be saying that when I hand the gear over Joe: yeah i will Joe: been on you longer Ronnie: its fucking good though Joe: yeah Joe: ain't gonna say otherwise Ronnie: paid more & got better so you won't wanna leave Ronnie: dont have to rely on pretty preteens around here Joe: you know i didn't wanna leave in the first place Ronnie: i know you keep saying it like it makes a difference Joe: tell me what will and i'll do it Ronnie: i'll burn your passport that will Joe: burn my passport Joe: that's what you want? Ronnie: what do you have to go running to them for Ronnie: that's what I wanna know Ronnie: what the fuck is there for you Ronnie: cant even get a fix Joe: nothing, never has been Joe: it's obligation though Joe: you get it, i know you've done some shit just 'cos charlie wants to Joe: or 'cos bronson need it Ronnie: that's different Joe: why Ronnie: I ain't going round bullshitting how much i hate 'em on the one breath & in the other dropping everything for the pair of 'em Ronnie: ride or die is that Joe: okay so it is different Joe: it's more complicated Ronnie: fuck complicated its black & white Joe: nah like Joe: whatever i reckon about them Joe: i still owe 'em Joe: for now Joe: debts to pay like Ronnie: how ain't it been paid Ronnie: they ain't done you right since you were a kid Ronnie: if ever Ronnie: a roof & food that's easily totalled Joe: i dunno Joe: shit ton of interest Joe: learnt from the best debt collectors in liverpool, like Ronnie: write it off Ronnie: is when youre dead Joe: tell 'em that's my payment plan Ronnie: talking it out is your first mistake Ronnie: when the fuck has that worked on anyone who comes to collect Ronnie: dont even buy you time just makes you look a doss cunt more than you are Joe: maybe i can convince my da but you know she's biased Joe: all i have to do is get uni done and they can tick it off as a success Ronnie: i dont know jack about her Ronnie: how i want it Ronnie: if i aint read it off a file as a kid i don't need to hear it Joe: yeah Joe: but i ain't telling you i'm golden boy 'cos it seems cool am i Joe: whatever i'm gone now Ronnie: you're telling me 'cause you wanna trade wounds since I won't have your stories off you Ronnie: burn it into your arm deeper & maybe I'll pay attention Joe: you know it ain't about you, babe Joe: anyway, if we were still being nice I'd tell you none of the usual shit works to get you outta my head so thanks for that one Ronnie: ive been saying all day it's about her & I ain't competing with your fucking ma alright Ronnie: she smothered you poor baby Ronnie: you wanna try neglect its real easy Ronnie: feels better too Joe: you're the one who keeps bringing her up, yeah Joe: you want me to be that cunt Joe: easy Joe: I bet it was better, lucky you Ronnie: youre the one who ran home to have her tuck you in again Ronnie: youre that cunt Ronnie: mama's boy Joe: fuck's sake Joe: yeah alright Ronnie: you're the cunt who has the nerve to come crying to me when your mommy would shoot you up if you asked her to Joe: you reckon Joe: considering her dad was and she don't even hate yours as much i'll go with a no on that one Joe: plenty of sad stories I've heard and you ain't need to Ronnie: I reckon golden boy Ronnie: loves you as much as I love gear yeah Ronnie: & not trying to throw another baby away so you're welcome for the free pass Joe: cheers Joe: feels great Ronnie: you gonna cry again mckenna Joe: if i do i'll send you photos, don't worry Ronnie: 💘 Ronnie: send me some either way Joe: you're a headfuck you know Ronnie: yeah Ronnie: dealer said it last time I fucked him Joe: you want fresh line Joe: 👌 Ronnie: give it to me then Joe: give me the flight to think of something you ain't heard before Ronnie: it ain't long enough Joe: fair there's plenty of shit i can say that you ain't heard for real before Joe: but it'd be a copout so i'll keep trying Ronnie: like what Joe: how many of your brothers you fucked lik4 Ronnie: don't reckon freckles is interested Ronnie: leaves me the gay & the kid Ronnie: what about your sister that'd be hot like Joe: they're all kids, just so you know Ronnie: no they ain't Ronnie: i know you lost your virginity to me but don't reckon they're waiting Joe: you wish Joe: hopefully just on the first count Ronnie: you're a sick boy Ronnie: 💋🖕 Joe: you too baby Joe: 💘 Ronnie: thats not some shit I ain't heard before Joe: just truth though Joe: no lying Ronnie: feels like one Ronnie: I'm good Joe: what you want me to say to that Ronnie: say what you wanna say Ronnie: again not your ma Joe: i'm good then Ronnie: truth or lie Joe: lie but not a big one Joe: true once i'm off this plane Ronnie: you out of sweeties or they're just that sugar free Joe: i'm trying to time it just right Joe: then i can actually just a decent amount and not be in a coma for you Ronnie: alright fuck Ronnie: you win Ronnie: nobody's said that to me before Joe: i mean it Joe: i want you first Ronnie: don't say this shit when you're on the wrong side of a plane ride Ronnie: jesus mckenna Joe: gotta make sure you miss me too Ronnie: you're such a cunt Joe: yeah Joe: you still want me though Ronnie: shut the fuck up Joe: why Ronnie: what do you want me to say Joe: you don't have to say anything Joe: but I ain't gonna shut up about how I ain't been able to get you out of my head this whole time Ronnie: yeah you said im a headfuck Ronnie: more than your family & the gear Ronnie: I'll take it Joe: better though Joe: you know Joe: so I'll take it and all Ronnie: you're a headfuck Ronnie: what are you being nice to me for Joe: you said it could go one of two ways Joe: you want me to be mean Ronnie: I want you to be here Ronnie: but you ain't Joe: I'm coming Ronnie: & I'm waiting on you Ronnie: what the fuck Joe: I know Ronnie: I hate you Ronnie: I'm losing it, do you know that Joe: I'm sorry Ronnie: what am I gonna do with that Joe: I don't know Joe: what do you want me to do Ronnie: what can you do Ronnie: can't even score by yourself Ronnie: worse than a fucking kid Joe: was desperate Joe: and it was your idea Ronnie: thats how it is every time Ronnie: you don't have any fucking idea 'cause I'm here cupping your balls & wiping your arse for you Joe: you've been giving me an easy ride of it yeah Joe: alright Ronnie: youre gonna try & call bullshit on that yeah Joe: nah i just had no idea you were being so generous Joe: would've got you a keychain at least Ronnie: fuck you Joe: you too Ronnie: get one with sharp edges we can make a blood oath or some shit Ronnie: maybe after you'll grow the hell up Joe: sure Joe: it's my speciality yeah Ronnie: cutting's more mine but you can have it Ronnie: same old shit gets boring yeah Joe: we can share Joe: she'd be proud Ronnie: my aspiration in life Ronnie: cheers Joe: obvs mine too Ronnie: you brought her up then not me Joe: reckon you owed me that one so Joe: even Ronnie: 💋🖕 Joe: you're cute Ronnie: say that again & you'll be swallowing teeth Joe: don't worry, that was hot Joe: you won it back Ronnie: go to hell mckenna Joe: you wanna be with me forever Joe: 💘 Ronnie: just reckoning you'll get there quicker than you will this fucking airport Joe: just be glad I didn't try to get back in at rush hour Ronnie: be glad im still waiting Joe: ain't gonna waste words on it Joe: show you Ronnie: 💘

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fulltimepancreas · 3 years

Text

J’s Diagnosis Story

February 16, 2020.

Diagnosis day.

Diabetes day.

D-day.

The day all of our lives changed forever.

I spend a lot of time thinking about this day. Will this memory ever fade? A year later and yet it’s still so fresh. How long until I can drive past the ER again without a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and my eyes all welled up with tears? I have to look away because it still hurts too much.

It’s Sunday. My son J wakes up again with a stomach ache. It’s become a regular thing, so I don’t give it a second thought. Usually, once he’s fully awake and starts to play, he’ll get distracted pretty quickly, and forget. So when he tells me that he isn’t feeling well, I brush it off. In hindsight, it should have been one of many red flags. I missed it. I missed all of them.

We get a phone call from my sister-in-law who wants to throw an impromptu birthday party for our niece later in the afternoon. So I ask my older daughter, K, to babysit J while my husband and I rush to the store first thing to buy a birthday gift. I’m not at the store very long when I get a text from my daughter telling me that J has thrown up. Historically, whenever J is coming down with a cold or a stomach bug, the first sign that something is wrong is always a low fever and vomiting. So at this point, I’m thinking it is probably one of those two things, and so I finish up at the store and rush back home to take care of him. There’s no fever, but it's obvious he's coming down with something. He doesn’t have much energy or an appetite at all. I encourage him to hydrate and rest, and he does so for several hours. I decide to send my husband and daughter to the party without us. While they are gone, I offer him a popsicle (it’s blue and that’s important later) but not long after, he throws up again. The only thing he can keep down is water. After getting him all cleaned up, I leave the room for just a moment to carry some soiled towels to the l laundry. When I left him, he had been sitting up, propped up on pillows on my bed and he was watching tv. I’m gone for maybe 30 seconds, but when I return he has fallen asleep. Red flag number two. I text my husband to let him know what’s going on but tell him not to rush home. Since J is sick, sleep is good for him. I tuck him in, snuggle up next to him, and watch some tv while he sleeps. It doesn’t seem like too much time passes before I notice that he’s breathing differently. Is he breathing louder? Is it faster? I recall something about babies and fevers and breathing heavily so of course, I start to google. I don’t find any information that satisfies me, but I am prone to anxiety and I manage to convince myself that I am overreacting. Some time passes. He sleeps and his “different“ breathing continues but finally my husband and daughter return home. I’m starting to worry, and I express these concerns to my husband. And although we both think I’m probably overreacting for just a stomach bug, we decide to have him see a doctor. It’s late afternoon on a Sunday, so his doctor’s office is closed. My husband suggests urgent care. Now, my kids are healthy. Seriously, they hardly ever get sick. And for a cold or a stomach bug, I almost always just handle that at home. So when we get to the urgent care that’s closest to our house they tell us that they don’t take our insurance and they send us somewhere else. I carry my 70+ lb son back to the car because he is weak and tired and can hardly stand and we drive across town while my husband calls a different urgent care that requires us to make an appointment first. By some kind of crazy miracle, they fit us in for an appointment right about the time that we get there. We aren’t in the waiting room for too long. Maybe half an hour. He watches his iPad, alternating between my arms and my husband’s. This is very strange behavior for him because he’s almost too big to be held anymore but he insists. He also requests water to drink several times and dozes off a few times while we wait. The doctor finally comes in. He’s an older gentleman, friendly enough. He examines J pretty thoroughly, while I’m holding him in my arms and decides on a diagnosis of a stomach virus. He prescribes some anti-nausea meds and sends us on our way. He walks us to the checkout and I’m struggling again to carry J and he’s awake so I set him down for a moment to rest my arms. This moment probably saved his life. J kind of stumbles and it’s clear he is too weak to walk. The doctor sees this and asks us to wait a minute. He asks us to come back into the exam room and says he wants to check one more thing. He asks the nurse to get a glucose reading on my son. The nurse leaves the room to go and get supplies. At this moment, I have one of those literal light bulb epiphany moments like they show in cartoons. Suddenly and overwhelmingly everything clicks in to place and I just... know. His blood sugar is 300+. “Is that bad?”, we ask, and they only tell us that it’s high. The doctor says he’s sending us to the ER but he leaves the room to call ahead and tell them we’re coming. Diabetes, I say to my husband as the three of us are left alone in the exam room. Oh. My. God. He drinks so much water all the time. I have been calling him my “little fish out of water” for months. He wakes up all hours of the night to ask for more water. He pees constantly. He even wets the bed sometimes ‘cause he drinks so much. He’s lost weight recently but, hey... he was a little chubby to start with so that wasn’t really a bad thing. His stomach always hurts. Diabetes. I should have known. I should have figured this out. Oh. My. God. The nurse brings a wheelchair for J since I’m struggling to carry him. My husband brings the car around while I check out and we finally head to the ER. By some other kind of crazy miracle, the ER is in an adjacent building sharing a parking lot with the urgent care we are at. A few minutes later, we walk into the ER and sign in and sit down in the waiting room. Almost immediately we are called back. I’m carrying him the whole way and finally get to set him down on the hospital bed. Several hospital staff rush in and out of the room. Everything is a blur. He’s getting an IV in both of his arms and blood drawn and all sorts of things are being done but he seems pretty indifferent to everything and just keeps dosing off. And then at some point, there’s a bit of a fuss... because J’s lips are kind of blue (because of that popsicle I fed him earlier when I was trying to get him to hold something down). This becomes a bit of a running joke with the doctors later on. Blue lips generally signify a lack of oxygen so they were kind of baffled before I remembered to tell them about the popsicle. At some point, I look down at him and I start to cry. I’m freaking out. I’m scared and I’m sad and I know “diabetes” but that’s the only thing I know and there are so many unanswered questions and I can’t hold it in anymore. A nurse is putting in an IV (god, does he really need another one?) or something... I honestly have no idea because all the moments are blurring together but J sees me. And he asks that nurse, “Why is my mommy crying?” He tells my son, “It’s ok. Your mommy is just worried about you.” And I realize at this moment that he needs me to be strong for him right now more than anything. And when I tell you that I didn’t cry again (in front of him at least) the entire week we spent in the hospital, it is the truth. That’s significant for me because I’m usually an emotional wreck about every little thing. My husband gets on the phone to make arrangements for our older daughter to stay with family since they’re telling us we will be admitted to the hospital. She also suffers from anxiety so when we speak to her, I tell her as little as possible and I downplay the severity because I need her to stay calm and not lose it. I tell her everything is ok. I’m lying to her but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t think about that right now. We are at one of the smaller ERs, so after getting him all hooked up and stable and everything, they tell us that we’ll be taking an ambulance to the big hospital across town. Neither of us has ever been in an ambulance before and the EMTs are very friendly and cool so J is at ease. He’s awake for most of the ride and we talk about J’s favorite video games and the EMT shows him cool stuff in the ambulance. Later, he tells me it’s pretty much the only thing he remembers from the whole day. At the hospital, we go straight to the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) where we will spend the next week. So much new information is thrown at us. So many words and numbers we won’t yet understand. (What is bolus? What even is a normal blood sugar number?) At some point, I hear that his blood sugar is in the 600s. I somewhat understand that he’s receiving both insulin to bring down his blood sugar and also glucose in his IVs at the same time because they have to bring it down slowly to prevent his brain from swelling. I don’t get any sleep, but luckily J is still exhausted and he spends most of the first few days asleep. Because once every hour, the nurses come in and they finger prick him to test his blood sugar. By the time we get home, there isn’t a single spot on any of his little fingertips that aren’t covered in bruises. The next morning, my husband brings K up to visit, and that cheers J up a little. But mostly he sleeps. He cannot walk to the bathroom or even stand up. And it’s like 48 hours before he’s even allowed to try and eat anything. While he sleeps, I read and then reread this book they’ve given me which is basically a starter guide to diabetes. When I’m done with that, I google and study everything I can find about diabetes. Looking back on it, before this, I really didn’t know anything at all about diabetes. And everything

I thought I knew about it was just misconceptions or flat out wrong. A constant stream of doctors and hospital staff are coming in and out of his room. We meet his endocrinologist, and the first thing he says is, “Yes, he has type one diabetes. Yes, I’m sure. No, you didn’t do anything to cause it. And no, there isn’t anything you could have done to prevent it.” Type 1 diabetes. Diabetic ketoacidosis. Kidney failure. F$#k. Eventually, he gets to have his first meal. A nurse comes in to teach us how to calculate an insulin dose. He struggles to find his appetite. After the first shot, and for several more shots afterward, the nurse brings him a toy that he gets really excited about and makes things a little easier. We watch a lot of movies. Toy Story and Lion King and their sequels over and over. The nurses are so kind and just incredible and probably the only reason why I’m able to hold it all together. Once or twice while he sleeps, I sneak into the bathroom to have a quick cry where I know he can’t hear me. My husband gets to leave the hospital for a few hours at a time to pick up our daughter or run errands and I can see how emotional he gets about everything but he can let it all out while he is away. I made a promise to J that no matter what, I would not ever leave his side so sneaking to the bathroom to cry is the only way I can keep it together for him. More days pass, and he is getting his strength and his appetite back slowly. On the fifth day, they ask us if we feel confident that we can handle everything by ourselves at home, and we are sure that we can. We have no idea. No f$#king clue. We stand in his hospital room, with his brand new meter and we ask the nurse for help to make sure we know how to work it before we leave the hospital and she isn’t much help and in the end, we have to figure it out ourselves. And that kind of sets the precedent for this whole disease, to be honest. We are given bare-bones, one size fits all sort of instructions on “how to diabetes” but we will learn pretty quickly that we have a lot to figure out on our own. I could tell you that it gets easier. And that would be sort of true. After a while, taking care of a child with diabetes becomes routine and things that seemed scary at first are like second nature. I know my way around a BG meter no matter the brand or type. I can check ketones and confidently give injections without a second thought. I can safely calculate an insulin dose and find the carbohydrate count for anything, and even accurately guess the carbs (without looking it up or weighing) for probably every food in our house. I know what normal blood glucose range is for diabetics and non-diabetics. I know what bolus and basal are, and I know about all of the different types of insulin. I know how to apply, use, and remove a continuous glucose monitor. If you ask me a question about diabetes, I either know the answer or I know where to find it. I f$#ing KNOW diabetes. But every single day is different than the one before. What works today to keep my son in range may not give the same results tomorrow. Everything affects his numbers: food, activity level, stress, even the weather. And I guess that’s why it’s never gonna be easy. That, and the fact that giving him insulin is the only thing that can keep J alive while simultaneously being lethal if he gets too much... it’s like this huge, heavy weight that I have to carry every day. And when he gets older, he’ll have to carry it, too. And all I can do is to love him fiercely and to raise him to be strong enough to endure and until that day comes, to take as much off of his shoulders as I possibly can.

#t1d #type one diabetes #chronic illness #diabetes #type1 #diagnosis story #mom blog #t1dwarrior #diabetic #type one diabetic

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writingsformuse · 7 years

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Calm, Perhaps

SUMMARY: To her, Dean Winchester is nothing short of art, and she loves to watch over him. But as a mission goes wrong as she becomes captured, the hunter finally realizes the importance of her eyes that trace his skin.

WORD COUNT: 1,814 words

AUTHOR: Lydia

NOTES: ngl, this is one of my favourites. have fun!

She loved to look at him. His eyes, they were usually vibrant, but she loved when they turned dark in the face of death and how they seemed foggy when he woke from slumber. How Dean Winchester smiled, and what a special occasion it was when he truly laughed. When he would lock his jaw, or cross his arms, or stare at someone as they told a tale. (Y/n) loved his face, his arms, his legs (no matter how bowlegged they were).

Her favourite times to watch the him was when he just wakes up, or when he’s deep in work. When he stumbles into the kitchen with that grey robe loose around his body, his eyes traced with sleep and his mouth yearning for coffee. When he sits in the library, sifting through books and cracking through databases, he often bites his lip from, or furrow his eyebrows as he reads a new article. And when he was really stressed, he’d run a hand through his hair.

Art, she would think, this man is a piece of art.

He would catch her a lot. How could he not? He was trained to know when eyes were upon him, eyes of the dead or of the ones he lived for. Often he would watch her back, and they would wait until one of them smiled or walked away, or until Sam came in and they had to look away. That was torture, having to cower, but neither could admit what they felt to anyone on earth.

They had their questionings about each other. When Dean would catch her staring, he wondered if it was from curiosity, fear, lust, anger. And when he would stare back, (y/n) would try to figure out of it was aggression, assertiveness, interest, or maybe calmness.

She always scratched out that last one. Calmness didn't exist for hunters.

But he made her feel calm. For those seconds where she could breathe, and where her eyes could rest on him, she felt such ease with the ruined world.

She wasn’t foolish, and neither was he. They both knew calm doesn't last. Nothing lasts.

She was keeping up with the days. Somehow, past the pain of the lashes and the constant draining, she remembered the number of days she had been held by these vampires. She’s at 67 now, and she thinks it’s a Wednesday. Maybe it’s noon, but it feels like midnight. She doesn’t know that; it’s been 52 days since she last saw sunlight.

“Mission gone wrong.” That’s what someone would call it, someone who would be comforting Dean and Sam and trying to tell (y/n) she would make it out alive. But this mission had been going so right, so perfect and to the point of what they set on the table. (Y/n) as bait, Sam and Dean with machetes to take the small pack out. But when their numbers turned out larger than they had estimated, the mission had gone too well, and she was taken.

(Y/n) was tired. The constant feeding the pack of twelve did was exhausting. Their last girl, a young teen by the name of Maddy, died of blood loss on her third round with the vamps. (Y/n) was past the hundredth, and she wonders how she still manages to breathe.

They let her sleep six hours, and she had to guess the time off of those moments. She would eat a small meal in the morning, hook up to an IV and maybe a blood bag if the prior day was heavy during lunch, and she would get another meal in the afternoon. They let her shower once a week, but she hasn’t seen her own face in a mirror in over two months.

She’s tried to figure out where she is. She knows it’s close to Kansas City, but that’s only a feeling in her gut. She’s tried to escape, the last attempt just a week back, but that resulted in lashings and a cut down on meals. She had given up on day 58, and wanted to die on 64.

She knew she would never be found. Sam and Dean had probably pronounced her dead by now; what would be the use of searching for a lost cause? It’s lost for a reason. She had accepted her fate: bleed, eat, sleep, repeat, until maybe death had managed to catch her.

She had found an anchor. A thought, a memory, a distant stretch of her heart and soul to the image of Dean Winchester. His eyes, his walk, his demeanor. She longed for that little tranquility she got by watching him. But by now, she was having a hard time remembering the layout of the hunter’s face and body, or even how that grey robe draped across him in the early mornings.

She could recall his arms, how scratched and scarred they were. She remembers his eyes, but only that they’re green (the last look she got at them was when they were filled to the brim with fear and anger as she was dragged into a car). She holds onto the memory of his smile, and the sound of his laugh, but she’s starting to think she made those up by now.

Oh, what she’d give to watch Dean Winchester one last time before she left for beyond.

The door opens and (y/n) closes her eyes, her hands shaking as someone stands in the doorway. She slowly looks up, sitting still on the edge of her cot when she sees a familiar figure. The tall girl, the alpha’s lover, the one who retrieved her and sent her back every day. She looked normal, (y/n) was sure of it, but to her she was as awful as Lucifer.

“Come on, (Y/N/N), don’t make this hard,” the lady calls out.

“Please, just another hour of rest, Aba,” she pleads.

The woman, Aba, laughs with amusement. “I don’t think so.” She walks to her and (y/n) gasps as Aba pulls her by the arm. She feels so fragile, her bones frail and her blood thin. She’s lost weight, she knows this, and she feels like if Aba pulls any harder that she might fall apart.

As she’s pulled though the basement, her feet seem to stick to the cement. It’s cold, always so cold, and dank in the air with the windows boarded up. Aba tightens the grip on her arm and yanks her around a corner, and (y/n) lets a whimper echo her chest.

She dreaded the room she was now in. “The fill-up” was what they called it. It was a small room with a few cots, IV stands all around with blood bags and needles on carts. But the one thing different today was that it was empty.

“W-Where’s Liam?” (y/n) asks quietly as she sits on a cot.

“Finally ran dry,” Aba says coolly as she grabs a needle. (Y/n) blinks back tears; Liam was her last straw, the one person she trusted here, a small boy of seven years old. She had tried to protect him, she tried to have him seem weaker so she could bleed more instead of him. But she must not have tried hard enough.

As Aba walks to her with a needle, (y/n) shifts.

“Aba, please,” she whispers.

“You’re the last one, (y/n), you know that,” Aba says in a monotone voice. “The longest lasting we’ve seen, too.” She grins, kneeling in front of her as (y/n) tries to scoot away. “I wanna see just how long I can drain you for-”

“I’m not weak,” she manages to say despite the fear. “I’ll get out.”

Aba laughs, looking up at her. “I will drain you of blood and soul, girl,” she hisses, and (y/n) sits up straight. And as Aba looks down at the needle, an impulse runs through (y/n). She raises her hand and hits Aba hard, making her fall onto her butt as a crashing sound is heard overhead.

(Y/n) looks up with wide eyes as she backs out of the room. Aba rises quickly, and (y/n) flips a cot in front of her to make her trip. It buys her a second to turn and run down the long hall. She can hear the harsh steps behind her as she turns a corner, but she doesn’t turn around.

“(Y/n)!” a strong voice calls, and she stops in her tracks. It’s a voice she held onto for over two months, one so deep and full of pain and strength that it made her knees shake. It was the voice of Dean Winchester, and it was just too far.

Before she can recover, she gets tackled to the ground. She rolls over to see Aba with her fangs out, and (y/n)’s eyes go wide. She shouts through barred teeth, pressing up against the vamp’s neck to keep her teeth as far away as possible from her flesh.

A door opens across the room, and hard steps trample down the stairs. (Y/n) keeps her eyes on the vamp, yelling out as she pushes her face away.

But suddenly, arms reach out and pull the vampire off of her, and a machete ends all the commotion in the room as (y/n) scoots back to sit up. She takes quick breaths, shaking with fear and exhaustion from such a simple action.

Soft hands touch her shoulders and she cries out in panic as she spins around. But it’s familiar hands, the touch of Dean with Sam coming down the stairs. And as she looks into his eyes, she’s engulfed once again.

“Dean,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. “Oh my god.” He drops the machete and falls to his knees, grabbing her and pulling him into his arms. She sobs, gripping his jacket and wetting his shirt with tears. His hands are strong on her weak back, and his fingers wrap around her sides to keep her body against his.

“I’m so sorry,” he says into her ear, kissing her forehead and her hair. “(Y/n), I am so sorry.”

She shakes her head, crying as he pulls her to his lap so he can sit. Sam just smiles, leaning against the wall as Dean buries his face deep into (y/n)’s hair.

“68 days,” (y/n) whispers, and Dean pulls her back. He marvels at how much weight she's lost, how small she seems in his arms and how her skin hugs at her bones.

“What?”

“It’s been 68 days, and you never gave up,” she asks, looking up at him. “Why?”

“I don’t think I could make it a lifetime without having someone watch over me,” he says, and she laughs once with tears in her eyes. He kisses her forehead and her laugh turns back into a cry as she grips his shirt for dear life.

And for the first time in months, she feels calm.

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birdscreeches · 6 years

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Pamahiin || Aisha R.

"Pamahiin roughly translates to English as ‘folk superstition’. An unjustified yet widely held belief.”

My lolo had slept on a banig on the floor of a room filled to the brim with four grandchildren’s worth of stuffed toys, action figures, and school books. My lola slept on a bed right next to him in the same room, and when I asked him why he didn’t just sleep there—there was certainly plenty of space—he’d always tell me the floor was better for his back. More natural, or something. I just figured he had a personal vendetta against beds.

This is the same room he died in. Much to what I’m sure would’ve be his utter dismay, he didn’t die on his banig. Instead, at around six in the morning in my senior year of high school, he died on a hospital bed.

We bought the bed. We also bought several oxygen tanks, an IV stand, a wheelchair, something that functioned like a heart monitor, and a lot of different tubes for a lot of different things. In a room filled with toys and childhood keepsakes, we built him a hospital room. Thinking about the room and the sickening contrast between past and present and a future that was ending sent a sour pang through my chest. Like somebody had taken a metal bar and ran it across the bones of my ribcage. Xylophone sounds of guilt I couldn’t stand to hear every day.

To create silence, I pretended the room didn’t exist anymore.

It worked rather well until the morning Nanay had pulled me into the not-room. I was already dressed in my uniform, my bag weighing my shoulders down, when she told me to say something to Lolo before I left. Or before he did.

“Feeling ko malapit na,” she told me.

So I went. I barely looked at Lolo. He hadn’t been able to speak for months, by that point. He was more a corpse than anything. No more was the weird old dude who truly believed sleeping on the floor was more comfortable. Just a body we were keeping alive in a room I erased.

Not wanting to be rude, I forced myself to look at him, if only for a second. The eyes that looked back at me were murky and unseeing. Around us, various toys looked at me with the same kind of gaze.

“See you later, Lolo.” I said.

Unable to last any longer, I headed out of the room that didn’t exist and out of the house. Standing by the garden, I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting to leave for school.

A couple of seconds later, his heart stopped beating.

A little bit after that, I’m told what basically amounted to the fact that the last thing my lolo heard was my lie.

Now, the thing to focus on here shouldn't be his death, but the room. The not-room. The room I rendered gone. This was a neat superpower of mine; I could flip a switch in my brain and change what was and what wasn’t.

It all started with the spoon.

As a child, my lola taught me the intricacies of superstition. Don’t go bed with your hair wet, or you’ll go insane. Jump on new years, and maybe we can stop buying you Cherifer. If you drop your utensils, you will get a visitor. I found immense joy in these small magics of life, that one thing could cause another even if it didn’t make any sense. It didn’t have to. Afterall, with my superpower, I made it all true.

All I had to do was believe hard enough.

To the skeptics, I raise the fact that the galaxy revolved around the Earth because people believed it to be. The world was flat because people believed it to be. There’s somewhere we go after we die because we believe it’s real. We can rearrange the cosmos, shape planets, and live after life is over. If that wasn’t a superpower, I didn’t know what was.

One pathetic night at ten years old, I ate dinner alone. Everybody was busy or out or something and I was ten years old and alone. Petulantly, I threw my hand out, pushed my spoon off the the table, and watched it clatter to the floor. You will get a visitor.

I waited one second. Nothing.

Two. Still nothing.

Three, and something in my chest began to hurt. A bar dragged across my ribs, clanging around.

Four. The notes inside me said how dare you.

Five seconds in, I scrambled to the ground and picked the spoon up.

At the end of that night, nobody did come. My point here wasn’t that my superpower was bullshit, but instead that there was a caveat to it. I could believe in what I wanted, I could change my own reality and make things real or not-real, but the consequence to that power would always catch up.

A sound, a feeling, a something. Whatever it was, it always asked me the same thing: what have you done?

Twenty minutes after my lolo's heart stopped beating, we did end up leaving for school. My tito had taken us through the regular traffic that trickled Marikina into Katipunan Avenue, the normal slog of slow moving cars. Usually, the radio would quietly croon 70s and 80s music into the morning. 105.9 DZG-FM Mega Manila's first and only retro hit station—

On that day, nobody touched the radio. The rumble of the engine was the only sound to be heard.

In the passenger seat, my brother took a nap. Next to me, my younger sister had her earphones in, staring out the window, unmoving. I folded and unfolded the cuffs of my jacket over and over again until we arrived school and I clambered out of the car.

Class that day was almost hilariously uneventful. I returned a red pen to one of my classmates (I had lost all my own red pens). I took a Math final (I failed it very badly). I dry heaved into a toilet (the cuffs of my jacket were folded up). I put one leg in front ot the other, and kept walking, and nobody asked me anything. It was a normal day, and if it wasn’t, I told myself it was. I could rearrange planets, if I wanted. One day was child’s play.

In my gut, I didn’t feel the stirrings of mourning so much as the sound of a clinking spoon against the floor. Count the seconds now. How long until I caved? How long until the reality I crafted myself started to thrum with shame?

Lolo was my mom’s father, and Nanay had always been the type to get things done inordinately fast. After school, my sister and I were taken to a holding room in Loyola Memorial Park. There, everything was set up. Catering, relatives who were called from the province throughout the day, an army monobloc chairs, and of course, a coffin where Lolo now laid in. The only thing we were missing was one of those tarps all dead people seemed to have, but this was obviously a rush job.

“Maybe next time,” I joked to a couple of kittens I found under the table laden with food. There were two of them. A grey one and an orange one.

At around eight in the evening, we held a small mass in the holding room. Being a close family member, I got the front row seats. The priest was nice. He told jokes and had a voice that was made for condolences, and I enjoyed listening to him until he started the homily. His homily was about what I said to Lolo before his heart gave up. “See you later.” He went on for a long time about how he found it beautiful. Meanwhile, I wanted to go find a bathroom to try to vomit in again, but I stood my ground. I figured if I was going to have a reaction that strong, it would be because this was a wake. Not because of my lie. Not because of me. Somebody was dead, and all I could think about was myself. How dare you.

Shut the room closed and pretend it didn’t exist. My mind was no different. Obfuscate. Reroute. Distract. For the rest of the homily, I tuned out the voice of the priest and instead looked to the coffin.

I saw Lolo pretty clearly behind the glass. He looked off. In the middle of a solemn mass where I could hear my Lola crying, where, in my periphery, I saw my older sister’s tears fall to the floor, I almost laughed. I almost doubled over when I realized they put makeup on him. There was powder on his face. He had lip tint. My gut hurt from keeping it in. God, I thought. He would’ve fucking hated this.

When the mass was over, teary relatives filtered outside and began to eat. It’s amazing what food and company can do, because in roughly five minutes, all the tears were gone, replaced now by boisterous stories and loud conversation. Feeling a little safer, I told somebody about the makeup thing. When I’m met with laughter, I smile for the first time that entire day.

One by one, I watched everybody leave. They’d be back tomorrow. There’d be more people tomorrow. I sat by the food table, all the catering stuff cleared out and gone, and played with the kittens. They cuddled onto my lap, happy to have warmth and attention as I cooed over them.

It was at that moment, with my hands full of purring fluff, that I realized I hadn’t cried the entire day. While my hands moved over soft fur, I realized I hadn’t cried today because he didn’t die today. His heart stopped beating, but he was already dead for a long time. At least for me he was. At least I had created the story in my head to make it like he was. Here were the not-rooms and magic spoons and people who were dead before a doctor declared them dead. It’s one hell of a superpower. It’s one hell of a responsibility too, but I was sixteen and stupid and still counting down for the moment where I scramble for the spoon. To the sound of soft mews, I realized that the pin had dropped. Now it was a matter of when I’d pick it up.

The orange kitten pawed at the rolled down cuff of my jacket. Its claw dragged a faint line of red against my skin.

And I bled.

Now the worrying thing is that for the past month, I’ve been dreaming. This was an anomaly. My anxiety usually meant restless nights which usually meant that most of my dreams were lost to exhaustion. Dreams for me felt like something you needed to pull free from a strong undercurrent. It just so happened my grip has always been weak.

When I did dream, when I did remember them, it’s because instead of having to hold on, the dream clamped around my wrist, crawled up my arm, and wrapped itself around my neck. When I did dream, I woke up gasping. A slight change of semantics now; when I did dream, technically, it’s because they were always nightmares.

I preferred restless blurs any day, but for the past month, I haven’t been lucky.

The dreams vary slightly each and every time. Sometimes I was at school. I was at home. I was at the grocery store. I was at the Jollibee a minute walk away. Sometimes there’s somebody with me and sometimes I was alone. Sometimes there was rain. Sometimes there was fire.

But the constant was my teeth. No matter what happened, I always felt something shatter in my mouth. One by one, bloodied tooth shards came loose. They tumbled past my lips and into my shaking hands. When I thought all my teeth were gone, that finally, it’s done, it started all over again with new teeth breaking and coming apart. On one horrifying occasion, I pressed my hand to my mouth to to keep it shut. The teeth continued to break nonetheless and I felt them slide down my throat.

I woke up gasping.

Teeth falling out was a common enough recurring dream that the interpretations were limitless. If Freud was to be believed, these dreams either meant I needed to get laid soon or get off more. Others said that fear was taking control of my life, as if I didn’t know that already. My brother told me that maybe, I needed to see a dentist. I told him to fuck off.

“It means somebody is going to die,” Nanay told me over lunch. We were at a sushi place, and she popped a salmon sashimi into her mouth as if she didn’t just say the creepiest thing ever.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she said. Another salmon. “Pamahiin.”

“I’ve doomed us all, then.”

“You have to bite on aluminum,” Nanay pointed her chopsticks at me. “And then say ‘this will not happen’.”

I made a show of biting down on my fork (I could never get the hang of chopsticks) before releasing it. “This will not happen.”

“No, you have to say it while you’re biting down.”

“Theeehs will nohh hapehn?” I tried again, fork in my mouth. My younger sister started to laugh.

“And you have to do it as many times as you had the dream.”

“That’s—it’s been a month, that’s over twenty times! You’re messing with me!”

“I’m not! I’m your mother,” she faux gasped.

“You do know that that fork is made of steel, right?” Tatay said. My younger sister lost it, bending over and laughing like a loon.

When I got home, I googled the pamahiin. Various sources confirmed that Nanay wasn’t messing with me, but they did say that it wasn’t aluminum you had to bite on, but wood. Between a faceless blog page and my own mother, I decided to believe the one who could whack me in the head.

When everybody had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and tore off a small square of aluminum foil. I folded it, bit down, and said, “This will not happen. This will not happen. This will not happen.” My garbled, pleading litany.

That night, my teeth fell onto the floor of my dreamscape yet again.

Who would I use my superpower on next?

Almost midnight on the day Lolo’s heart stopped beating, it was finally time for us to leave. Nanay would stay behind; it was her job to keep watch. Vaguely, I remembered something about aswangs stealing dead bodies in the night. Good luck to whatever aswang dared go against her.

I pried Orange and Grey off of my hoodie, waved goodbye to Nanay, and sleepily climbed into the car with the rest of my family. Tired and weary, I watched the bright blurs of streetlights zoom past, looking forward to passing out in my bed.

But then instead of turning right onto J.P, Rizal after crossing the river, Tatay kept driving straight.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Never go straight home after a wake,” he said. Ah. Right.

Which is how we ended up at a Ministop across Sta. Elena High School.

I idly walked through the aisles of the store, instinctually gravitating towards the candy section. As I looked upon a selection of Cadburys, I thought about whatever spirits that had hitched a ride with us doing the same. Would they like fruit and nut, or just plain chocolate? I thought, laughing a little to myself. Would they be pissed knowing of all places we left them, it was at a goddamn Ministop? I thought, imagining a Sadako like figure tapping her foot by the cashier.

Would they wonder why I didn’t cry at my own lolo’s wake? I thought, my laughter dying down. Would they wonder if I had feelings? I thought, my stomach began to sink. Would they wonder if I had a heart?

In this too-bright aisle, surrounded by sweets, the spirits we were brushing off, and the ghost I refused to even acknowledge, tears welled up in my eyes. They didn’t fall. I blinked them away before they could, but not before my rib cage rattled the dissonant notes of something terrible.

The funny thing was that this wasn’t because I suddenly accepted he died, as if there was something about the ambiance of a convenience store that hammered the point in. I accepted he died long before, but as tears threatened to spill past my eyes like dream teeth falling out of my mouth, like a spoon clattering to the ground, I realized that the glacial five seconds had finally passed. What have you done? I told myself a story so hard I believed it. How dare you? I switched mourning for safety. What is the price you’ll pay? It’ll follow me home. It’ll follow me everywhere.

“Are you going to get anything?” Tatay asked, pulling me out of my haze. “Cadbury?”

“Nah,” I told him. My eyes were expertly clear when I looked at him, but he didn’t look convinced. “Are we going now?”

“Yeah,” he said. So we all walked out, a bunch of assholes who loitered in a convenience store without buying anything, and got into the car.

In the rearview mirror, I watched the Ministop get smaller and smaller til we finally turned on the road going home. We were safe now. No more spirits

Nobody touched the radio. The rumble of the engine was the only sound to be heard. In my head, I heard a something more. I’m bringing something home with me, I thought, listening to the tiny little clangs. Something was playing my bones, and it sounded like shame.

I shut my eyes, laid my head against the window, and pretended I didn’t hear it at all.

#written for the memoir submission for my nonfiction class #this piece could totally improve on things like cohesion and flow but for now. this is it.#death cw #non fic

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