#longing for domesticity will never not punch me straight in the soul

[dxckgrxsonx]

Quiet Realisations (i)

Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader (Friends to Lovers) Words - 2.6k Warnings - Fluff - Angst - Forehead Kisses - Platonic Affection - Jason Cries - Comfort - Domestic!Jason - Reader plays with Jason’s hair - Swearing. Notes - I’m trapped in a glass case of emotion. This is going to be a series because I have so many different scenes planned out for the Friends to Lovers trope. Plus I wanted to try and write something that would challenge me a little, personally, I don’t think fluff is my strong point. Hope you enjoy!! 💕

PART TWO // MASTERLIST

**

‘There's something in your throat that wants to get out and you won’t let it.’

**

You swear it’s not a big deal.

There’s a lump lodging itself in the back of your throat and you find that no matter how hard you try, you can’t quite swallow it down. Fingers shaking like you’re holding onto something heavy, something so scorching hot that you’re convinced it’s going to burn a hole straight through the palm of your hand.

Part of you wants to drop it, nudge it under the sofa and forget about it, pretend it isn’t there–almost like kicking a rouge ice cube under the fridge in the kitchen. But you can’t forget it, can’t swallow the lump from your throat or clip a leash around that endless softness stirring in the pit of your stomach.

It’s not a big deal.

You’ve been close friends for a while now, you know in the back of your head that this is the next logical step forwards.

But god fucking help you, it feels like you’re offering up your soul on a plate.

**

He’s been here since before dawn.

The latch on your window remains slightly ajar. You find that something in the back of your head protests when you try to close it, digs its heels into the ground and refuses point blank to budge, even though you know that if you were to close it, he would still find his way in.

Something about letting him know that he’s always welcome. That if you close it, it sends him a certain message.

You’ve long since grown accustomed to the quiet click of your window as it opens. Memorised the almost silent pattern of footsteps as someone pads through your living room towards the bathroom. It used to fill you with dread, have you flaring awake neck deep in fight or flight and scrambling for your phone, a weapon, something to offer protection.

But recently, you’ve found that subconsciously your brain no longer registers the noise as a threat.

Still, you always make an effort to wake up, to check for injuries, to make sure he’s okay.

More than once he’s come tumbling through your window gasping for breath, weak, barely conscious and bleeding.

You remember the first few times that happened, the utter panic, the absolute shot of adrenaline punching fiercely through your ribs when you wake to the sound of his body hitting the floor like a complete deadweight.

After the first time, you started stashing first aid kits throughout the apartment. Sometimes you find yourself reaching for the one next to your bed in your sleep, would wake up with the kit clenched tight between your fingers like a lifeline.

Thankfully, this time he’s fine, and you were awake for a mere few minutes before he told you to go back to sleep with that small, tired smile you love so much.

You’ll never admit it.

Not to god, not under torture, not even to your own reflection in the mirror.

But you didn’t sleep until you heard him settle on your sofa and go quiet. You’ve always been more content with the knowledge that he was safe and comfortable than losing a few minutes of extra sleep.

Jason would never admit it either, but he knows that you stay awake and wait for him to drift off. Has known for months that on those nights where he comes to you, you lie in your bed and listen out for him until you’re convinced he’s okay.

You care in quiet ways.

Like stashing first aid kits in your apartment, leaving the latch on the window un-done, and waiting, soft and tired, for him to fall asleep first.

**

You pad into the living room quietly.

Beelining for the kitchen you smother a yawn into your fist and chance a split second glance to the lump on your sofa. There’s an involuntary quirk of your lips when your eyes settle on him, gaze cataloguing the lazy sprawl of his limbs and the way his hair peeks out at odd angles from underneath the blanket.

Grabbing the sight with both hands you tuck it away, ease it warm and gentle between the smooth curve of your ribs. You exhale—maybe in relief at the sight of him, safe and alive and uninjured for once.

Or maybe, you exhale because looking at him, curled up under your blanket–in your home–is making you a little dizzy.

You breathe oxygen back into your lungs quietly and almost miss the slight change in his breathing. For one horrible moment you think you may have woken him. Jason has always been sensitive to people’s eyes on him, even when he’s sleeping.

You wonder sometimes, if he ever truly gets to rest. 

Grabbing something to eat you wander back, and pull up short when you feel his gaze on you. There’s a strange look on his face you don’t see often, a flicker of something opening, it’s almost like looking at your window in the early hours of the morning, cracked open at the bottom and letting the cold air sweep in.

“Hey.” You smile, voice soft with sleep.

A small smile tips up Jason’s mouth in return and you find that your goddamn traitorous heart skips a beat.

Plonking yourself down directly on Jason’s stomach you take a big bite of your cereal bar and turn your head to glance at him, “You’re not very comfortable.”

Shifting so he lays flat on his back Jason grunts and plucks the cereal bar straight out of your greedy fingers, “Good. I hope sitting on me brings you incredible pain.” Shovelling the rest of the bar into his mouth he throws the wrapper at the side of your head.

Rolling your eyes you sweep the wrapper onto the floor, “Real mature.”

Shuffling around you settle with your thighs bracketing Jason’s hips. Smothering another yawn into your hands you squint when a beam of early morning sunlight streaks through your curtains and into your eyes.

Resting on your knees you lean over Jason’s head to tug them closed. Curling your fingers into the rough fabric you wobble, slightly unbalanced before firm fingers skirt over your ribcage and hold you in place.

There’s a flutter of your pulse at the feel of Jason's warm hand cupping your side. His thumb strokes gently over the curved bones and part of you feels like you’re going to turn to liquid and slip straight through his fingers.

You swallow and your voice comes out thick, “Thanks.”

Jason tightens his grip, “No problem.”

Leaning back and settling into place once more you stare at Jason’s hair, the strands sticking out at various angles from where it’s been trapped under his helmet on patrol, then ruffled as he’s slept. Your fingers itch with the urge to comb through the messy strands, mouth pressing into a barely controlled line.

“Jay,” You start, and you feel his attention swing to you. Humming non-sequentially as an answer he waits patiently, eyes slipping shut. “Can I please, please, please sort your hair out. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning.”

One side of his mouth hooks up in a crooked grin, one eye opening and flicking upwards, “You think mine is bad? You should look at yours.”

“You first.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost like you’ve wounded him, but he nods non-the-less.

Reaching out tentatively, you brush through the bone white streak first, fingers catching in the tangles and tugging them loose. Using your free hand you cup Jason’s face, thumb resting along his strong jawline to keep his head still as your other hand slowly works through his hair.

Pulling at a particularly stubborn knot Jason hisses through his teeth.

“Be quiet,” You mumble, slightly distracted, focused. “M’almost done, two more minutes, okay?” You feel his eyebrow quirk up against the pads of your fingers and a stupid smile curves your lips. “Put that thing down or so help me.”

Jason laughs and you feel the vibrations through your thighs, “Y’don’t scare me.”

It’s involuntary. You do it without thinking. In the back of your head, you wonder if someone has gone in and switched off half of your brain, the part that controls critical thinking. It’s knee jerk, reflective in that strange way people can do things on autopilot.

You pull his hair.

And witness something incredible.

Jason chokes back a groan, the sound trapped and desperate behind his teeth. His pupils blow wide, pretty colour swallowed by something heated, something you’ve never been before. Your breath comes out short, you feel almost giddy at his reaction, like you’re on top of the goddamn world.

Going to open his mouth you move your thumb from his jaw and press it against his plush lips, “Shush, I warned you. Now let me finish.”

Without missing a beat Jason bites your thumb, teeth sinking in hard enough to leave a perfect indent behind. His eyes are almost glittering and you grab his jaw between your thumb and forefinger.

“Todd,” You growl, squeezing tightly enough to get your message across. “Stop being a child.”

Holding him in place you comb your fingers through his hair one last time, satisfied as your fingers run through without catching on any tangles. Tugging at the white streak you twist the strands around your finger until it falls in a perfect little curl.

“There,” You declare, letting him go and leaning back. “Pretty as a picture.”

**

Standing side by side in the kitchen you and Jason work together to clean and dry the dishes. Looking over at him out of the corner of your eye you can’t help but think that domesticity suits him.

Sure, you’ve seen him decked out in his full Red Hood gear, kevlar plates, holsters filled with guns and a scary amount of knives tucked in his combat boots. You’ve seen him tall and broad shouldered and dangerous. But there’s something soft, something aching like a day old bruise at the sight of him in sweatpants and a hoodie helping you wash the dishes.

He suits being soft.

Jason fits into your space like a perfect puzzle piece, slots into the gap you never noticed was missing. He tucks his various angles into your home without a scratch and scathingly, you realise he’s managed to fold himself up small and quiet beside your heart.

Forearm deep in hot soapy water your eye catches his sleeve slipping.

Dropping the cloth from your hands you lean over and push his sleeve back into place, making sure to fold the elastic over his elbow so it doesn’t slip down again. A quick, pleased hum rumbles through your chest and you go back to drying the dishes again without a word.

“Thanks.” Jason mumbles.

There's something different in his voice but you can’t pinpoint what it is, his words are a little thicker than normal, his accent slightly more noticeable. You realise then, that he’s stopped what he’s doing. Goosebumps prickle over his skin and you think he’s cold, think that the slight breeze from the unlatched window in your living room is making him chilly.

A few weeks ago, whilst you were on your way home from work, you stopped to get something, something that at the time didn’t seem like such a big deal. It’s a practical gift, it’s nothing massively important or sentimental.

But it means something.

“Oh, no problem.” You answer, grabbing the next dish from the pile. “What time are you heading out?”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Jason grins, but you see the quick flash of uncertainty across his face. You find yourself wanting to soothe it as quickly as possible.

“Nah, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Putting away the dried dishes and cutlery you press your hip into the counter. “Jus’ curious that's all. Do I have enough time to grab a shower?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly leaning forwards Jason reaches out, and tenderly tucks a flyway strand of hair behind your ear. His hand, warm from the water lingers by your face, in a moment of weakness he cups your cheek and smooths his thumb across the skin under your eye.

“M’sorry for waking you up.” He whispers and you shake your head.

“You’ve nothing to apologise for, Jason.” There’s a firmness to your voice that doesn’t come out often. “I don’t mind one bit. I’d rather you come here than anywhere else.” Grabbing his wrist, you press your fingers against his pulse point, feeling the quick thud thud thud of his heartbeat. “I mean it, you don’t ever have to be sorry about coming here.”

Jason nods, and you watch as he swallows before letting his hand drop away.

Silently, you mourn the loss of his warmth.

**

Dressed in his Red Hood gear minus the helmet Jason waits by the window.

The latch remains undone, and you feel the chill of Gotham sweep through the apartment as soon as you open your bedroom door. Clenched tight in your hand is the thing you stopped for weeks ago. It’s sat in your bedside table for almost a week straight and every time you’ve thought about it you’ve tried to say it's not a big deal.

But it is a big deal.

Part of you wants to swallow it, maybe throw it away and forget you ever went out of your way to get it. But that other part, the soft part that brushes up against that quiet folded person beside your heart, protests the very thought of throwing it away.

Coming to a stop in front of him you fight to find your voice, “I’ve got something for you.” You start, and your voice shakes. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, okay?”

Jason does a funny thing then, he reaches for you, then yanks himself back.

“Okay.”

Unfurling your fist, you grip the object between your trembling fingers and hold it out.

A key for your apartment.

Jason studies your face intently and you notice that his hands are shaking slightly.

“Thought it would be easier for you than climbing through my window. M’not exactly on the ground floor.” You know your voice sounds unsure, a note of nervousness settling heavy like a stone on your tongue. “You don’t have to take it, okay? I just–”

Your words trail off. It feels like you’re prying open your ribs.

“I just want you to know that you can come here whenever you want, for however long you want.” You open your mouth to speak again but your throat closes up, you think you’re on the verge of crying. “This can–”

Jason looks into your eyes, his face is serious but his dark lashes are wet.

You swallow, “This can be your home too.”

He takes the key from your fingers and folds it tight into his fist, like he never wants to let it go. There’s a split second where everything is silent, it’s as if someone sucked the air from the room and left you in freefall. The next Jason is saying your name, his voice wet and shaking.

“I don’t–”

“It’s okay.” You smile softly when his voice breaks. “Hey. It’s okay, I promise.”

Stepping forwards you reach out with both hands and take his face between your palms. His skin is warm and you fight back the tears building along your lashes when Jason closes his eyes, and lets his tears spill down his cheeks and over your fingers.

“Oh sweetheart,” You breathe, “It’s okay.”

Thumbing them away you tip his head down and press a tender kiss to his forehead.

It’s not a big deal.

But it is.

**

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic #dcu fanfic #dcu fanfiction #jason todd friends to lovers #jason todd series #ella writes

[itspileofgoodthings]

“somewhere that’s green” made me cry.

#longing for domesticity will never not punch me straight in the soul

[starkskypines]

i choose you

pairing: Loki x gn!Reader

summary: You’re hanging out with the Avengers when the game turns into either/or questions and you have to pick between Steve and Loki, but you have the biggest, most secret crush on Loki, so you say Steve. Loki convinces you to change your answer. 

warnings: none 

word count: 2.6k

a/n: I wrote this for day 28 of swoon june: domestic. And this is the most swoon worthy thing i’ve written the entire month lol

                                                 ***

“Banana pudding or french fries?” Natasha asks.

“French fries,” Tony says immediately. Clint agrees. Loki nods his head in agreement as well.

“Pudding,” you say. Steve hums his agreement.

“Pudding is delightful,” Thor agrees.

“My turn.” Clint grins, and you and Nat share a look. You know what this means. It’s going to be another ridiculous question.

Clint turns his head in your direction. “This one is specifically for y/n.” You don’t know what question he intends to ask, but you can read that teasing glint in his eyes. “Spend the rest of your life with Steve or Loki?”

You laugh. “What? That’s not like the other questions.”

“Yes, it is. You just have to make a choice.”

“Make a choice?” You laugh again. It sounds uncomfortable to your own ears. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Clint retorts. “It’s a simple question. Loki or Steve?”

You glance at Loki and find him still watching you from his place on the chair next to the sofa where you are currently perched on. You flick your gaze to the rest of the Avengers around the room, either on the same sofa as you or one of the other chairs. The movie night turned into truth or dare and then random questions as the night wore on, and now it’s two-thirty in the morning and clearly, your crush on Loki isn’t as hidden as you thought it was.

“I know who’d I choose,” Nat says. “It’s not a hard choice. We’ve all seen Steve’s muscles. Those rock-hard abs.”

“And his chiseled jawline,” Tony adds.

“C’mon, y/n, we all answered the questions. I don’t get why this is such a big deal.” Clint leans forward from the chair diagonally across from you.

You know hesitating isn’t good, but you also know that admitting to your crush on Loki is not good. You don’t want all the teases. You just want the feelings to go away and stop complicating your life.

“The hesitation says a lot.” Tony is staring at you now, and you’ve never been able to hide anything from him. And you’re lucky Nat decided to drink tonight, or she’d be reading all your secrets too.

“Fine. Fine. Cap of course. The whole star-spangled thing is... eye-catching.”

The laughs sound out and Clint smirks. You don’t look at either Steve or Loki as the game continues.

“Alright Thor, what’s your question?” Clint asks, allowing the game to continue, and you’re so grateful. The game goes for another hour, and you find the questions easier when they’re not about Loki and so it’s fun to make fun of the other Avengers and listen to their laughs. It’s so joyous here, and you’re glad to be a part of it.

“Well, I hate to be the responsible adult here, but I’ve got a 7 am meeting,  so let’s call it a night.”

“Tony? Responsible?” Nat laughs.

“Once in a lifetime achievement. You’re all lucky to be witnesses.”

The teasing continues as they leave the living room for their floors. You don’t notice you’re following Nat to the kitchen until you’re both putting your glasses in the sink.

Nat nods to you and leans forward. “You can’t fool me.”

You blink. “I’m tired. Talk in the morning?”

“Glad you know I won’t let this drop.” Her eyes soften. “But yes. I will let you sleep first, figure out your story.” She winks.

There’s movement from beside you. and you don’t have to look to know it’s Loki.

“Want me to walk you back to your room, or should Loki do the honors?”

You know you’re blushing. but you look to Loki and then back to Nat and glare at her. “I’ll let you walk me back.”

Loki moves quicker than you’re expecting, stepping toward you with a small smirk on his face, mischief and something softer in his eyes. “Wrong choice, darling.”

And oh, oh, you’re gone. Your breath catches and you don’t really think you can feel your heart anymore and is it possible to be instantly five degrees hotter? It’s his voice that does things to you that should be illegal and the way he moves toward you with such intent, and whatever he asks you know you’ll give it to him.

Your back hits the fridge, and you’re helpless to look away from his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his chin, his eyes, his lips.

“Want to reconsider your answer to that question and a previous one tonight?”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, throat dry, and the chill of the fridge isn’t enough to cool you off.

“What?” You’re barely capable of coherent thought right now. Loki’s leaning in now and your brain is white noise and is your heart pounding straight out of your chest?

“Me or Steve?” You stare at his lips as they form those words and have to swallow before dragging your gaze back to his eyes, flashing green and entirely serious and oh, oh no, he can’t play with you like this. Doesn’t he know what he does to you?

“What would my answer change?” You aren’t breathing correctly anymore and you don’t know why you don’t just admit that duh, it’s Loki. It’s always Loki because it’s so obvious now as you can hardly control your reactions to him.

“Whether or not I kiss you goodnight.”

Your eyes go wide, your mouth falls open, and your heart stops beating, lungs stop working, brain stops processing.

Nat’s laugh is what brings you out of it. “I think you broke them, Lokes.”

Loki doesn’t take his gaze off you, and that’s what kicks your brain back online. He’s not laughing or smirking. He’s serious. Maybe just to satisfy his curiosity, but you know how few in his life actually choose him and you want him to know that you do. You choose him. Over everyone.

You bite your lip a second before taking a breath and answering.

“Of course it’s you. Didn’t want to admit it because of all the teasing so I said Steve. But it’s been you for a while now.” You look away and shrug, not sure you want to see the rest of his reaction as his expression didn’t change as you spoke.

“Of course?” And he sounds confused so you meet his gaze now.

“Wouldn't seriously choose anyone else.” You mumble out, embarrassed by it because Nat is still there.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Loki holds out his hand. It’s instinct to grab his hand, and it’s warm and calloused yet soft all at once, a contradiction just like him. And when Loki pulls you to his side and you can feel his body against yours, your brain blanks out again.

It’s a silent walk back to your door, and you wonder what Loki thinks of you now, but it’s three-thirty in the morning and you don’t quite care anymore so you keep his hand in yours as you step from his side to punch in your door code. (It helps you sleep better to have a code on your locked door, despite knowing that you are beyond safe in the Avengers tower.)

“Goodnight, darling.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the already warm skin, his mouth warm against your hand and it’s a moment that should remain unbroken forever and it seems to go on for just that long, but Loki raises his eyes to meet yours and then it’s over and his hand is slipping from yours and you step forward, not quite sure what you’re doing but knowing you don’t want this to be over. But Loki knows better than you what you want and as your fingers touch his face and your palms slide along his cheeks he’s already in your personal space with his face inches from yours.

“You’re tired, love.” And you know he’s right. You know that you’re only doing this because you don’t want this to go away in the morning, not because you’re ready. You’re not one to rush into things. And you definitely don’t want to rush this if tomorrow you wake up and it’s still here and Loki is still serious.

“You’ll be here in the morning?” you ask.

“You choose me. I’ll choose you.” His breath is warm against your cheek, and you sag forward into him letting your hands fall from his face and your head fall to his chest.

“You don’t know–”

“What that means.” He finishes your sentence and places a hand under your chin and tilts your face up so that he can look at you. “I hope you know what your words mean and that you don’t use them in vain because I would never lie to you.”

He’s serious, his words fanning across your cheek. And you swallow, bite your lip to keep from saying something unintelligible. You just nod quickly over and over again.

“The morning then.” He smiles, soft and warm, and leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “Sleep now.”

He steps away, and you feel the absence of his touch down to your very soul. But it’s okay because you’ll see him in the morning. So you turn and you open your door and you don’t look back. For this to work, there has to be trust. And you trust that these late-night words and touches will mean so much more in the morning.

                                                     ***

The morning comes, and Loki finds you after breakfast right as Steve invites you on his morning run. Sometimes you join him, depending on how you’re feeling, and after staying up so late last night you’re not really feeling it, but Steve wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t try to encourage you to go running with him, listing the benefits of running. And you know he’s right, that’s usually why you give in, and this morning you’re on the verge of giving in when Loki walks in and wraps his arms around you.

His arms slide around you, and the warmth of his body boils you alive. You’re blushing, and it only gets worse when you meet Steve's eyes and he raises a brow.

Loki rests his head on your shoulder, his dark hair tickling your neck. “Good morning, darling.”

His voice is still raspy from sleep, and you turn and his grip tightens and you’re so not okay right now but yep, yep, he’s still in his pajama top and bottoms with his sleep mussed hair and holy hotness, did he even brush it or did he just finger comb it, and oh, how you wish that it could be your fingers running through his dark hair. It has to be soft right? Oh, please let it be soft.

“I'll see you for our run tomorrow,” Steve promises and leaves the kitchen, and you’ve already forgotten what Steve was talking about, but you manage a nod and that’s all.

“You’re tense,” Loki muses.

“You–” You clear your throat. “You have your arms around me.”

Loki pulls away, leaving you feeling cold. He comes to stand in front of you. “I thought we’d agreed to do this.”

“Do what?” You shake your head. “I got like four hours of sleep. I don't really remember everything that was said.” You bite your lip as you move past him. That’s not entirely true because you remember most everything that was done and said by Loki, but you’re not sure of the meaning behind any of it.

“Oh.”

You turn back around once you’ve poured yourself a glass of water for your suddenly dry throat. Loki looks contemplative and a bit discouraged.

Loki looks up at you with a sudden grin. “Well, you said you’d choose me over Steve. Every time.”

You know you’re blushing again, and it’s ridiculous but all you can answer is, “Yes, that’s true.”

“And then I said I choose you. And that is still true.”

“Right.” You open and close your mouth for a moment, looking for the words. “And that means what exactly?” You take a breath. “Because for me it means that like I...I want to date...you.” You watch his reaction, and his smirk has you burying your face in your hands with a groan.

“Quite eloquent.” He comes up beside you and takes hold of your hand, the warmth of the contact shooting through you and causing you to raise your head. “But I appreciate the honesty.” He brings your hand to his lips and then releases it and steps away one step. He leans on the counter and looks up at you, blue eyes now serious. “I would like to woo you. make you mine. I believe you midgardians do call it dating.” He smiles.

You nod and proceed to stumble over your words. “Yeah, no, yeah, that, uh, is good.”

Loki laughs and turns his head away as he moves into a standing position.

You know your face must be redder than Thor’s cape at this point, and you feel like you’ve been laying out in the sun for far too long but you’re overjoyed too. Loki wants to date you. Last night wasn’t some sleep-deprived misunderstanding. You’re on the same page.

“So like if we went out for hotdogs in Central Park and ice cream, that’d be our first date?”

Loki tilts his head with a questioning smile. “You really want our first date to be disgusting hot dogs from an unsanitary street merchant?”

You laugh because you’re nervous. “No. I know you don’t like hotdogs. I know that. I just…” You take a deep breath. “I don't need anything fancy. I don't want anything fancy. I…” And your smile goes soft. “I just want to spend time with you. Actually, I’d be more fine with ordering in hibachi and turning on the PS4 and crushing you at Star Wars Battlefront, and then going out for ice cream. Bad or awkward things tend to happen when I go out with the Avengers.”

Loki laughs. “You do seem to be our bad luck charm.”

“Right, and I don't want to mess up our first date. So let’s stay in.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Loki smiles, and your heart flutters in your chest. He's still in his pajamas just as relaxed as can be in the kitchen as the two of you plan your date, and it's unbelievable in a sense that last night’s game turned into this.

“I should go get dressed.” He moves forward. “Is it frowned upon to kiss on the first date?”

You shake your head, and he takes a step closer.

“Right, and the date begins when exactly?” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes and that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

“Now,” you say, blinking up at him.

He smiles, slow and sexy, and you find yourself leaning toward him. He steps close, a hand on your waist.

“I'm going to kiss you now.”

“Yep.”

He dips his head down and his hand comes up and tilts your chin up. His lips are warm against yours and you melt against him. He slides his hand from your chin to your neck before sliding around to your shoulder, providing his arm as a cushion for your head. It’s the softest, most gentlest kiss, and you never want it to end but end it must as all good things do.

Loki pulls away with a small soft smile on his lips and you lean up and kiss him again, just a simple press of the lips to his. He grins and laughs. And you laugh too, staring into his blue eyes and hoping that that kind of a kiss will happen a hundred times again. You’ll never tire of it, never tire of Loki. And you get the feeling he feels the same about you.

#swoonjune2021 #day 28 #reader fic #loki x reader #domestic fluff #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x gn!reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #avengers #loki fic #mcu fic #loki oneshot #loki laufeyson oneshot

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Hi! I love your writing! Can you maybe write companions reacting to Shaun calling them mom/dad, maybe when theyre in trouble (like raiders attacking their settlement/home)? Have a good day!

Cait:

“Yeah! Get them mama!”

Had she not been any better with her reflexes, the little boy’s words may have ended up landing her missing a few teeth. There just so happened to be a raider dumb enough to try to break into your little home, so naturally..Cait goes in for the swinging once she made sure they didn’t have a gun on them.

With one final swift punch to the invaders head, Cait seized victory once again- and yet..all she could think about was the way that the child calling her that made her feel. She probably wouldn’t even outwardly acknowledge it- but once it was just the two of you in your own privacy, she’d confess that she was terrified.

Curie:

“Hey mom, do you need any help with the labs today? It looks really neat- I bet you could teach me all kinds of stuff.”

The second she heard what the little boy said, her heart swelled 10x in size just from pure joy. “Well of course you can, just make sure to wear the proper safety equipment, sweetheart.” She’d respond, giving Shaun a pair of safety glasses and wearing one of the sweetest, most proudest grins ever imaginable upon her face.

Danse:

Even though he wasn’t really a light sleeper, Danse had the ability to wake up as soon as someone entered the room. This was of course true when your son nudged the door open, his blanket slung messily over his shoulder and his eyes wide.

Once he realized who it was, Danse relaxed the slightest bit. “What’s wrong, Shaun?” He’d ask with a voice ladened with a hefty sleepiness.

“I-I’m scared, Dad. I had a nightmare and it- it just seemed..*sniffle*..it seemed so real.”

Suddenly the sleep would be knocked right of Paladin when his mind caught on to what the small child just said. Him? Dad?

Blinking away the shock, Danse tilted his head toward your peacefully sleeping body. “Here, come see son.” He’d urge with a yawn, waiting for the little boy to climb between you and him. Once snug, he’d then wrap his arm around the both of you.

Just when had he become so lucky?

Deacon:

“You’re really the best, Dad.”

Upon hearing such a bold assertion from the child, Deacon would stand in pause for just a mere moment. Chills would race up and down his spine as he stared down at the wondrously kind eyes lovingly peering back up at him. As much as he desired to keep looking back, a smirk would ghost his lips- thankfully he was able to concoct a little bullshit response on the fly.

“Yeah, ya ain’t too bad yourself either kiddo. You take after your dad.” He’d affectionately tease back, patting the child on the shoulder.

Gage:

If there was one thing that kids were, Gage learned that they were inquisitive little shits. Your own child was a testament to that statement. Just when Gage thought he could relax, up comes Shaun with an array of questions ready to shoot.

“Pa, why do you wear an eyepatch? Did something happen or are you just saving that eye’s strength?”

Gage coughed whenever he realized what Shaun used as his opener. Nuka-cola spurted from the raider’s nose, causing him to sputter as he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Come again?” He’d ask with one huge green eye, trying not to cough a lung up in the process.

He was happy though, even if he might’ve killed himself choking on nuka-cola.

Hancock:

It was honestly alerting to see how shocked he was that this happened. He knew goodneighbor was no place for his son but..he never expected this to happen. While down at the third rail, some deranged man came down demanding money- pulling out a gun as he spoke.

“Papa, please...are we going to be okay?” Shaun’s terrified eyes bore straight into the ghoul’s very soul, making his heart break despite how happy he should’ve felt after hearing those words.

Putting a hand atop the boy’s shoulder, Hancock made sure to keep both of their bodies below the table. “Of course we are kiddo, you just sit here and don’t make a sound.”

And with that, Hancock would spring up and shoot his way to safety- he had to. His son was there after all.

Macready:

Having two little boys in the house was already bad enough. Having two of them similar in age and just as troublesome as each other? Whew, it was an understatement to say that you and Mac had your plates full.

Luckily with his experience, things weren’t entirely hectic. Just like now..

You had managed to come home right on time to catch Mac mid-scolding. His hat nearly falling from his head as he cashed his gaze down at the pouting children in front of him .

“I don’t care how much fun it is, you two can’t go around spooking the neighbors. That’s the best way to get shot, for fu-..for Pete’s sake.” You couldn’t barely hold in your chuckle at your lover’s choice of words, since when had he become so dramatic?

“Sheesh, chill dad..” Shaun spoke, dismissing his adoptive father with a wave of his hand before he and Duncan promptly ran off- leaving a completely dumbfounded Mac to sit and process what just happened.

Did his two sons really just dismiss him like that? Did Shaun...did Shaun just call him dad?

Maxson:

It was all Maxson had wanted. This feeling of belonging..it was amazing. It was something that even the brotherhood and all it’s devoted members couldn’t provide him.

“Hey Dad, you alright?” Shaun’s little voice pierced through Arthur in a way that wasn’t at all painful, yet somehow hit him like a freight train.

It was then that Maxson realized he had been staring, jaw hanging. “W-what? No, I mean..yes, yes I’m alright Shaun. Is everything okay?” Real smooth, don’t worry, Arthur promptly begins to beat himself up over it.

Though confused, Arthur was so, so very happy.

Nick:

“Da, are you coming or what?”

Immediately, Nick assumed he had overheated. Surely there was no possible way Shaun was calling him...no. Blinking a few times, one could even hear the low whir of his servos fire up as he tried to process what just happened. Once he finally realized that yes, that was indeed reality- a huge smile would grace the synth’s face in response. In an attempt not to “lose his cool”, Nick would just simply nod and follow along- replaying the entire thing in his head over and over again.

Old Longfellow:

He had expected “Grandpa” before he got a “dad” out of the little boy, if he even got that! Honestly he didn’t expect much, he loved the kid but..come on, he’s some old man kissing up on the child’s mama/papa. With that being said, for the first time in quite a while, joy like sparklers- erupted all throughout the old man’s body whenever Shaun tugged his coat one rainy day and-

“Can I please come with you, pa? I’ll need to learn how to fix those condensers up one day anyways!”

Piper:

Piper, of all people, didn’t really think she’d be so happy being so..so domestic. Not a single article written, not a single story hunted down for the day or anything- just family time. Just you, her, Nat, and Shaun.

Much like your day, the night also consisted of this calmness. Only coming to an end whenever it was officially bed time.

“I love you ma, good night.” Shaun sleepily muttered, turning around in the process so he could get comfortable and ready to sleep.

That was probably for the best, for as soon as she heard those magical little words, Piper’s eyes welled with tears without warning- only spilling whenever she was back in the comfort of her own room with you at her side.

Preston:

“Pa, are you sure you and mom won’t be gone for too long?”

The words stopped Preston dead in his tracks. Yes, it was his duty as your lieutenant- and your own as General, to respond to distress calls whenever they were made..so that unfortunately left your poor son in the care of your other companions more often than you’d like- more so, more than Preston would care for.

It was things like this that made him consider retiring all together.

Turning around, Preston would kneel down in front of the child, happiness shining in a luminous way within his dark eyes. “I..I promise you that we’ll be back before you even miss us, son.”

“Impossible, I miss you and mama already.”

Sturges:

“Dad, I’m scared..”

The very second he heard the little boy trembling in his arms whisper, the synth man felt cold fear flow through his veins. Raiders, always fucking raiders.

It was normal at this point for them to show up every now and then, usually you’d just chase them off with your flashy guns and whatnot- and you were doing that- but while you were out being the hero, it was Sturges prime duty to ensure shaun’s safety. As such, he’d take the little boy to their usual hiding spot and try to get him to be quiet...but that? That was enough to make him want to personally go out there and rip a raiders head off. How dare they scare his..his son?

“Shhh, I’ve gotcha little buddy..you just hang in tight.”

X6-88:

(I honestly don’t see how this could happen with Shaun in particular- even with the whole au I use with Maxson and Shaun dynamics- Shaun would still know X6 as that cool dude that teleported him back and forth.)

-sorry this took so long, hope you liked it.

#fallout #fallout 4 #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #elder maxson #danse #porter gage #curie #arthur maxson #brotherhood of steel #cait #deacon #hancock #macready #fo4 #nick valentine #nuka world #piper wright #preston garvey #x6 88 #fallout 4 companions

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages of Life: 24

A Piece of Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Labor pains. Non-graphic child birth.

Words: 11,820

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. This was a monster for me to write and it’s just been hard to write lately, BUT, this chapter jump starts the last phase of the Drabbles...  (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts​ and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. I’m sorry! <3 **I have never given birth, just going off experiences of mothers I know**

Holidays: 29 weeks Dec 13th:

One morning Ana wakes up to a solid kick from inside her stomach, rapidly blinking at the odd light streaming through her window. After she carefully sits up, soothing her hands over her round belly, she blinks again, startled.

Snow. It had snowed sometime during the night and with the sight comes the realization; it’s the middle of December. Time had ticked by in muted colors to Ana that when she finally came back to herself, five months had passed. Five months since the air filled with ashes. Five months since she last touched Bucky. Five months since the absence of his soul.

Now it’s nearly Christmas. Ana can’t even remember her birthday or Thanksgiving passing. Though by the tears escaping her eyes and the ache in her chest, it’s not going to be a good day. She continues to stare out the window, the snow-covered ground and trees in the distance offer a bittersweet illusion of a perfect world. Quiet. Tranquil.

A memory invades Ana’s mind from last year. Her and Bucky snuggled together in front of a fire at Tony’s cabin, talking about a future family. She shakes the memory from her head and finally gets out of bed, ignoring the very real feeling of Bucky’s arms around her. Ignores the phantom scent of his breath and the spiced apple toddy he drank that evening.

Waddling her way to the kitchen with her hand supporting an ache in her lower back, she spots a blessed pot of coffee freshly brewed. Ana hasn’t had such a desperate urge for the taste of coffee in so long, that she nearly drops the mug she pulls from the cabinet in haste. Once she’s poured herself a generous amount, she inhales deeply. The nutty aroma sending her mind straight back to the first day she met Bucky, and all the sessions that followed.

She revels in memory, when she was proud of herself for pulling a smirk out of the infamous Bucky Barnes after she told him she didn’t poison the coffee. How they starting to bond over silly conversation of coffee, how he used to tease her but ask how to make it properly. How Bucky would sometimes show up before her, waiting for her to arrive with coffee in hand. Ana is so lost in her mind, she doesn’t register the shift of air behind her.

“That’s caffeinated, and I know you are not about to drink it while seven months pregnant.”

Snapping back to reality, Ana shoots a glare over her shoulder at Steve. “Being seven months pregnant is the perfect reason to drink it.”

The sigh Steve emits makes her step back out of his reaching range, just in case. “Ana,” He draws out in mock disappointment.

“No! I need it need it, Steve,” She practically whines, clutching the hot mug to her chest. “Especially today. With the snow and these fucking memories, and Carol isn’t here to help regulate me, and my rings don’t fit right now. I just need caffeine, just this once.”

His eyes narrow. “Just this once?” He repeats incredulously. “Didn’t Rhodes catch you sneaking his coffee a week ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ana shrugs, lifting the mug to her lips.

Sounds of scuffling come from the front hallway then, Ana distracted enough for Steve to finally and carefully, snatch the mug away from her hands. She makes a noise of protest, before she sees the dark green branches of a pine tree. Natasha and Rhodes carry in a small tree, with Rocket following behind them, an axe propped over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Ana demands quietly, her chest tightening.

“It’s a tree,” Nat snipes dryly. “What the hell does it look like?”

They set the tree down in the living room, adjusting the stand that’s already anchored to the trunk. An onslaught of rage and heartache overcome Ana for reasons she can’t quite comprehend. Abruptly it takes everything she has not to grab the axe from Rocket, chop the tree into little pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

Holidays are meant to be joyful. Holidays are meant to celebrate with families and loved ones. Holidays are meant to bring brightness. They’re meant for the rest of the world to fade away into warmth, sparkles, the smells of baked goods.

Not this time. Ana sees nothing joyous about that tree, just the inevitable death of its needles. She doesn’t feel the warmth of the season, just the continuous frigid void in her chest. Outside, the falling snow morphs into ashes.

“Get it out of here.” Ana nearly growls, her fists clenching; the lights flicker. She can no longer look at it without wanting to scream.

“Uh, why?” Rhodes demands, crossing his arms. “It’s nearly Christmas.”

“I don’t care, just get it out! I don’t want it in here! It doesn’t belong here!”

Rhodes serves Ana a look so stern, she abruptly feels like a scolded child.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to dial that back,” He commands, gesturing to her. “This is misplaced anger, and you’re taking it out the wrong way. This might not be something you want, but don’t forget, you aren’t the only one suffering through depression. And maybe if you recognized that, you’d realize a damn Christmas tree just might make everyone else forget the shit that’s happened for once.”

His words are a punch to her heart. Immediately all her anger melts from her bones as she looks at the floor. Rhodey is one hundred percent correct, embarrassingly Ana is reminded of how much she truly missed when she shut her emotions off. She hasn’t been fair or considerate of anyone for months. Just because she can’t handle a fucking tree, doesn’t mean she can force anyone else to do the same.

Her throat burns with that wake-up call; the flicker stop flickering. Ana slowly gathers herself, breathes deeply while stroking her hands over her stomach to soothe herself. The baby moves and rolls in response. Finally, she nods.

“You’re absolutely right,” She concedes, meeting his eyes once more. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m just not in the mood to celebrate any holiday, but I shouldn’t expect anyone else to. I apologize.”

Rhodes stares her down a few moments before his expression breaks. “Accepted.”

The tense silence that follows is heavy and awkward, until Steve pushes the coffee mug back into Ana’s hand. “Just the one cup.”

She silently takes the mug, barely feeling the warmth of the coffee on her fingers. “I’m just going to go lay down now.”

As she makes her exit, Rhodey stops her. “Do you…need anything?” He offers kindly.

She gives him a grateful smile over her shoulder. “No, thank you.”

*

Steve has been distracting himself from checking up on Ana by pulling the dust covered box of decorations from storage and going through it. Oddly, a glass ornament is wrapped in newspaper, and with a delicate swipe of his fingers over the ink, he’s brought back to another lifetime eight decades ago.

Christmases during The Great Depression weren’t grand; far from it. Memories of Steve stuffing his shoes with old newspapers to keep his feet warm- and possibly give himself a few extra inches in height- fill his head. His mother carefully wrapping handmade ornaments in those same newspapers. 

A slightly dirty Bucky just back from working odd jobs here and there, holding up a turkey he received as payment. He had dragged both Steve and his mother over to the Barnes household for a rare Christmas Eve dinner.

Giggles of four little girls huddled together as they watched Steve nail their brother in the face with a slush of a snowball. A quiet night of serving his mother tea as she laid sick in bed. Yet she still gifted him fresh parchment bound together to go with the charcoal pencils Bucky got him earlier.

The memories turn melancholy as Steve remembers that first Christmas without his mother. How Bucky selflessly spent the night away from his own family, taking care of a feverish Steve, even though all he wanted to do was stay huddled in bed and cry himself to sleep from grief. Instead, Bucky pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his tattered coat and dumped some into Steve’s tea.

“Nicked it from that banker's house on the other side of town,” Bucky had shrugged, looked proud of himself before he took a swig from the bottle.

“Buck,” Steve had reprimanded weakly. Until he remembered that banker is the one who cheated on his wife and bragged about it. He had taken too big of a gulp, nearly choked and spluttered.

Bucky waited, patted his back until his airways cleared. “Did that no good, two-timer notice you?”

“Hell no,” Bucky laughed. “Guys like him deserve to have his illegal booze stolen, he’s got enough money to smuggle more. Did you take your medicine?”

Steve held up his mug. Bucky rolled his eyes, then gently pushed him over to snuggle in next to him. Not once did he ever leave Steve’s side. Instead he chatted his ear off with stories of Rebecca attempting to make her own dolls, and that one brunette, brown-eyed dame he tried to save from a sleazy man before she decked the guy square in the jaw.

“I’m sweet on her now. Whatty’a think, Stevie? Think I’ve got a chance with a dame like that?”

(Steve huffs a laugh when he remembers that bit. Bucky always did have a type; it’s no wonder he fell for Ana so quickly.)

"Nah,” Steve said through a cough. “A girl like that wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Punk.” Bucky rubbed his knuckles atop his head.

“Jerk.” He weakly shoved him in retaliation.

Silence fell between them; sleep quickly took over Steve’s tired and sick body. He had slid further down the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Thank you, Buck. For being here.”

Bucky took a minute to respond. “Didn’t want you to be alone during the holidays. With you til the end of the line, pal.”

The light pitters of something wet hitting the newspaper brings Steve back to the present. A few dark drops absorb into the paper before he realizes he’s crying. He hastily wipes the tear off his face, clears his throat and wills away the pain in his heart. Steve gets it. He understands why Ana reacted the way she did.

Shaking his head to clear his past, he rewraps the ornament and returns to his task. Once he’s done, Steve just sits in the closet by himself for a while; allows him himself to wallow. He’s absentmindedly scratching his growing beard, wondering if he should give it a shave when FRIDAY alerts him.

“Captain Rogers, the weather is a brisk 25 degrees outside, with steady snowfall.”

Frowning up at the ceiling as if the AI can see him, he replies, confused. “Thank you? Is there a reason you’re giving me a weather report?”

He swears FRIDAY sigh. “Mrs. Barnes has been sitting out for-“

“Got it, thanks.” Steve cuts her off, yanking the door open. He knows exactly where Ana is.

As he quickly makes his way through the compound, Steve apologizes to that younger Bucky during the all those winters. He recalls his exasperated best friend every time Steve hid out on rooftops and fire escapes after getting into fights. Every time, Bucky had been there with Steve’s coat, or just taken his own coat off to wrap around Steve’s scrawny little shoulders instead.

“Christ, Stevie, your lungs ain’t gonna work anymore the longer you stay out here, punk.”

When Steve climbs through her window, and finally opens the door to the roof, the irony isn’t lost on him. Ana is sitting on the furthest chair, staring out into the frosted woods, snow catching in her long hair. Only a thin blanket over her lap protects her from the cold and the biting wind from the height of the deck. Her hands are protectively cradling the bump of her stomach.

“Ana, what are you doing out here?” Steve questions, briskly walking to her. He places the jacket he found in her room over her shoulders; one of Bucky’s jackets. “You’ll freeze your toes off.”

“You’ll freeze your damn toes off, and I will not explain to your Ma why her son got frostbite.”

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side to share his body heat with her. The old memories of Bucky practically yanking his asthmatic self into a slightly warmer building fade away.

“This is where we kissed the first time,” Ana reminisces, a quiet reserve to her voice. She points adjacent to them. “Right there, when I said those triggers words, he kissed me.”

Steve remembers when Bucky couldn’t stop pacing in his room after that night, panic stricken because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for her. He couldn’t understand how she put so much trust into him. Steve squeezes her shoulder, hoping to offer her some comfort.

“This is where Bucky told me he loved me for the first time. Up here, with pizza.”

His chest feels hollow realizing how many memories this rooftop holds for her. “C’mon honey, it’s not good for you to be out here, let’s go back inside. Warm you up.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Ana laments as if she didn’t hear him. “Holidays, birthdays, celebrations. Life.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhales wearily.

“I knew this. I knew all of this, but…for months I acted like I was the only one holding onto this grief so heavily. I’ve lost everyone, Steve. I’ve lost my whole family and I never thought I could feel more pain and grief than that. But I was wrong, this is so different. Because I could feel him leave me. I could feel Bucky’s soul rip from mine.”

“It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me.”

He sees that day clearly when Bucky had said those words to him. He remembers the look of pure awe and adoration on his friend’s face that day. Steve squeezes her closer, offering his comfort in the cold bitter air. Something wet falls onto his shirt, soaks in quicker than the snowflakes. He lifts his hand, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks before the cold can freeze them there.

“Hey now, Steve, c’mon. No tears, they’ll freeze on your face, pal.”

Steve swallows back yet another whispered memory, when he was frustrated the neighborhood bully just kicked his ass no matter how many times Steve got back up.

“Your pain isn’t invalid, Ana,” He tells her delicately, lifting the sleeve of the jacket to dry her face. “That is something none of us will ever begin to comprehend, that connection you both shared.”

“Maybe not,” Ana sniffs, “but that shouldn’t erase anyone else’s pain in my mind and that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Watching you turn off your emotions was- fuck, it was haunting. It was scary because we couldn’t tell if doing that was just hurting you instead. I hated that you did that, but I also understand why you did. I think we just-“ Steve pauses to gather his words properly.

Ana speaks up before he does. “I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for shutting everyone out, for acting like- well...like a cold hearted-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steve chastises firmly. “I think we just wanted to have any ounce of your old self back. We were all concerned.”

“I’m still trying to find that myself,” Ana sighs, voice cracking; she sounds exhausted. She tilts her head to the side, leaning on his shoulder. “I got mad about the tree because the memories of last Christmas are perfect. It was our first one together, did you know that? Our first time celebrating the holiday season. I don’t want to celebrate anything.”

“So, keep the eggnog away from you then?” Steve quips lamely. Ana winces and gags.

“Fuck no,” She picks her head back up. “I don’t think the baby’s palate will tolerate that.”

“And I don’t think the baby can tolerate the cold much longer,” He counters. “Let’s get you inside.”

Steve drops his arm in favor of carefully helping up from the chair. Ana winces again, her hands covering her stomach. Pain flashes over her face for a moment, and panic shoots through Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay? What was that?” He asks worriedly, hand hovering along her back.

“It's fine,” She pants, waving him off with her hand. “Just some pressure is all. Little Bean’s running out of room I think.” Relief shags Steve’s shoulders. Until- “The baby is moving a lot. Do you want to feel-?”

“I’m good. That’s not, uh, it’s kind of intimate. Time to go inside.” Steve ignores her bewildered look and focuses on guiding Ana down the stairs safely. He keeps Bucky’s jacket wrapped tight around her.

*

The memory of last Christmas spent snuggling close with Bucky in front of a fire and talking about their future mocks Ana. It was one of those perfect moments in a lifetime, and she didn’t want to tarnish the memory with this Christmas being...widowed. Alone and 7 months pregnant.

Since Rhodey’s harsh truth, Ana has kept any bitter despair to herself. However, she did allow herself one moment of a Christmas song. It made her smile briefly, before a memory of both Bucky and Tony singing at the top of their lungs as they decorated the tree cut it short.

Ana does not want to decorate the tree. She stays in her room, until Rocket barges in, trailing a bunch of silver tinsel in his wake.

He demands to know, “Who was the asshole to make such a messy infuriating thing to put on a damn stupid tree!?”

Nebula stood at the doorway, a murderous expression on her face as she fights with several pieces of tinsel, static making it cling to her. Ana can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her at the both of them.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind as Rocket drags her out of her room demanding to untangle the tinsel, Ana thinks the two might have planned it all. She’s exhausted by the time she unknots the stuff, focusing more on the silver plastic and quietly refusing to put anything on the tree.

By the time she’s done, she waddles back to her room, Natasha close behind. All she does is hand Ana a hot mug of cider and snuggles in close. Nat talks to and gently pets her hands over her stomach and promises the baby to teach them her “death by thighs” move one day. Ana drifts off to sleep, head tucked under Natasha’s neck.

When Christmas does come around, it’s with stinging emptiness, of several people missing and the weight of the whole world grieving. At breakfast, as she’s slowly eating, Ana finds herself with a small pile of gifts next to her on the table. Her glare prompts a response from Steve who had given her one more.

“You stayed locked in your room for your birthday last month,” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You aren’t having a baby shower. Just accept them. Please?”

Most gifts end up being for the baby anyway, including a crib, so Ana lets it slide and quietly thanks them.

She ends up fighting back tears the longer she stays out in the living room, desperately wanting to escape. She’s exhausted, down to her bones, and the aching in her chest throbbing Bucky’s name hurts more and more. She closes her eyes and breathes, flexing her fingers and smoothing her hands over her stomach. The baby kicks and moves before it settles a few moments later.

Someone sits next to her, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to tell that the stupidly large and warm bicep pressing against her own arm is Steve. He doesn’t say anything, just simply takes hold of her right hand, and squeezes. 

He doesn’t let go, and despite the prickling of tears behind her eyelids and the trembling of her lips, Ana leans her head against his shoulder. The sense of comfort seeps into her own energy, and soon after she falls asleep.

30 Weeks Pregnant:

Just on the verge of her eighth month, Ana hears Natasha’s irritated sigh, as she munches on a slice of mango pizza. 

"Ana, I swear if you don’t stop nesting in the office, I will throw away all the mangoes and you’ll be stuck with mushrooms for your pizza topping from now on.”

As Natasha Romanoff threats go, it’s rather mild. She shrugs as Nat holds up two files as proof.

“It was messy!” Ana defends, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Lucky you’re pregnant,” She grumbles.

“Enhanced hearing, remember?”

Natasha glares at her. “It took me an hour to find my notes. Why don’t you organize Steve’s shit? Or Rocket’s? I haven’t seen you in Nebula’s room, go nest in there.”

“Nebula would cut my hand off, pregnant or not.”

“It’s true.” Nebula speaks up with her husky low menacing voice, pizza slice in hand. Ana raises her eyebrows at her. She pauses. “Maybe.”

Ana beams. Natasha huffs, coming over to join them. She bends over to gently pat Ana’s belly. Which has grown even more in the past weeks, but dropped as well, the baby’s head sitting lower.

“Your mama better name you Natasha after I put up with her little tendencies huh little one?” Nat coos.

“That’ll go over well if Bean is a boy,” Ana jokes, also patting over where she thinks its little foot is. There’s a responding nudge, a rather firm one. Ana frowns. “Sassy.” Natasha chuckles, then steals Ana’s slice. “Hey!”

“Now someone’s hand will be chopped off,” Nebula inputs at the scene. Ana nods with a pout.

“What are you going to do? Waddle after me with your swollen ankles?” Nat teases.

“You’re being mean to me,” She whines, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Neither can Nat. “Then keep your nesting habits away from my files, Barnes.”

Ana steals the slice back. “I also reorganized your knives.”

 That earns another glare. “So, so lucky you’re pregnant.”

It’s rare, these little moments of teasing and humor. Five months have passed since The Snap, and Ana’s grief and pain are still as crushing as ever. Her dreams remain constant. Dealing with feeling her emotions again has become a little easier, but there are days where she feels shattered by them, and cries into her pillow, or the nearest pair of arms.

Lately, it’s been Natasha. But these moments are what helps get Ana and everyone else through the day. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week. She has also been keeping herself in check and trying to be attentive to everyone’s feelings around her.

“Has Steve woman upped yet and felt the baby kick?” Nat wonders. The red roots of her hair are growing back faster now.

“No…He’s still a little creeped out,” Ana yawns. “It’s kinda funny.”

Humming, Natasha suddenly stands up. “Time for your checkup, let’s go.” Groaning, Ana shoves the last bits of her pizza into her mouth. “Come on. It’s one of the last ones before your due date.”

Ana shimmies from her rather comfortable spot on the couch to the edge, taking a deep breath and readying her swollen ankles to stand. Both Natasha and Nebula carefully grab an arm and help Ana up, keeping her steady until she can stand on her own. An odd sort of pressure throb through her stomach, and she frowns, suddenly thankful she does have a checkup today. 

*

Three days later has Ana gasping awake from her dream. This time she swears she feels ashes slip through her fingers. Brings her right back to that horrid day in Wakanda, when she couldn’t reach Bucky in time. The same constricting feeling settles in her chest, and the room begins to feel hot; a golden orange glow briefly emits from her clenched hands.

Before her powers can lash out, Ana moves the best she can, hurriedly grabbing one of the beads. It only takes a few moments to get a video up, but the second she hears his voice, her heart begins to settle. The glow fades, and the rattling in the room that had started ceases.

Bucky’s timbre soothes her, replaying his lullaby twice more. On the third time, Ana pauses the recording, the projected image frozen on Bucky’s sweet face. The gentle fondness in his blue eyes, the slightly crooked smile, his long hair pulled into a bun, his beard just a touch unruly.

She remembers this day precisely; one of the last days Bucky sang to her stomach, to their child. No matter how many times Ana reminded him that the baby couldn’t hear him yet, he never cared.

It never stopped Bucky from randomly moving from one spot -be it the couch, bed, another room, the hut- to wherever Ana was and kept singing. It never stopped him from dropping to his knees as she made another strange snack she was craving in the kitchen and nuzzling his face against her barely there bump. Never kept him from staying up as she fell asleep to his words whispering lovingly against her skin. Feeling his warm breath, his sweet lips, his soft beard, his gentle caress of his fingers over her stomach. Feeling his heart, his love, his soul.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” Bucky would tell her, voice thick with emotion.

She hasn’t felt Bucky for months. 

Ana reaches out like she does in her dreams, fingers curving over his holographic jaw. She keeps her touch delicate, as to not distort the image. In this moment, only for a moment, she pretends she can feel him. Pretends that her husband is truly looking back at her.

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” Ana murmurs, tears burning in her throat. “I haven’t been the same without you. I turned off my emotions. You wouldn’t have liked that at all, would you? I don’t even like myself right now.” 

Ana swipes the tears off her chin with her left hand. “But I swear I’ll try to be better. I swear I will take care of our baby for both of us, and he, she- our child will grow up knowing exactly who you are and how much you loved them. I just…I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe most of the time, and it hurts.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, tears overcome her, sobs hitching in her chest. Ana brushes her shaking fingers over his cheek, the image rippling from her touch.

“I love you.”

When she turns off the bead and the image vanishes, she weeps into her hands. Ana wipes her cheeks, attempting to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she places the bead back into it’s safe place in the drawer. A rather sharp kick from within makes her wince, then chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. I know I’ve been crying a lot lately.” Ana says to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “That can’t feel too good for you either.”

Once Ana’s crying slows, she cleans her face with tissues, blows her nose, and throws the tissues away in the bin beside her bed. Just then her ears pick up a sound outside her room. Carefully standing up, she walks to the door, pulling it open.

“Steve,” Ana greets with a sigh. She shouldn’t be shocked at this point.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. How much did you hear?”

He leans against the door frame crossing his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Just the ending. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came by to see if you want to-“

Another kick and more movement briefly make Ana miss what he’s saying. Blowing a slow breath out she presses her hands over the spot; things are starting to get more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, could you repeat?”

He flashes her an understanding look. “Asked if you wanted to go for a walk with us. Nat and I.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Ana agrees, fighting a wince from the kicking. “Dr. Hammond suggests it now that I seem to be healthy enough. Said the walking could help calm the baby.”

He laughs under his breath. “I can kinda see why,” He says, eyes on her stomach.

“Yeah, this little bean has been more active lately,” She pauses “Steve, um, would you like to feel the baby kick?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to her. “Oh, um, isn’t that a bit personal? I mean-“ He stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Ana rolls her eyes fondly. This is her husband’s best friend, he shouldn’t feel weird about it. She grabs his hand, placing the flat of his palm just to the right of her stomach. A few long seconds pass, Ana carefully watching Steve’s expression. 

His brows are furrowed, his mouth curving down, as if he’s sad the baby isn’t moving for him. Then, the same rolling pushing movement comes once more and Steve’s blue eyes light up.

His mouth falls open slightly, a toothy smile across his lips. “Ana,” He gasps, meeting her eyes. “That’s…amazing.���

Ana can’t help but laugh, her heartache forgotten for the time being. “See, nothing to be nervous about. Kinda cool, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. This, this is your baby. You and Buck’s…” His excitement fades into sorrow. Steve lifts his other hand to the opposite side, lightly scrunching his fingers as if he’s waving in a way.

“How about that walk now?” Ana cuts the melancholy short. She’s starting to feel the energy around them changing. Steve’s energy; the same kind he has been keeping from her. “Is it nice out?”

Pulling his hands off her stomach, Steve clears his throat and nods. “Bit warmer today, 56 right now.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“No rush.” Steve takes a step before he halts. “Are sure you’re okay, Ana?”

She gives him her most convincing smile, which is a good attempt on her part. “Yeah. Just, missing him a lot today. That’s everyday though,” She chuckles humorlessly. “I swear I’m good, Steve.”

Steve’s scrutiny lasted longer than Ana would have liked. Then he nods. “Take your time.” 

 *

The only entertaining thing about New Year’s passing was Ana sitting out on the patio, watching Rocket and Rhodey rig together a contraption to set off fireworks. Natasha sat next to her, Ana’s legs on her lap as she massaged her swollen ankles and feet under a warm cable knit blanket, sitting next to a heater. Nebula and Steve are locked in a card game, when the first firework goes off. Steve flinches then frowns. His eyes meet Ana’s for briefly, before he goes back to discarding.

As explosions go off in the sky, Bucky tightens his arms around Ana’s waist, his face hidden in her neck as he presses a kiss to her pulse. “I don’t think I’m fond of fireworks.”

Ana brushes her fingers through his soft hair, gently scratching his scalp. Slowly she uses her ability to calm his energy, soothe him deeper than a touch. “Makes sense. You are a war vet.”

“Used to hear them go off in Romania sometimes,” Bucky had confessed. “Always thought it was a sign Hydra found me. That they had bombs set around the building I lived in. It was something I could never shake.” 

Another one goes off in the distance; Bucky inhales her scent, his hands clutching her skin. Ana catches Tony walking by. “Tony, I thought no one was allowed to set off fireworks up here.”

He catches on quickly, pointing his glass of whiskey towards Bucky. Ana nods, then with an annoyed flare, he says, “Those damn kids. Goodie! I felt like chewing someone’s ear off tonight. I’ll call them!”

Bucky snorts, then sighs in content as Ana continues to relax his nerves with her powers. “They’re pretty, but...too loud.”

“I got you, Snowflake,” Ana promised, pulling up the blanket to cover them both and hide them away. 

“I know you do, Annie Doll,” He breathes sleepy. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen though.”

Ana chuckles, kissing the tip of her husband’s head as he drifts off to sleep. She can’t think of a better way to bring in the new year than Bucky feeling safe enough in her embrace to fall asleep, even with the ghosts that still haunt his past.

 POP!

Another firework glittering in the winter sky rips Ana out of her memories. She catches the small wince of broad shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ana calls out to Rocket and Rhodey. “I don’t think the baby is fond of fireworks right now. Do you mind if you stop please?”

Rhodey acknowledges her meaningful look, beginning to replace the ones he took out. Rocket shrugs, turns off the machine they built with a wide grin.

“I just wanted to see if I could build it. I did, now I’m bored.” He states, then meets Ana’s eyes.

“How’s about we beat these losers at a game of poker?”

“Deal.”

Ana only lasts two rounds of poker, before Steve is helping her settle into bed. He insisted on following her and carrying her hot tea for her. She adjusts her body pillow and gets comfortable, tapping her hand over the lower part of her stomach where the baby settled with her.

“Thank you,” Steve says, pulling the comforter up for her. “For the fireworks. I know you did it for me.”

“Bucky and I,” Ana begins, pausing only to push past the lump in her throat. “We stayed at Tony’s cabin during the holidays. I don’t think he heard fireworks go off in a while, and out in the woods you aren’t allowed to bring them or set them off. Some neighbors did, and he was nervous about them. I calmed him as much as I could.”

“He never told me that,” Steve says, frowning. The look he gives Ana though, makes her feel bashful. His features soften, and he almost looks...happy. “He was always so in love with you, Ana, before he even knew it. Bucky wasn’t one to ever open up to anyone, even when we were kids. Watching him with you…I’m glad he found you.”

Ana sniffs, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears welling up from falling. The empty ache in her chest is a permanent feeling.

“Sorry, too much Bucky talk. You were having a better night, I shouldn’t ruin it.” Grabbing her hand, he gives it a firm squeeze.

“It’s alright. I just...didn’t want you to feel that same way.” She squeezes back.

“Get some sleep, Ana.”

As she relaxes, her body ready for said sleep, she says, “You too, Steve.”

It’s one of her better days; Ana sleeps through midnight, but the haunting call of her name still echoes through her mind. Her soul still screaming for its other half.

The week following the new year is slow, as if 2019 wants to remind them of half the universe gone. However, Ana’s panic slowly begins to build as she realizes there’s just over a month of the baby arriving.

She’s sitting in the room they decided to turn into a nursery -the room right next to hers- slowly stroking her hands over and over her round stomach. Looking around the room gives her mixed feelings.

A part of her seems to be happy, almost excited to be a mother. The other parts outweigh the joy, however. The bare walls, void of any decorations, makes her heart break. The dark wood of the crib and the changing table makes her seethe. The little animal mobile above the crib breaks her. The mobile hangs an orange fox, a gray owl, a brown bear, and a white wolf. 

Pushing herself off the rocking chair, Ana grabs the wolf and tears it off. The whole mobile comes down, crashing into the crib, but the wolf is clutched in her palm. She stares at it, anger boiling in her blood for reasons she can’t explain.

The harder she squeezes, the brighter her hand becomes. Flickering lights throw the room into shadows, over and over. Smoke is beginning to emit from the little wolf, her chest tightening as the edges singe. 

“I leave for, what, three weeks, and here you are literally starting fires in your hands.”

Ana snaps her head up. Carol Danvers is standing in front of her, amusement dancing in her eyes instead of any reprimandation. Carefully she places both of her hands over Ana’s fist, and all her raging energy subsides. She hadn’t been aware of anyone coming into the room, so focused on the white wolf.

Quickly pulling her hand out of Carol’s, Ana slowly uncurls her fingers. Sitting in the middle of her palm are the remains of the wolf, completely incinerated. Panicking, she drops it, the tiny ashes caught between her fingers.

“Oh my god,” Ana whispers, horrified at herself.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m sure it's fine,” Carol tells her gently. “They can get you another one.”

“You-you don’t understand,” Ana shakes her head frantically. Ash. Ashes on her hand, her fingers, ingrained in her skin. “I-I have to wash my hand. I have to wash my hand!”

“Come on.” 

Carol guides her out of the room, a steady hand on her back, and into the bathroom. Ana proceeds to scrub her right hand at least four times, and once again until her skin feels raw. She feels out of breath afterward, reaching for Carol once more.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Carol coaches, helping her sit on the edge of the tub.

Ana huffs. “I’m trying. I-I can’t. No! Don’t touch me! What if…what if I hurt you? Like I hurt Steve?”

“Look at me, Ana. You are fine, you’re okay right now. You just got worked up and that’s okay.” Carol keeps firm eye contact. She attempts to hold her hands again, this time Ana allows her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You aren’t going to hurt me or anyone else.”

Finally, Ana gets a deep breath in. She regulates her breathing with help from Carol, until she feels like her senses and energy are no longer overstimulated. Once she’s calm, they leave the bathroom and head outside to the bac deck at Ana’s request. The chill of the air clears her head more as she sinks into a chair. 

“It was a white wolf,” Ana tells Carol. Her silence is a cue to elaborate. “My husband...Bucky. He was given that moniker while he was recovering in Wakanda. He told me they sort of adopted, well, accepted him into their family, their culture. King T’Challa told me it also meant strong warrior.”

“That why you tore it off?” She guesses.

Ana shrugs, thinking it over. “I think I was already feeling too many emotions. I saw it, it reminded me of him and how- how everything in that room, we didn’t pick together. Hell, I barely picked anything in that room. I really appreciate Pepper and Nat setting it up, but we couldn’t do it together.”

Danvers remains quiet again, but Ana is grateful for it. She’s pretty good at reading how Ana is feeling, and her silent support is more appreciated than she knows. Ana’s energy always seems to stay dormant every time Carol is close. It’s something interesting to look into later.

“Where have you been?” Ana asks after some time.

During this time Steve found them after FRIDAY alerted him and gave her a thick blanket to keep warm. He stayed long enough to turn on the heaters, then left the women alone, but quietly thanked Carol in a nod Ana caught.

Carol sighs, slumping in her chair and propping her heels on the table. “Other planets. Some are worse from the repercussion of what that purple scrotum sack did. Been getting a lot of hits on my radar. I came back to bring you more elixir in case you needed it. And to check in on my favorite avenger.”

“M’not an avenger but Nat’s in the shooting range. Nebula is...I don’t know what she’s doing but I’m afraid to ask sometimes.”

She snorts. “So, should I not get you a stuffed wolf when the baby is born?”

Ana flicks her off, but Carol’s resounding laugh brings a smile to her face. 

*

When Pepper calls two days later, Ana can’t help but feel something odd about their conversation. As they chat about pregnancy, (”It’s like every ten minutes, Pep, I have to pee every ten minutes!”) Ana asking for any advice her cousin may for her upcoming labor, something continues to feel off. Especially when Pepper drops Tony’s name three times. The mention of him causes her to remember something about FRIDAY.

“Oh!” Ana perks up. “Has FRIDAY informed you of anything about me? Or to-”

A little voice pops up in the background, begging for a snack. “One second, sweetie,” Pepper says to her daughter, then back to Ana. “She just tells me your vitals sometimes.”

“That’s it? She doesn’t ask you for permission to use a security protocol?”

“I- Morgan, be patient please, I’m making it now. Sorry, Ana.”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering why T- um...FRIDAY would feel the need  to program an added feature.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I just...why would someone need to add an electric defense mechanism-”

“You know what?” Pepper cuts her off, exasperated. “I’m tired of being a go between. I have a toddler to raise who is currently trying to cut her own grapes, and I can’t deal with this right now. I love you, but if you want to know why, you need to ask him yourself.”

“Pep, what are you-”

“This riff between you two has gone on long enough. Talk to each other. I already have one child, I don’t need to raise two more. Speaking of which, you need to tell him. Here!”

“Wait, no!” Ana’s shout disturbs Rhodey from reading his book. 

He casts a curious glance her way. She frantically shakes her head, though Pepper can’t see her. Rhodey has now put down his book, mouthing an over dramatic what? Before she can let him know what is about to happen, it happens. There’s a shuffling on the other side of the line, followed by a confused yelp.

Quickly pressing the phone to her chest, she looks over at Rhodey in panic. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms; a sign of him agreeing with Pepper after he caught on. Taking a few calming breaths, Ana puts the phone back to her ear.

“-think the line went dead,” Is what she hears on the other side. Tony’s voice.

Heartbeat kicking up several notches, Ana braces herself. “I’m- I’m here.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. “Hello.”

He sounds like he’s meeting a CEO of a company he dislikes. As if he would rather be anywhere else than speak with her.

“Hey, uh, hi. H-how are your day?” Ana cringes, wishing the ground would cave from under her. How are your day? Why is she so nervous to just speak with him!

“Good, great. If that was a question.” Tony answers, his voice is carefully calculated. “How are your day?” He repeats.

If she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so anxious, she may have laughed. Instead, she decides to get right to it. The sooner she tells him, the sooner she can end this painful phone call. “I have something to tell you.”

“Pepper mentioned.”

Right. Fuck, if she didn’t answer her phone, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe Ana would have been fine with never telling Tony, and he would just have found out some other way. She just knows, deep down, how hurt he might possibly be.

She has never kept anything from Tony for as long as she knew him. With the way they left each other five months ago, well, telling him something he hadn’t known for this long could just drive the wedge between them even deeper.

Ana opens her mouth but all that comes out are tiny sounds of words dying on her tongue. She closes her mouth, eyes shifting to Rhodey, who nods encouragingly. Ana gathers herself once more, swallows her hurt and any pride she may have.

“Tony,” She finally says.

“Yep?” His response is quick; a tone Ana knows all too well. It’s the tone he uses to mask his own hurt.

“I-I should have told you sooner, but-” Inhale. Exhale. It shouldn’t be that hard to tell him this. Tony had been with her through some of the hardest events in her life. Suddenly not telling him feels like she insulted him personally.

“I’m pregnant.” 

The silence that stretches lasts so long, Ana has to check if the line went dead; it didn’t. “Tony?”

“How far? Five months?” Tony finally speaks up. He sounds distant.

“Eight.” The word comes out as a whisper. “I’m eight months along. 34 weeks.”

“Had an inkling. Do you want a congratulations?”

Ana feels like she was just slapped in the face. Tony doesn’t sound angry, just neutral, but even so, the words sting more than she ever thought they would. Her eyes prickle, her vision gets blurry. She clears her throat, turning her back on Rhodey so he doesn’t see her reaction.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just wanted you to know.”

“Girl, boy?” He asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Going old school, I see.”

“I just...I figured it was time to tell you,” Ana’s voice trembles. Her heart is aching, like she just ripped a band-aid from a gaping wound she forgot about. “I’ll let you-”

“Is it healthy?” Tony abruptly cuts her off. “Are…are you healthy?”

The question catches her off guard. “I- yeah. Um, there’s been some emotional stress and bed rest incidents, but otherwise, we’re healthy.”

“Good, good. That’s good. It’s late, you should go, rest.”

“Oh, okay.” Ana says weakly, feeling drained and disappointed. “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” She pulls the phone from her ear to hang up, then hears Tony call her name.

“Ana.”

She quickly holds the phone back up. “Yeah?”

“Will you let me- let us know? When it’s time?” 

Ana can’t be too sure, but she thinks she picks up a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you.”

Another beat of silence passes. “G’night, kid.”

The nickname feels bittersweet, but maybe it’s a step in rekindling what she ruined of their relationship. “Goodnight, Stark.”

After she hangs up, a firm yet comforting hand squeezes her shoulder. “You good?” Rhodes checks.

Nodding, Ana shoots him something close to a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I think I miss him. I do miss him.”

“You should have told him that. I know he misses you too.”

“Maybe...next time.”

Just those few minutes of that conversation has left Ana exhausted. She decides to take a nap, hoping that maybe sleeping will ease the ache on her chest.

*

Annie

Pain abruptly pulls Ana out of her sleep, ripping away from that dream world. She stares at the ceiling in confusion, wondering what exactly hurt enough to wake her up. Minutes pass, her eyes closing as she’s on the verge of falling asleep yet again, when the second wave hits.

“Oh fuck!” Ana yelps, her hands flying to her stomach. “F-F-FRIDAY, am I having a contraction?”

“I cannot be 100% accurate,” FRIDAY responds quickly. “I have alerted Agent Romanoff. There is a possibility of Braxton Hicks Contractions. I suggest changing positions and counting the minutes between each one.” 

Annie

A mixture of a sob and laugh escaped Ana’s lips, because of course she would hear his voice now as she hisses curses through her teeth. Oddly, the voice seems to calm her internal panic, through her pain. As she begins to sit up and shift, Natasha throws open the door. 

She’s talking but Ana can’t focus on her words just yet, too busy trying to lay on her side and fight through the contracting pressure. Thankfully, Nat helps her move and settle into a new position. Too long goes by, but finally the pain stops.

“Breathe, remember those exercises,” Natasha is telling her, rubbing her back. Ana adjusts her pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. “Do you know how long that was?”

“Two minutes and 24 seconds,” FRIDAY informs them. “Twenty minutes apart from the first one.”

“FRIDAY get Dr. Hammond on the phone please.”

“Already contacted.”

Ana just shuts her eyes, listening to the slight commotion around her. The baby moves, an elbow or foot clearly unhappy about the lack of space inside her uterus. She rubs her hand around her stomach, ignoring her fear of not being ready quite yet; it’s too early to give birth. Ana begins to wonder how Bucky would have handled this. 

Instead of feeling sad, a small smile spreads across her lips. Imagining someone like Bucky who was usually pretty calm and level-headed in most situations, his longtime soldier status the reason for that, would probably be panicking. Considering how he always acted any time Ana was in pain or discomfort.

“You look like a crazy person smiling like that.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to call a pregnant woman crazy?” Ana mumbles, cracking her eyes open to see Rocket smirking at her. “Are you so starved for entertainment you wanted to see what potential childbirth is like?”

Rocket shrugs, smirking. “Once I convinced some jerk the only way to smuggle his gun off Contraxia was to shove it up his ass. This isn’t as fun.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth, and suddenly the pressure she’s been feeling in her lower abdominal eases away. Ana heaves out a deep, long breath. Rocket’s smirk morphs into concern as he reaches out to gently pat the back of her hand. 

“Can I confess something?” She whispers to him. He steps closer, tilting his head down. “I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket leans closer. “If you want to know my opinion. I think you got this.”

Then he winks as if they’re conspiring. Ana reaches out to gently stroke his ear. Rocket looks shocked at the affectionate gesture, then he relaxes, smiling like he’s proud to make her feel better.

Natasha interrupts their moment. “Ana, Dr. Hammond is on the phone. She’s on the way but wants to talk to you if you can.”

Taking the phone with her doctor relaxes Ana further. Though when she explains the severity of the pain, Dr. Hammond suggests she have a bag ready in case she does have to go to the hospital. The doctor also requests that the AI to monitor her closely and send FRIDAYs system readings be sent to her On-Call phone, just in case.

Through the night, two more odd contractions occur. Although being irregular and far apart though not any less painful, one more call to the doctor has Ana cursing Braxton Hicks contractions. Natasha stays with her the whole time, and Steve lingers by the closed door for far too long.

Sighing, Ana demands sleepily. “Rogers, just come in already, my god.”

Sheepishly, Steve enters the room, and hunkers down at the end of her bed. Ana drifts off into the same world where Bucky is always waiting for her, always barely able to touch her. When she wakes up from the clouds of ash, she slowly turns over. The sight she’s met with makes the tears in her eyes dry up.

Apparently, during the night, everyone made their way into her room. Nebula, Rocket, Carol and Rhodes all sleeping around the bed or propped up against the wall or chair. Smiling, Ana falls back to sleep.

35 Weeks: January 22nd

Over the last three days, Ana has become lethargic. She’s just so tired all the time, despite sleeping for a few solid hours. Maybe the constant trips into that dream world with the little girl and Bucky leave drain her energy more than she ever thought it would. Maybe waking up, never able to save Bucky is taking its toll, and her heart, her soul just aches. She is just so tired.

Though being eight months pregnant and having false contractions probably has something to do with how exhausted she’s been. Ana has yet to tell anyone about her dreams, or how they leave her feeling just as empty as the day it happened. Informing anyone would just lead to more worry, have them doting on her more than they already do.

Steve constantly eyes her, a twitch in his corded muscles as if he is ready to jump into action for her. He thinks he is being covert; he isn’t. Ana can still read and pick up on feelings and energies. Natasha is more inconspicuous about it, rather she just lingers in any room Ana shows up in. Nebula has taken to just drop next to her, pulling out the deck of playing cards, her dark eyes keen if Ana just shifts wrong.

Rocket chats her ear off with stories of him and the Guardians. Most adventures leave Ana clutching her big round stomach in laughter. It’s the most she has laughed in months, and she swears the little raccoon does this because she admitted she was scared to him.

Rhodes has been pulled away for more government and military business, although he calls to check in everyday. Carol keeps offering the last bottle of elixir but when Ana refuses, she just gives her a cup of tea instead. With sneaking suspicion, Ana thinks the tea is laced with the elixir anyway.

As the winter sun begins to set, its light casts an orange glow through the windows, makes the whole area look warm. To Ana, it bares too much a resemblance to her dreams. She turns to head to bed early, leaving the haunting sight of the sunset to paint the interior with its mockery. Ana grabs the mug of tea Danvers left seeping for her, turning her back on the light.

With the twist of her hips, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through her stomach. Ana shouts, dropping the mug, shattering on the floor as she doubles over in pain. This clenched pressure is more severe than the other night, Ana can’t even straighten up. She clutches the counter for balance, panting and gritting her teeth.

 Annie.

 “Ana!?” Someone calls in fear.

Trying to regulate her breathing, the pain slowly eases up. Ana cautiously straightens up, but the second she does, another pain zings through her lower stomach. Her fingers grip the counter so hard, the granite cracks, gives, then crumbles under her vice grip.

Strong arms wrap around her, balancing her the best they can. Ana is vaguely aware she’s being moved, but through the blinding pain, there’s an internal fear of something hurting her baby. The pain, the agony, the hurt; something isn’t right.

“Ba- the -ba-by,” Ana stammers, chest heaving, hands now clutching her stomach. Beneath her palms, she feels the baby writhe. “Fuck! It- it’s hurting.”

“What? What’s hurting the baby?” Someone demands urgently. “Call 911! Or get the jet ready! Anything! Ana. Ana, honey, look at me, can you hear me?”

All she hears is a panicked tone, firm callous hands squeezing her elbows. The baby shifts, curling and twisting in her stomach. Ana wants to reach in and protect her child, their child, from whatever is causing this white-hot agony.

She won’t release her arms from around her stomach, she can’t respond to anyone’s worried calls. She just shuts her eyes, tears stinging before they escape. She’s panting, trying to breathe but the darkness around the searing pain is almost too seductive to resist.

Suddenly, the pain stops. Ana can finally breathe in and out, in and out. Once she can inhale without any more contractions, she can finally speak.

“Something is wrong,” She breathes out, fear clenching around her heart. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Just continue to breathe like you are,” Natasha urges, her voice shaky. “If you’re able to make it to the quinn jet we can fly you to the hospital.”

Bracing herself on whoever is holding her, Ana grabs at their shoulders slowly standing up. Concerned blue eyes gaze down at her, roaming over her face for any other signs of pain. Steve lifts his hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin.

“Shit, you’re burning up. Let’s go, I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.” Steve offers, about ready to do just that.

“No,” She heaves, wincing as a lesser contraction wrecks her. She waits until it eases up. “But-but- these are too close together.” Ana gasps then, looking down at her legs, her pants soaked. “My water just broke.” She whispers, terrified. “Steve, it’s too early.”

The way those blue eyes shift from his own fear to determination soothes her terror just a little. Steve and Natasha volunteer to go with her, though Carol insists she help bring Ana up to the launch pad. As they leave, a concerned Rocket waves, wishing her good luck.

“Have fun,” Nebula pipes up after Ana is nearly out of ear shot.

“Have fun?” Rocket deadpans.

Nebula just shrugs, her hands balled into tight fists.

**

Arriving at the nearest hospital only takes fifteen minutes by jet. By some mercy, Ana doesn’t have another contraction or pain during the flight. Once they get her a wheelchair though, another occurs. People are talking around her as she fights and breaths through the pressured pain entering the hospital.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Uh,” Ana pants, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Dr. Hammond.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to continue talking after that, as Dr. Hammond rushes through the doors of the floor they’re on. Grateful for Natasha taking over for filling out the remaining information needed.

“Is anyone coming in with you, Ana?” Dr. Hammond inquires, after speaking with some nurses. She looks between Steve and Natasha. 

The question catches her off guard. “No! No. I-” Ana chokes up, nearly breaking down with grief because Bucky isn’t here. She feels his absence, his death more than ever. “I can do it on my own.”

Those words seem to strike a chord with Steve. He abruptly moves in front of her, bending to her eye level. Fierce protectiveness shining in those blue eyes. Steve grips her hands hard enough for her to know.

“Ana,” He begins lowly, firmly. "You don't have-"

“I’m scared," She admits. Her bottom lip trembles as hot tears finally spill from her eyes. "I’m so scared. It’s too early. What if-“  

Hushing her gently, Steve carefully pushes back her damp hair. “I know, I know you’re scared right now. You can do this. I know you can. You are not alone. I’m with you, Natasha’s with you. We’re right here for you. You don’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

Ana squeezes his hands as another mild contraction rolls through her. She hunches over, listening to Steve instruct her to breathe deeply. When it subsides, she looks up at him through tears.

“How can you be so sure?” She asks breathlessly.

He blinks, taking a second to realize what she means. Then his face softens. “Because you’re you. Because you’re the most determined, stubborn, and strong woman I know. You can do this. Then you get to meet your child after, and that is going to be amazing.”

Ana nods, trying her best to believe him. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I-I wish Pepper were here though.”

“We called her, she’s one her way.” Natasha pipes in, handing back the clipboard to the nurse.

"Nat,” Ana shudders out another deep breath as the baby wiggles around. Suddenly Steve’s words strike her deeper. “Will you stay with me?”

“I won’t leave your side.” Natasha promises fiercely.

Dr. Hammond jumps in then, informing Ana of a drug they’re going to give her to slow the labor, then run some tests. She instructs Natasha of a nurse coming out to bring her sanitary and protective gear for the delivery room when it’s time.

They wheel her towards another set of double doors, and that’s as far as Steve can follow for now. Before they go through, he bends over, placing a kiss on top of Ana’s head.

“You’re strong. You can do this. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Steve reminds her fervently.

Annie

A newfound strength enters her body. Ana can’t be certain if it was Steve giving her one last encouragement through her powers, or the voice in her ears.

*

Administering the drug does help slow Ana’s labor down, and thankfully she’s able to get the epidural put in. Steve is allowed to visit once she’s checked into her room and bed. Pepper gets delayed by a mild snowstorm but promises to be there as soon as she can.

Usually giving a drug to delay preterm labor to a soon to be mother works better, if the mother didn’t have a form of super soldier serum in her DNA. The drug wears off just nine hours later, as Ana found out as she awoke with more intense pains. Before she knows it, it’s time.

“Ready?” Dr. Hammond questions as she settles between Ana’s legs.

Frantically Ana shakes her head, scrambling to find Natasha’s hand. Nat grabs her hand with both of hers, leaning close to her head. It’s still too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if her powers act out? Oh god, what if baby doesn’t survive?

Natasha’s soothing voice in her ear encourages Ana as she pats the back of her hand. Listening to her words as the doctor and nurses prepare behind her propped-up feet, begins to calm Ana just a little. She swears she feels Nat’s steady, relaxed energy seep into her.

Instructions to push when necessary are relayed to Ana, but as she screams and shouts through gritted teeth and crushes Natasha’s hand, she has to. When the pushing starts, the lights in the room glow brighter. They begin to flicker, the room fading in and out of darkness. A golden hue shines around Natasha’s hands clasps over Ana’s. Her friend calling her name is slowly fading away, as she begins to fall under water.

Annie

She hears the muffled concerned voice of the doctor; something is wrong with the baby. Ana fights to stay awake. Fights to give her baby a chance because if Ana fades away now, will she take her child with her?

No. She refused to let that happen. Pushing with all her might, she channels what she has of her own energy through her blood, her body, to her child.

Annie

The voice beckons to her again. Over and over; a haunting echo of a lullaby. Ana stops fighting, allows the darkness of a faded loving caress to pull her in. She hears cries fill the room just as her world goes black.

 *

Stillness. Quiet. Serenity.

The absence of sound slowly pulls Ana up from the ground. As she stands there, her mind void of any thought, she stares ahead at the endless horizon. An invisible grip tugs from inside her chest, her feet moving of their own accord. She moves through the glassy sea, ripples spreading out with each step.

Blinking to awareness, Ana is face to face with a dark wooden door.

A small touch wraps around her left hand. Looking down, she sees that same little girl; her beautiful green skin, the markings on her cheeks, her red-brown hair. It’s her big eyes that gaze up at Ana that always reach into her heart. Ana closes her fingers around her little hand.

“Where am I?” Ana inquires, her voice quiet echo.

The child smiles. There’s something sad about it. “I think you know.”

Casting a glance around at the horizon of every way, she nods. “What is your name?”

The girl pauses, but only for a moment. “Gamora.” It’s then she releases her hand and steps back. “You aren’t here for me though. That’s okay. I can wait.”

Perplexed, Ana asks, “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Gamora holds her arm out to the door in front of them. Ana shifts her eyes to the door, and what awaits on the other side. When she looks to the little girl once more for guidance, Gamora is gone. She doesn’t ponder where she could have vanished to. Ana places her hands on the door, and pushes.

Warmth blooms from her chest, as if her soul ignites within. Her heart fills with hope, with love, and with terror. Ana has been met with this same sight before. Has felt these same feelings race through her veins every time she sleeps.

Bucky stands before her. Same ocean blue eyes, same soft expression, same little smile on his lips. He takes a step forward, lifting his right hand. Ana bites her lip, dreading for when they make contact, he will crumble into ash like always.

“Hi Annie,” Bucky speaks. His voice seeping into her bones.

Despite the inevitable pounding through her chest, Ana brings her own hand up. Slowly, she reaches for him, the warmth of his hand erases any fear. Bucky intertwines their fingers together, his smile widening. Ana moves closer, squeezing his knuckles. When Bucky remains solid and firm in front of her, tears fill her eyes.

“Bucky.” His name leaves her lips on a sob.

Her husband gently cups her cheek with his left hand, the cold of his metal palm sending goosebumps all over her skin. Ana presses her lips to his hand, holding onto to this moment for as long as she can. Bucky pulls his hand from hers, only to wrap his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest. Ana grips him tight around his back, resting her ear directly over his heart that she can hear pounding in his chest.

“Are you real?” She murmurs, tears falling down her cheeks.

His soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He leans back, delicately cups her cheek to pick her head up. Bucky connects their foreheads, eyes gazing affectionately into hers. His vibranium thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

“I’ve always been real in your dreams, darling.”

Ana lifts her hand from his back to brush her fingers through his soft hair. “Is that what this is then? Just a dream?”

"Not exactly.” He laments with a sigh. Ana leans back, and the happiness in those beautiful eyes of his fade away. “I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

“But I- I just got you back,” Ana frowns, shifting her hand from his thick hair to his cheek. The soft scruff of his beard tickles her palm. Bucky turns his head, kissing her palm. Her heat sinks then. “This isn’t real.”

Sadly, Bucky shakes his head. “This isn’t your world. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be selfish and just hold you a bit longer.”

Ana fully throws her arms around him in a vice grip, foolishly thinking if she can hold him tight enough, he can stay buried in her soul forever. His returning hug is just as hard, the pain from his grip just confusing her more. They move at the same time, finding each other’s mouth and placing a firm, desperate kiss to their lips.

“I need you to go back now, love,” Bucky gently urges, after he breaks their kiss.

“I don’t want to,” Ana cries, now clutching at his chest. “I need you.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, falling over the edge and down his cheeks. For the first time Ana has ever entered this dream world, Bucky has never cried. She delicately wipes the wetness from his beautiful face. His smile breaks her heart.

“Someone else needs you now, Ana.” He tells her. Bucky kisses her forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Her chest tightens then, as if her soul is losing him all over again. Nodding as tears continue to fall, Ana wraps him up in her arms one last time, holding onto his warmth. She presses her right hand firmly over his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you, Bucky. James, I-I love you so much,” Ana sobs.

Bucky runs his fingers through her hair, bringing the strands up to his mouth, before letting the hair fall back into place. “You’re my heart and soul, Ana. I love you.” He gently kisses her lips. When he pulls back once more, his blue eyes shine with pride. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Take care of her, Annie.”

“She?” Ana frowns, confused.

He places his hands on her chest. “Wake up.”

Then, Bucky fades into dust.

 *

Ana gasps.

"We got a pulse!” Someone shouts.

Ana blinks up at too bright lights, dazed, confused, abruptly cold. The commotion around her fades into the background as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Her fingers scratch against stiff cotton, her damp skin making them feel too sensitive against her hands.

A dull pressure releases from her lower half, from her stomach perhaps? Her back? Her hips? Nope, it’s definitely soreness between her legs. She’s cold and sweaty, can now feel her hair sticking to her face. Her chest is heaving, her arms lifting as to reach for something.

“I don’t understand, her vitals stabilized quickly. They’re all normal, doctor.”

The minute the words break through the muffled barrier of whatever ocean she was under, is the minute she hears the crying. In a rush of sensory overload, everything crashes back to her.

Her baby. Ana just gave birth.

“Mrs. Barnes? Ana, can you hear me?” Dr. Hammond’s voice is speaking to her right.

Nodding frantically, Ana answers her hoarsely. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I-where’s my baby?”

Still a little unfocused, she misses when the nurses double check her vitals, and then, the wails of an infant come closer. Someone questions if it’s a good idea, doubts the steady condition she seems to be in. Whoever it was is shot down though, as blonde and red hair come into Ana’s vision.

“Thank, god,” Natasha breathes, her shoulder sagging. “You scared us.” She shakes her head, then smiles. “Would you like to meet your daughter now?”

Carefully, Natasha hands over a little bundle of a blanket, laying Ana’s baby on her chest. Hands works to gently tug down her gown and unwrap the blanket. It’s that first skin to skin contact, that first feel of her baby girl’s beating heart against her mother’s, that breaks Ana.

Ana cries, sobs, as she delicately holds her daughter against her chest. For the first time in a long time, her soul pulses with warmth.

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

Drabbles: Twenty-Three     Drabbles: Twenty-Five

(Note: Ana’s labor/birth is loosely based off of my sister-in-laws experience.)

Tags:  @thecreatiivecorner​​​ @buckyland​​​ @stressedasalways​​​ @watchoutforfrostbite​​​ @justreadingfics​​​ @keldachick​​​ @eurynome827​​​ @elatedmarvel​​​ @shesalatesh​​​ @paintedgreywriting​​​ ​​ @buckaroo-blue​​ @afewmarvelousthoughts​​ @crushedbyhyperbole​​ @shesalatesh​ @jaxthebookworm​

#bucky barnes x ofc #Bucky Barnes x Ana #bucky barnes x ana rios #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x original female character #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #baby barnes

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

I want to write this as a full story, this is based off of a weird dream I had

Lascia che ti porti in paradiso

You drove you car down the highway and couldn't help but wriggle around try not to reenact the dance from Napoleon dynamite as Canned heat played on the radio. You couldn't help but feel like the world was rooting for you, you had woken up two days ago to find out that you had been written down to be the soul inherentor of a stranger's fortune and estate.

At first you were reluctant on the offer, thinking there must have been some mistake or a scam but no it wasn't and it turned out the stranger had no living relatives and had picked out your name out of the thousands of others in the state rather then let the government take it.

You were now on your way to your new home with the few things you had from your apartment all packed in the back.

You had sold most of your furniture since your new mansion already had a ton.

You hummed as you tapped your hands on the steering wheel before seeing a man run out Infront of your car. You slammed your foot on the brake and closed your eyes, hoping you wouldn't hit him. Your car made a screeching halt and you opened you eyes and saw that the man had fazed through the front of your car. You were face to face with the ghost.

"Danm it you nearly made me a ghost myself! don't you know some of us living can see you!" You scolded.

"Sorry..." He replied.

"Trying to kill yourself isn't going to do anything... You need to fulfill your life task if you wanna move on" you explained to him before someone knocked on you window.

"Yes?" You asked the man outside as you winded down the window slightly.

"Why the fuck did you slam on the fucking brake! Nobody's in fucking front of you!" The man yelled as he hurled profanity after profanity at you.

"I'm sorry, I just had a bit of a panic attack..." You explained to the male before driving off again.

You had become accustom to the existence of ghosts, you had been able to see them for most of your life. You had especially grown use to it while living in that dodgy apartment since a lot of drug use and domestic abuse happened around that area. You could have become a psychic medium but really couldn't see yourself being one so you lived a life like everyone else.

You made a turn off the highway and drove through a few streets before stopping at a service station to refuel your car. In the store you paid the woman at the counter that had disinterest written all over her face before your phone ran. You quickly grabbed it out of your pocket as you made your way back to the car.

"Hello?" You answered to the phone.

"Oh hello miss (Y/n), I was wondering how long you'd be to the house?" The inheritance lawyer asked.

"Well I just got off of the highway, I'll probably be there in another hour..." You responded.

"Ok that's perfect, that'll give me time to drop my kids off at my mother's" he explained.

"Ok, I'll meet you at the house soon" you said.

"Bye"

"Bye"

You put your phone back in your pocket before opening your car door and grabbing out the mapbook and finding the right page.

"Ok so I'm on Charlotte Street now... so I'll have to go straight through Devondale then turn off at Rochester road then Tamala way til I reach Willow peaks" you said to yourself as you looked through the map before starting up the engine again.

🍁🍁🍁

You stopped your car at a pair of large gates that stood proudly Infront of your property. You hopped out the car and approached the gate and unlocked the the padlock that sealed it shut before hopping back in and driving up the long winding driveway where tall trees blocked out most of the sunlight til you reached a clearing. The  three to four story mansion shadow loomed over the land where a beautiful garden grew with an abundance of colourful flowers. Roses, carnations, snapdragons, dianthus, gardenias, if you could name a flower it was most likely there. You parked you car outside the garage. You stepped out and the fragrance of the garden hit your nose like a surprisingly pleasant punch to the face. You admired the garden even more as you walked past the flowerbeds and inspected the flowers more closely. They were so well kept, surely the previous owner had hired gardeners to maintain it after they passed.

You walked around the back to see various fruit trees in bloom. Cherries, peaches, plums, apples, lemons and oranges. In the middle a old water fountain stood. As you approach you could make out the statute, a young man with long in robes and chains holding up a flower with it's roots intact. You stood on the edge of the fountain and looked at features of the worn statue that was made of a mixture gold and bronze or copper.

The man had long wavy hair with a curled fringe, plump lips, a young but well built body and eyes that seemed to see all despite being a statue. You then took note on all the lime and calcium that had built up on it as well as how full the metal was maybe you would go and grab some stuff tomorrow and give it a well needed clean.

"The estate is very impressive, isn't it?" A familiar voice asked.

You turned and saw the inheritance lawyer who was a few metres behind you.

"It's amazing, if the outside is this this good then I can only imagine how the inside must be" you replied.

"How can somebody keep a garden so perfect?" You asked.

"The previous owner told me that she hadn't worked on the garden for five years yet it had never overgrown" he explained.

"Did she know anything about this statute?" You asked, so curious to find how such beauty had been immortalized.

"No she didn't, it's been here since this place was first constucted in 1797" he explained.

"1797?!" You gasped.

"Yes, but of course it's had it's fair share of renovations, some to preserve it and others to extend it" he explained to you but your attention was soon diverted to one of the windowsills as a curtain was pulled aside and somebody peered through only to close it again.

"I'm excuse me but is anybody in the house already?" You asked as you looked back to the man.

"No there should be anyone else here, why do you ask?"

"I was just curious, that's all" you replied.

"You must be eager to see the inside" he chuckled as you both returned to the front and approached the front door. He grabbed out the keys to the house before unlocking the door and opening it.

You both walked in to see the massive entranceway. A high celling with a crystal chandelier hanging down, two sets of stairs on either side of the room, dark wallpaper and lavish rugs, painting decorating the walls. It was like what you'd see in the movies.

"This is amazing!" You gasped.

"Yep and you haven't even seen the 28 rooms" he said but before you could respond you saw somebody in plain sight run across the upstairs balcony.

"Did you just see that?" You asked as you pointed to where you saw them.

"No, I didn't see anything, are you sure your mind isn't playing tricks on you?"

"It's probably just me" you sighed before he lead you off to see all the rooms on the ground floor.

The kitchen was huge and so was the dinning room and entertaining area. You had your own laundry room, a study, two bathrooms and an atrium which led to the garden. You even had a basement / cellar. Then he brought you up to the second and third story where ten large bedrooms were placed, two of them being connected to large bathrooms with a nice black and gold colour scheme that screamed opulence. There were four more bathrooms for guests and then another study / entertaining area before you reached the attic which was the only place that wasn't clean. It was filled to the brim with boxes and spare furniture covered in cobwebs and dust. You had a quick look through all the furniture.

"I'll go down the the dinning room and get the paperwork ready for you to sign while you have a look around" he said as he left.

You took a step and accidentally tripped over a sheet, a framed portrait falling onto you in the process. You got into a sitting position and picked up the painting. It was of the same man depicted in the statue. His skin was fair, one of his eyes was a blueish green while the other was amberish, somewhere between brown and hazel. His long locks were a golden blonde, his arms were loosely wrapped around the neck of a young doe while a snake was loosely draped around his neck. The man's features seemed peaceful but he also seemed to radiate an aura of superiority.

The male must of had something to do with this household. The question thou was how?

#yandere x reader #yandere #jojo golden wind #jojos bizarre adventure #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #giorno #jojo giorno #spacy works

[trensu]

Episode 20: The One where WangXiantics becomes W(angst)Xiantics

So we start the episode on a high note by watching wc and jj suffer a mental breakdown

We won’t go into detail bc we don’t actually care about them

We are, however, gonna take the time to admire the cut of wwx’s silhouette as he stands on the rooftop playing his demon flute

For real tho, he’s killin it here (on a rooftop! did i mention that? bc all great scenes happen on rooftops)

Enshrouded in shadow with wisps of resentful energy flowing around his flute as he plays

And the only light on him frames just his eyes, emphasizing his cold focus as he rains terror on the two who hurt his family and destroyed his home

Chills...this is not a guy you want to cross

Okay Plot Stuff happens and wwx is gone by the time JC and LWJ show up at the scene of the crime

More plot stuff

Plot plot, wen qing and jc have a moment and there’s a comb, plot plot

Jc and lwj are hunting down wc and wen zhuliu 

Plot plot plot

They finally find them holed up somewhere, idk where, it doesn’t matter

Jc is about to rush in but lwj, being sensible, stops him and tells him they should observe first

So they sneak onto the roof and watch shit go down through a missing tile

Wc and wzl are there doing stuff that doesn’t matter

But then an ominous breeze picks up and we see black boots slowly start climbing a staircase leading to where wc and wzl are

This kind of echoes lwj’s scene in the last episode, which is GREAT

The steps are not hurried in any way. There’s no rush bc wc and wzl are right where he wants them to be

The “he’ here is revealed to be WWX!!! 

YOU LOOKIN FINEEEE IN THOSE ROBES WWX

(tbh, all of our boys are looking pretty dashing)

(@theuntamednarrator​ and i decided that lwj and jc were probs trying to one up each other in the fashion department bc they wanted to look ESPECIALLY handsome and heroic when they finally find wwx. And no, you cannot change our minds. This is definitely what happened.)

There’s some banter between wzl and wwx that doesn’t really matter except for this gem of a line that is just SO GREAT i can’t NOT include it

Wen zhuliu says something about repaying his debts to wen ruohan

Wwx: why do other people have to pay for your gratitude?

DAAAAAMN BOY

LOOK AT YOU DROPPING THE MIC

WWX whips out his flute and starts to play

Lwj sees all the resentful energy wwx is summoning and his eyes widen (by like, a lot) in shock

A pause here to mention that the lady in red that wwx summons is by far the COOLEST THING EVER (the special effects here are actually special for once lol)

i am very upset we didn’t get to see more of her. 

What the heck wwx, she’s so effective and awesome?? 

And she matches your color scheme perfectly???

And you choose never to summon her again????

What is the matter with you

Do it for the aesthetic if nothing else!

So lwj and jc are just chillin on the roof watching all this go down but then suddenly wen zhuliu attacks wwx and is about to land a hit on him

ofc that’s when lwj chooses to intervene

Our boy straight up punches through the roof so that he and jc land between wzl and wwx

We get to watch jc choke out wen zhuliu with his zidian which is pretty cool

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, once this happens, LWJ TURNS AROUND AND FACES WWX FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MONTHS

HE JUST GAZES AT HIM??? 

And jc goes in and has a brotherly reunion with wwx and it’s all sentimental

THE YUNMENG BRO HUG HERE, AHH, MY PRECIOUS YUNMENG BOYS

(Why didn't you return the hug properly wwx why)

The look on LWJ’s face at their reunion is so full of yearning!! 

HE WANTS TO HUG WEI YING TOO. HE’S MISSED HIM SO MUCH, HE NEEDS A HUG FROM WEI YING RIGHT NOW

Ofc that doesn’t happen, and actually after a moment, lwj looks away from the scene as if he realizes he’s intruding on an emotional moment

And here we get some fun Q&A time with wwx!! (and by fun, i mean frustrating and emotionally trying)

Jc: were you really thrown into the burial mounds??

Wwx: if i had been thrown in there, would i be here now? Nobody survives that place

WAY TO NOT ANSWER THE QUESTION

Jc: where did they take you? How’d you escape? Why do you look different??

Wwx: *pointedly does not answer the first two questions* have i really changed??

And then, to further distract from the other questions that he totally ignored...

Wwx: if i told you that i found a special book in a secret cave written by a genius recluse, and then studied it to become super powerful, would you believe me?

Ofc jc just rolls his eyes and starts scolding him which makes wwx grin

Wwx: see, you won’t believe me even if i told you. I’ll tell you more later when we get home

Jc looks at lwj here, who up until now had been silently watching them talk, and then turns his attention back to wwx

Jc: fine, we’ll talk later

THEY’RE PURPOSELY EXCLUDING LWJ AS THOUGH HE HASN’T SPENT THE LAST THREE MONTHS FRANTICALLY SEARCHING FOR WWX TOO, I'M SO UPSET

And here’s where it starts to get super heartbreaking bc this is when lan wangji decides to chime in

Lwj: Wei Ying

Wwx: Lan er-gongzi, or should i say Hanguang-jun

WWX IS ADDRESSING HIM FORMALLY AND I DON’T LIKE IT

SINCE WHEN DO YOU CALL HIM ANYTHING OTHER THAN LAN ZHAN???

LIKE, WWX EVEN DID A LITTLE RESPECTFUL BOW AND EVERYTHING

HE IS DISTANCING HIMSELF FROM LWJ

STOP THAT WWX, STOP THAT RIGHT NOW

LWJ: were you the one that hunted all those wens?

Wwx: so what if i was?

Lwj: why did you give up the sword? Answer me.

Wwx: what if i refuse to answer?

AND HE SAYS THAT WITH A SMIRK, A COLD CURL OF HIS LIPS WHERE IT USED TO BE SO TEASING AND FLIRTY

SOMEONE STAB ME IN THE FACE

Lwj reaches out to grab him in response but wwx completely sidesteps him and even places his demon flute between them!!! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

WWX: lan zhan (oh so NOW you want to call him by his name), we just reunited after so long and you’re interrogating me? That’s not very nice.

YOU’RE BEING MEAN ON PURPOSE WWX

STOP HURTING LWJ’S FEELINGS

Wwx: it’s been months since the Murder Turtle cave...even if you didn’t cherish our relationship as classmates, you shouldn’t be so mean

HE SAYS THIS WITH A MOCKING SMILE

STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT

HE’S NOT THE ONE BEING MEAN WWX

Lwj does not rise to the bait: Answer me.

Wwx: I did already and you didn’t believe me! I can’t explain so much in so few words

Lwj: Then come to Gusu with me and explain it there.

LWJ ASKS HIM TO COME HOME WITH HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME

IT WON’T BE THE LAST

AND IT HURTS EVERY TIME. 

IT DOESN’T GET BETTER

EVERY INVITATION IS SUPER PAINFUL

Wwx: Gusu? With the 3000 rules? No, i refuse! I prefer yunmeng

I HATE THIS

THIS IS ALL AWFUL

Like, wwx is all pouty when he says this? And before it would’ve been all teasing and cute but instead it’s all cold and mocking aND IT HURTS

Lwj: wei ying, don’t joke around

And he angrily steps towards wwx but jc blocks him with his sheathed sword

With jc between them, wwx asks him, “lan zhan, what do you really want?

HE WANTS TO TAKE YOU HOME AND KEEP YOU SAFE AND LOVE YOU FOREVER

THAT’S WHAT HE WANTS

HE JUST WANTS YOU WITH HIM

GOD DAMN IT

But lwj is bad with words so instead of saying ANY of that he goes

Lwj: wei ying, there will be a price for learning wicked tricks; there’s been no exception in all of history. They will harm your body and mind.

HE’S SO WORRIED FOR WWX

STOP DANCING AROUND THE TOPIC LWJ AND JUST SAY YOU'RE WORRIED

Wwx: i didn’t snatch any souls for my tricks so they’re not wicked. I use talismans and play music, how is that wicked?

WWX YOU’RE COMPLETELY MISSING THE POINT

Wwx: and even if they were wicked tricks, i know myself and my limits

AND HE’S SAYING ALL THIS WITH HIS BACK TURNED TO LWJ

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

Wwx: as for my temperament...i’m in charge of my own mind and i know what i’m doing

Lwj: there are some things you can’t decide on your own!

Lwj is so so worried, he’s snapping at wwx here. It comes off as angry but it’s not anger, he’s scared for wei ying, he’s distressed!!

Now wwx finally walks back to lwj and faces him head on

Oh man, the way they shoot this scene is intense

They only let you see half of wwx’s face bc the other half is obscured by lwj

Wwx: how do others know my temperament? And why should it be their concern?

Just...those words paired with how we can’t see wwx straight on...it hits you in the gut

bc what he really means is “what do you know about me, outsider?”

Lwj: Wei Wuxian (he snaps at him!!)

NOOO DON’T CALL HIM THAT!! DON'T SAY WUXIAN!! YOU ALWAYS CALL HIM WEI YING!!!

Wwx: Lan Wangji (he replies coolly)

STOP ADDRESSING EACH OTHER SO FORMALLY WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME

Wwx: why do you oppose me now? Who do you think you are? What does the lan clan think they are? That you believed i wouldn’t protest?

STAAAAHP

HE’S YOUR SOULMATE!! THAT’S WHAT HE IS!!!

HE LOVES YOU!!! HE WANTS YOU SAFE!!!

And here wen chao regains consciousness (oh yeah, wen zhuliu is def dead but wc was just knocked out until now…)

Oh shit wwx just kicked wc as he starts begging for his life

That was cold. I mean, wc definitely deserved it but wwx is not normally this cruel

WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING AT LWJ, WWX JUST KICKS HIM OUT

Wwx: this is a domestic affair of the jiang clan of yunmeng. Please leave it to us

Lwj looks at him for just a moment before lowering his gaze and walking out solemnly

WHYYYYYY

STOP BEING MEAN TO EACH OTHER

Oh god, and the expression on wwx’s face after lwj’s gone??

HE LOOKS SO TIRED AND DEFEATED

Like it was taking every ounce of effort to maintain that cold distance from lwj this whole time

And to make it MORE heartbreaking--

When the camera zooms in on wwx’s face as he watches lwj leave (again with that empty, defeated expression) we hear wc in the background begging “forgive me, forgive me”

!!!!!!!!

That begging superimposed over wwx’s expression??

IT’S ALMOST LIKE WEI YING HIMSELF IS ASKING LWJ TO FORGIVE HIM FOR WHAT HE’S DOING RIGHT NOW

Idk if the showrunners did that on purpose BUT OW, MY HEART, MY HEART, IT HURTS

And now I’M SOBBING

LWJ is at the gates of wherever it is they found wc, and he stops in his tracks when he hears wc scream

Then he’s just remembering the words wwx said to him

Lan wangji why are you at odds with me now

Who do you think you are

What do you lan clan think you are?

AND HE JUST LOOKS HEARTBROKEN

EVERYTHING HURTS SO MUCH

Then we cut to lotus pier and watch wwx and jc pay their respects to jfm and m-yu

Wwx: you asked me to take good care of jc and jyl, and i did. Rest in peace now.

*UGLY CRYING* JUST STAB ME IN THE HEART WITH A RUSTY KNIFE

IT WOULD HURT LESS

that’s all the wangxiantics for this episode so only one question remains:

WILL I EVER EXPERIENCE JOY AGAIN???

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #wangxian #the untamed #cql

[baylishh]

Bruja- Taza Romero CH.2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback. This blog wasn’t supposed to be a fan fiction blog, but it’s as much apart of me as my blue eyes. So, it makes sense that I’m writing again. Some aspects of this story are pulled from a Happy Lowman fic I‘m writing over on Wattpad. If you’re interested in reading it, HMU! Anywho, here’s chapter 2!

Taza and Angel had to leave. ‘Club business’ they both said.

The former had whispered in her ear that he’d stop by later. She nonchalantly mentioned when the café closed.

He just nodded pressing a kiss to her forehead. The action is familiar and Lydia is struck with visions of him in another life pressing soft kisses to her forehead before leaving for battle.

When he’s gone Lydia let’s put a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Something about her energy had shifted. She felt exhausted.

Music pours into the room from Lydia’s phone. She slides her thumb across the screen before placing it to her ear.

“You found him,” her best friend says.

“Hello, to you, too, Rach,” Lydia clears her throat, adjusting her stance and laying her front half on the bar. Her elbows dig in. “Yeah, I found him.”

The girl all but screams. Lydia holds the phone away from her ear until she’s sure permanent damage isn’t imminent.

“I fucking knew those visions where VISIONS y’know.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. Standing straight, she cocks out a hip and tosses her long blonde hair behind her shoulder.

“When haven’t they been VISIONS,” she asks.

“True,” There’s a sound of paper rustling before Rachel speaks again. “Galindo has demanded our presence. Not certain why.”

“Shit,” Lydia responds, running a hand up her face before delving it into her hair. She holds her hair in a fist, asking, “Do you know what this meeting is about?”

“I’m not in the habit of asking. Said it’s time we make some ‘new friends,’ whatever that means. Think he’ll wear the raincoat?”

Lydia snorts.

“Fuck, I hope not. Do you need me now?”

Rachel gives an affirmative response before wishing Lydia a safe trip to the compound. The line clicks off.

Lydia scribbles out quick note. She posts it on the door and flips her sign to CLOSED. With a flick of her wrist the door is locked and she’s headed to her car. The dash clock says 8:30.

The SoCal Iron Sisters Compound is modeled after the original compound in Scotland. It’s a collection of buildings in a circle around a large circular tower.

The Spire is only accessible to the High Priestesses and their coven members. Lydia runs in, finding the elevator open and waiting for her. She steps in and punches in her floor number.

It doesn’t take long for Lydia to get in uniform. Being a High Priestess the uniform is less form fitting. She isn’t required to wear the tight, black leather ensemble of the hunters.

Instead, she wears a lightweight, flowy black dress. It’s cinched at the shoulders and waist. Silver snakes keeping the dress tight where it’s supposed to be. Her arms a bare, only her tattoos covering the pale skin. The skirt brushes the floor. It slits on both sides, causing Lydia’s bare legs to say hello when she walks. It dips to just above her breasts, showing a tasteful amount of cleavage. Thigh-high black boots decorated with silver runes and sigils are the final touch to the outfit.

Her long blonde hair being the biggest challenge. She styles it into Viking warrior braids, using small rune charms to decorate them. Each rune is set with intentions of protection and strength.

The final touch is a handful of black makeup smudged across both eyes in a heavy rectangle. She draws a sigil of protection onto her forehead.

With the completion of her uniform, Lydia heads out to meet the rest of her sisters in the hall of the gods.

~Taza~

Bishop had called Templo. There was a run later on and with the prospect coming in, there was a lot to discuss. It wasn’t a long meeting, more of a “let’s go over the plan” kind of thing.

Thoughts of Lydia bubble up in Taza’s mind. Time seems to slow as he remembers the dreams, no, the visions from the night before.

His grandmother had always said a dreams feel like movies, visions feel like memories. Taza had awoken at midnight to the smell of cinnamon and autumn. The second his eyes had opened he was bombarded.

A beautiful girl with long blonde hair and eyes the color of blue sea glass. Her pale skin glowing with a radiant moon glow. Freckles scattered her face and arms, concentrated in some areas, sparse in others. Her body was thicker, curvier than most girls her age. Despite looking about 23, her eyes showed a centuries old soul.

The visions left him sweating and gasping for air. That being said, he’s never slept that well in his life.

The visions had happened again when he saw her in the café. Very domestic visions. Her sitting behind him on his bike, her planting the annual garden, her standing at the stove, very pregnant, and cooking pancakes for a 3 year old boy.

They made his knees weak.

When he walked in, and she met his eyes, Taza had been unsurprised that her knees had given out. He was more surprised that he seemed to cross the 10 feet between the door and her in a split second.

The bang of the gavel broke Taza from his reverie, and Bishop’s hand resting on his arm cleared his mind.

“You okay, carnal?”

Taza nods, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, Prez. I’m good. I...uh...I met a girl.”

Heat crawls up his neck. More so when his best friend laughs.

“Is that what Angel was going on about earlier?”

Taza’s eyes roll before he even realizes they have. A common reaction whenever Angel’s name comes up.

“That dumbass doesn’t know his ass from his brain. I found an Old Lady. Well, a young woman I would like to take as my Old Lady.”

Bishop looks taken aback. His mouth opens and closes a couple times before he says, “Took you long enough.”

Taza snorts. His eyes roll of their own accord again and he leans forward resting his arms on the table. “It was crazy, primo. One second everything is normal, the next my entire world has shifted on.”

Taza let’s out a sigh running his hand down his face. “And the crazier thing is that I can’t help but feel like every lesson I’ve learned and everything that happened to get me here was all for her.”

The room goes silent. Bishop takes a drag on his cigar, ashing it in the tray next to his gavel. When he speaks the sentence is laced with smoke, “Sounds serious.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“I’m happy for you, man,” Bishop claps Taza on the shoulder, holding firmly afterward. “Don’t let her get you killed.”

With that, Bishop stands, cigar hanging between his lips, and exits the room.

Taza would never admit it, but the primal urge to kick his best friend, and president’s, ass bubbles within his chest.

He takes a deep breath in, concentrating on the feeling of the ground beneath his feet, the chair pressed against his body, the table under his hands. Can almost feel the Earth’s calming energy flowing up through the items and into him.

Taza imagines the inferno of rage turning to wind. Imagines it swirling into a giant tornado before it explodes in a blast of energy.

When the sun finally comes up in his mind, Taza stands and leaves the room. Thoughts of seeing her later only grounding him further.

Tags (The Coven, if you will):

@crow-writer @pug-in-a-tub @docsangel @pupyluv247 @trashpile95 @nomiegnome

#taza romero imagine #taza #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #taza romero #che romero

[namjoonchronicles]

pretty thoughts | jungkook

♠ pairing: jungkook x you ♠ genre: fluff, domestic, parenthood au ♠ word count: 6k ♠ honorary mention: @jungkookiemycutebias and her beautiful moodboard ♠ description: visiting your husband at work as the youngest senior barista, when he couldn’t get off on time as promised because of a sudden surge of customers. You met someone from the past that wasn’t supposed to know where you are while you wait, and Jungkook wasn’t very fond of him.

♠ author’s note: A spin off to Granite Glow.

When you first met Jungkook, you didn't think he was going to take this much space in your heart.

That time when you were in the cave, you only had one thought. If you couldn't see those galaxy eyes again, you'd be damned forever. As you sunk deeper in the depth of darkness, accompanied by the remnants of the memories you had with Jungkook, you felt serenity and despair all at once. They played like montages in the back of your mind, pulling you in and then out of nowhere, you heard him. Heard him calling your name. With it, you gained a newfound strength that allowed you to carry the weight of the yellow line and into the next mound where you could find surface. When you did, you took a lungful of air, and the sounds echoed through the granite walls of the cave.

When he scrambled to your side in the back of the ambulance, face so pale with chapped lips, you couldn't help but smile. You couldn't hear a word of what he said but you remembered feeling safe, because you saw those beautiful galaxy eyes, and it felt like coming home.

One year later, your love remains hot to the touch, scalding down your throat as you take it in, like this bitter coffee. No sugar, just black. It was too bitter for your liking but you downed them anyways. Jungkook would make better coffee than this. If he wasn't late this morning, you would have enjoyed one. He's a very capable husband.

Odd, he never lets those laying around the kitchen, you thought.

A microphone for his DSLR camera. Taehyung must have left it there this morning. You took it in your hand, and carefully walked down the left corner of the hallway where Jungkook's golden closet office was, pushing the baby walker to the side.

Look how far we’ve come, my love.

His Supreme skateboard, hung up the wall, three cameras in glass case, and three monitors for his editing works. Some other appliances arranged, neatly and orderly in some kind of synchronisation. This was where Jungkook spends most of his time if not working at the actual headquarters. His camera bag set aside, next to his half-packed luggage. He was getting ready to be in Hong Kong soon and you worried about that a lot. It’s going to take time to get used to not having him here.

He hums to the tune of Norah Jones’ classic, “Come Away With Me”. The skin of his  forearm showed the ripple of his muscle, his hands busy wiping the white coffee mugs with dry cloth. It had been a relatively relaxing day at work for a weekend.

Jungkook worked part-time at a coffee shop on public holidays and weekends to cope with the expenses needed at home. Honestly, he was still worried about the videos that needed editing at his main job. Although he had an ample amount of time to do that when he gets off at noon, he doesn’t like putting task off. Be it his current job or his job as a husband, who frequently runs errands in place of his wife.

Married young, Jungkook always worried if the struggles dented you in some way, like it has in the past. Jungkook did all kinds of odd jobs just to keep both of your heads afloat, but he’s glad he no longer has to. He is chirping to the fact that he gets to leave his part time job with a half day shift today. He has a date with you today, and he’s looking forward to that. Finally he gets to act his age and hold your hands, and just be him. And then he heard a glass falling to the floor. He dropped his head and blew hot air to his forehead. Chewing his lips, he walks over to the poor little co-worker.

“Get the broom, don’t touch it with your hands,” Jungkook commanded him. And he scurried away, to disappear down the hall to where the utilities were. Hyungjin just joined the team a few weeks ago, and he hadn’t let go of the newbie jitters. It’s twice this week. Now Jungkook isn’t the kind to lash out but he does give off a dark vibe. Not because he is authoritative, it’s because he is experienced. He tips his head up to Hyungjin who shyly hands him the short broom with dust collector pan, his expression softens to the newbie.

“...Do I scare you?” Jungkook smiles. Hyungjin shifted his eyes side to side, clasping his forefingers together like a child being punished.

“Can I be honest?” he stammered, nervously. His tongue peeped out his mouth, to swipe along his drying lips.

“Sure bud,” Jungkook collects the broken shards into the pan while Hyungjin held the mouth of the plastic bag, open for him. “They say you were in mafia once, which explains your built. And did assassinations, because you have good reflexes. You also grab hold of customers who don’t want to pay for the coffee they finished.”

Jungkook stands up straight, and tipped his head back, showing off his neck and jaws.

“That was once.”

Hyungjin visibly stiffens.

Upon straightening his view, Jungkook cracks his neck to one side, keeping his eyes close. This boy had been fed with outstretched lies by those before him. He twists his wedding ring as he begin to explain.

“Everything changes when you find love,” Jungkook cocked an eyebrow at the poor boy, before wiping his hands, “Tie the bags and discard it.”

He was rather enjoying the superiority he could play with this facade of ex murderer, ex military, ex mafia member past--his past co-worker had joked about him. Hyungjin nodded and dutifully committed to his duties.

Jungkook wasn’t superstitious, and never would ever believe when people say that when a mug breaks during your shift, there will be a sudden surge of customers. A bus stops in front of the cafe and vomited its content.

Oh no.

It was a foolish kind of love, you and Jungkook had.

Late last night,you’ve finally had time to take a look in your full figure mirror in what seemed forever, you pinched the back of your arms.

And he notices the expression you wore. Dissatisfaction, rejection and self-ridicule. “What’s with that face?” He lifts his face from the phone briefly, his round glasses reflected the screen as he continue to type a reply to a coworker.

You were standing there in just white bras, with your pastel pink mommy trousers for night wear before twisting your head over your shoulder to see your own back side on the mirror. Lips puckered, and you see the marks on the side of your stomach, before letting out a disappointed sigh. “My body changed,” you grumbled as you snatched a folded orange tee beside Jungkook’s ankle.

How long had this been going on? Jungkook wonders.

He hoisted himself off of the bed, slide his phone carelessly on the bedside table before taking your t-shirt away from your hand. Then he rested his chin on your shoulder, circled his arms around your waist, just underneath your bra line, pulls you close to him. You couldn’t stop the smile from blossoming on your lips and he continued to stare at your reflection through the mirror. Now that’s a view.

His sparkling brown orbs, shooting mega hearts to yours despite no words being exchanged. “What did you say?” Jungkook said in a harsh tone but his touch was anything but. He pressed his lips onto your shoulder without breaking eye contact. Your smile is getting wider and wider as he held on. “You’re sexy… drives me wild all the time,” he taunted you with his hushed voice.

“You’re a good liar. I have stretch marks, on my butt, on my stomach… And my boobs? They look disproportionate with the rest of me, I look like an alien…” you said them with half hearted giggle and, “My body turned ugly… I feel heavy, I look heavy, I’m… hideous.”

Jungkook had been shaking his head ever since you begin talking, refusing to acknowledge anything you said. “I’m nothing like the girls you filmed, yeah I saw your edited videos with that new female news anchor, she got nice legs and butts too,” you leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing. Throwing acid glanced at yourself through the mirror. Jungkook moved his arms down your hips and cupped your butt, before squeezing it.

“I’d take no other butts but this one,” Jungkook gave you a disturbing grin that either makes you want to punch him or kiss him hard. You rolled your eyes to the side and switched to press your front on him, circling your arms around his neck while he glided his eyes up to find yours. He towered you easily, and you got absorbed in those mesmerising iris that it took you a thought loud enough to bring you back to the situation you were in.

“Look at you,” you pointed at him with your lips, “You’re flawless. Beautiful… captivating.” Jungkook smacks his lips together, while fixing your baby hair, giving you that crinkling eye smile and spoke in articulate whispers that, “No matter how much your body changes, I’m madly in love with the very soul you bore, and even if you think that you’re not enough, I am still going to love you for who you are. And. In my eyes?”

He pauses, he tips your chin up with his index finger and spoke to your lips, “Your sexiest moment has yet to come.” Kiss.

Foolish, you thought. Jungkook meant every word but you thought it was foolish of him to love you. Jungkook gave away so much. He gave away a secure future to be married. He gave away his youth, his hard work, his dreams, to be married to you. It was not easy. It was not easy to have this life with him.

With no family to turn to, you both only had each other. There was so many first times. First interview, first rent, first job, first child.

Things would have been easier, albeit, if you had just stayed on track and did as told; and leave Jungkook behind. Tell him it was over and that you didn’t want him. It was mere words. But those pleading eyes could never let you lie. You know it when you touch, when you embraced him, when you kissed. You knew you weren’t going to want any other lips, have another arms to hold except this one. That’s why you did it.

That’s why you eloped.

A life without Jungkook isn’t worth living, no matter how easy it was.

Your family didn’t want anything to do with you. They didn’t want a child who refused to follow their path of life. Jungkook, a simple person, with simple background, didn’t worth their time. The fact that he was too young for you became the only logical rejection. Ridiculous, you thought. Age gap is a myth. Jungkook is alike you as you were alike him. What was it about Jungkook being too young for you? They just didn’t want you to be married to Jeon Jungkook. Because Jeon Jungkook wasn’t Kim Seokjin. The guy they preferred.

“Man should be older, for the marriage to be ideal,” your mother sipped her tea.

Ideal is an illusion.

“Dad was older than you. Was it ideal? The backbone of marriage is to trust and communicate. Something your ‘ideal’ marriage, certainly lacks,” you were greeted with a splash of tea across your face and hair.

And that was the last time you saw your mother. She loathed Jungkook. Unable to look at him in the eye when you brought him home once. One glance and you knew she was disappointed. 3 years in an expensive college and this is the boy you found? A videographer?

Not to mention the unconventional piercings, his lack of spiritual faith and low social class vibe. To her, he was revolting against her upholstered chair that she might have to send to laundry spa after Jungkook left. Afraid that his mediocre financial wealth be infatuated to her luxurious furnitures.

He was not enough for her, but he is enough for you.

Tough times do make the easier one more meaningful. No family to turn to, and you both only had each other, and that was enough and more.

Fostering through emotional wounds, you held your chin up high for the man you choose to love and his devotion was clearly infested in the way he was with you one night, lips parted to watched the stars in your room, that lit up in pitch darkness above the bed.

“Everything we have isn’t extraordinary, but is enough…” you heard him say, your head resting on his bulging bicep, twirling your fingers with his very own, while staring at the self made constellation ceiling you spend time creating. It was the best thing you’ve ever done and Jungkook did all the sticking. It was true what he said. The life you had before him was full of materialistic infatuation but no soul. It was a thirst to be above everyone, get ahead of the time, be an icon people would look up to. But no longer do you yearn for such attention, for the only attention you craved was his.

It was easy to love and leave for some people, but not to you. When you love someone, you gave them everything you had. And everything was Jungkook had. Sometimes it scares you, how much you create a place that is his, in your entire being, that when you bore his child, you were frightened that she will take your place. Foolish thoughts, isn’t it?

When Ben came, she changes everything. Jungkook’s little office was littered with polaroid pictures of her.

Her little nose, the corners of her lips that resembled her fathers’, the need to push boundaries she was set in—she was only four, but heavens, the energy she has. Jungkook was not only teaching her all the martial arts available, he was teaching her to an individual. To speak for herself, to be unafraid and heavily invested in her to make her happy. You maybe the love of his life but Ben is so much more than that.

Too young to be a father? You mocked your mother’s childish rejections. Jungkook was a better father than you remembered having.

Speaking of Ben. How is she?

Dial tone ended after what seemed to be ages. Taehyung was giggling heartily upon answering the call. “Hello Ben’s mom!” He chirped.

“Hi! How’s everything going?”

“Everything is great! Jimin is helping her on the slide, and she’s faster than both of us combined… we’re heading to the zoo when it opens, and she’s just been fed.”

They’re doing pretty well. They’ve been entrusted to do the babysitting job eversince Ben was 2. Jimin is good with keeping her entertained and Taehyung had enough babysitting experience with his niece and nephews for you to even come up with a complaint. Thank God for Jimin and Taehyung.

“I’m going to head over to Jungkook’s cafe. Just called to make sure everything is fine. I missed her.”

“It was a little over four hours, noona! Ben is only catching up with her uncles… hurry up then! The movie is going to start!”

You ended the call without talking to Ben, afraid that she would want to come with you if she knew you weren’t working. It was difficult to get the day off, taking a break from mothering and having a full time job. Besides, Taehyung and Jimin took their day off too, with paid babysitting by the hours. Their fares are cheap compared to other babysitters.

Grabbing your purse, you slid out the main door with simple brown loafers and stockings, a beige knee-length long coat and ash grey turtleneck, paired with jeans. It’s winter.

But when you arrive to his cafe, you saw endless rows of people queueing to get a table. There’s no way the new staff can handle such crowd without Jungkook’s help. Your best guess that he would still be in his barista uniform, making drinks.

And your intuition proven right when you saw your husband struggling to meet the order demands while being the only one in the barista corner, preparing coffees. The new staff is taking orders and putting on a fake smile for incoming customers at the cashier stand.

Poor baby. You glanced through the fogged up glass window at your husband and finding purchase in your heavy sigh. Where did the rush of crowd came from?

You looked around for clues, only to witness someone leaving a black Palisade Hyundai, parked on the side. This man, was on the phone and grey long coat as he exited his car, his brown hair neat and short. He was in the back seat and his driver stood at the door for him. He looks expensive. When he turned to the side, your heart dropped.

When is the noon shift going to be here? Jungkook grumbled in the back of his thoughts, your voice lingering in his head.

“Don’t be late…”

He let out an exhale through his nose, as he tips his chin back looking at the order screen where Hyungjin had keyed in the paid orders. Hyunjin rushes to his side, leaving the cashier stand vacant only to say, “416, said no caramel syrup.” Handing back the coffee he just made. Jungkook was about to lose his cook, but he grinded his jaw and nodded, silently.

Surely he could do better speed but with the constant modification of orders, he is stalling his usual pace. Plus, he was worried that his wife is somewhere out there in the cold, waiting for him to finish his shift. But with this many people and the noon shift not showing up, the movie date might have to be cancelled. And there’s nothing more Jungkook hated than to irresponsibly break a promise. Especially towards his wife.

Even if she’s walking in with a dude into his very cafe—hold up, what?

He is in fact, pushing the doors open for you. Wanted you to be seated on a couple seat but you declined and went with him.

He looks rather friendly. Too friendly perhaps for Jungkook’s liking. The noon shift finally arrived but it will take time for them to merge into the situation, so Jungkook switched place with Hyunjin to take orders from the man you’re with.

“Hello, my name is Jeon, how may I address you sir?”

“Seokjin,” this attractive man pursed his lips and leaned to the menus to see them clearer, while choosing he murmured, “What shall we have…”

You on the other hand were playing charade games with Jungkook. He mouthed, very angrily, “Who is he?”

And you replied, “I tried to call but you didn’t answer…”

He goes, “I’m working!”

Seokjin shot his eyes up and Jungkook cleared his throat, “Two hazelnut cappuccinos and two egg tarts… please.”

Jungkook switches back to his barista mode and chirped, “Would you like to try our new cheesecake along with it? It’s half price today…”

Seokjin scrunched his face briefly at the screen and, “Nope. Just the coffee and egg tarts, thanks.”

“Sure, that would be $18.80.” Seokjin tapped his shiny platinum card on the pad and it clicked to cash. Paid. As easy as that.

“Egg tarts is still your favourite right?” Jungkook heard he asked you with the most gentle voice a man could possess. Jungkook passes the cashier stand to the noon team, and excused himself to the toilet for a bit. He untied his black apron roughly, and threw it against the wall in the hallways meant for staff. Then he walked in long lunges to his locker, and unlocking them to get to his phone.

17 missed calls from Wife. 32 messages.

“His name is Kim Seokjin.”

Jungkook quickly replied, gnawing his lips in between his teeth as he typed. His beauty mark underneath his lips showing evidently.

“Who the fuck is he? Why are you having coffee with him?”

Wife is typing…

“He is the guy I was supposed to get married to.”

Jungkook stilled. That makes more sense.

You’re fidgeting. Eyes wide open, to every corner in that cafe. Fingers a little clammy, pupils darted out at every person there--you’re nervous, it isn’t difficult to see.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother where you are…”

You glanced up to meet his gaze. He looks handsome. As always. Every young women in that coffee shop wanted to be you.

“Is it that obvious?”

Seokjin nodded in reply.

“How are you?” He asked. In a way only past lovers share. There was no quick answer to that question but you out your priorities first. The most important thing he should know about you is that…

“Married? And a daughter?” Seokjin’s eyes doubled it size as he leans back into his chair, in disbelief.

“I mean…” he glances up and down, drinking in your figure, “don’t tell me that that/ body had a daughter that’s four now… how does your husband sleep at night when you’re not home?”

Pretty well if he’s tired, you thought.

“How about you, Seokjin?”

“Same old same old. Business is like always. We’re venturing new ideas. Since coffee shops are overrated now. They grow like mushrooms after the rain,” Seokjin crossed his legs and brought the brim of the cup to his moistened lips. Feeling a slight discomfort at the fact that your ex-fiancee spoke ill of coffee shops, knowing your husband is working in one.

You were at a crossroad of revealing Jungkook as your husband and risk Seokjin telling his brother about it. His brother will tell his mother and his mother will inform your mother about you and your choice of a life partner. It's not that you were ashamed of Jungkook’s job. It's more to save him than it is about shame. But Seokjin is still a friend. And there’s a side to him that is trustworthy.

“You know, things ended abruptly between us,” you began.

Seokjin’s false confidence begins to wane when you started speaking about the sore spot in his heart. You knew he felt something when you two were together. Whatever that was there, was engulfed by the resemblance of a lover you tried to play for his sake. To him, you were an enchanting one. And it hits him, how great of a pretender you proved to be.

“I apologize if it bothers you in any way. I know the engagements was all your money. And the time you’ve invested in me, I can never repay…” you spoke to your chest, fiddling with your wedding ring.

“I’m married to one of the staff working here, in this coffee shop that grow like mushrooms after rain, you said,” you glanced around to show emphasis, and, “He works part time on weekends, and have a full time job as a cameraman for news anchors. We’re supposed to have a date today but the coffee shop got busy so we’re going to be a little late but that’s okay, I guess?” You smiled and puffed your cheek while cocking your head to one side, unaffected by it.

It was way different from when you were dating Seokjin. Seokjin had hotels, you never ate in any restaurant below 4-star rating, he buys you clothes and dolls you up with his favourite luxury brands. You never had to leave the house because there’s a cinema in his mansion. His idea of a date is on a cruise ship, with food cooked by a Michelin-graded chef, a good bottle of Dom Perignon in a Swarovski studded champagne glass. He would have provided you everything.

A world class jet. A trip to Mallorca. A designer handbag. You name it.

But if it wasn’t love, it wasn’t love.

“I’m very happy. Jungkook had opened my eyes to many things. Made me learn about myself. Help me indulge in the simpler way of living, one that is slower in pace, deeper in meaning. I realise I really didn’t need that much, just a few dorks who loves me the way I am, and that’s where home is,” you bit your smile and hung your head. Seokjin slowly smiled too.

“This daughter of yours, how does she look like?”

You happily showed Seokjin your little family. And you pointed Jungkook. Seokjin immediately recognised him. “He is way too good looking for this coffee shop,” Seokjin gushes, you thought he was gay for that nano second.

“I know right… he doesn’t believe me when I say so,” you giggled.

“And your daughter’s name is Ben?” “Yeah… Just her pet name.” “And Jungkook just agrees?” “He lets me get away with a lot of things.” “He seems like the more mature one in this union, thank goodness someone is taking charge huh?”

You knew he meant how childish you could be and it was true, Jungkook might be wearing the pants in certain areas in your marriage, but in some, he wears the apron. Versatility is important.

“I should probably go, I didn’t plan to stay long in Seoul,” Seokjin took one finishing sip of his coffee, pushing his chair back in one swift move, refastening his long coat and you stood up with him. You both enveloped in an embrace, long enough for close friends and parted. Seokjin is making a business trip to Brazil and he managed to joke that if you end up marrying him, you two would have met for 20 minutes in a month because he’s just so busy. You watched him walk back to his Palisade through the glass window and the engine whirls away, elegantly, just like its owner.

“Ready to go?” A clipped tone suggests that Jungkook may have resented the sudden reunion between you and Seokjin. What else can you say than it was unplanned? He is murky and sour like the lemon juice you had last night, with his black turtleneck on his grey puff jacket.

“I’m sorry you had to wait for me,” but you didn’t have to bring your rich ex-fiancee over to fill time, Jungkook set himself aflame.

“I told you, I didn’t plan it to happen,” you sounded defeated yourself, trying to explain a harmless situation to a deafened man, “if I didn’t refuse his offer, he might tell mother where we are, and that would be—will you slow down please, I can’t keep up with you!”

He spun around, nose flaring, face sterned and hard unforgiving gaze met you. “You’re just rubbing it in my face, to tell me what you could have end up with, instead of a struggling videographer with a double job because he can’t afford his own daughter’s nursery.”

You stopped dead in your lunges and stared at him with reddening eyes. It was strong enough for him to feel the atmosphere shift. Jungkook crumbled with a stutter of your name out of guilt, but you rammed through his shoulder, bolting ahead. Not caring if he stumbles a little when you did.

“I can’t believe after all that we’ve been through you would say all of this with your whole chest,” you grumbled through gritted teeth, trudging forward. Jungkook was beside you, trying to capture your arm, multiple times but you just swatted them away, each attempt.

“I gave you every broken bits of me. I gave you my love. I gave you a child, damn it!” You wiped your tears aggressively, pushing him to the side on the almost empty pavements. The pace you were going at, results in a great gap between you both. And increasing as time passes, until...

“I… I’m lacking,” Jungkook shouted from afar.  

You spun your heel around. He behaves just the way he did in the past, when you told him that you can’t be with him because he was too young. Back then, he wanted you so badly and refused to let conscience take over him, persistently saying that he is going to wait for you, no matter how long it takes.

He hangs his head low, kicking the ground with the heel of his worn out shoe.

“He looks accomplished,” he added, “And successful. And… all in all, a better man. For you. Maybe you should have married him.”

You threw a scoff to the side and gave your head a half-shake, trying to process his words. Brown loafers increases speed, strutting towards Jungkook’s shoes, and you called, “Listen, Jeon.”

Jungkook took one and a half step backwards, as you charged. “I have Ben and you now, isn’t it a little too late to have regrets?” You cocked an eyebrow, smirking, standing toe to toe with Jungkook. “Too late doesn’t mean it won’t happen…” he murmured to his chest, pouting like a child.

“Seokjin barely has time for himself. Has to keep up with social demands and being a socialite had put a leash on him, struggling to keep his head up the surface of a never-ending race of who had the biggest, baddest toy cars in the market. Pretending to be happy with the money he has and have no friends he can genuinely bare his feelings with. Still think I want him? I’d be more sated marrying a lamp post than I do marrying Seokjin.”

Jungkook of all people would know the sexual appetite you have. You wouldn’t last a whole 48 hours without him. Which is why he is worried about the trip to Hong Kong happening soon. That will also be the first time Ben will be parted from her dad that long.

Jungkook’s smile lingers and caught your lips in a chaste, PG-13 kiss.

“I’m thinking of a rated R kiss as soon as we get back to our place…” Jungkook laced your hands with his and tattled to cross the road where the mall is. “If it's dark enough in the movies, maybe we don’t have to wait that long,” you batted your eyelashes at him. He responded with a crumpled face, scrunching his nose while booping yours.

Jimin kept handling you plushies while Taehyung passed a sleeping Ben from his arms to Jungkook. He waddled down the hall in relaxed strides towards Ben’s bedroom while you were still taking stuffed animals from Jimin. Taehyung excused himself to use the toilet.

“Why are there so many?”

Jimin blinked at you and stopped momentarily before resuming to hoard all the things they brought home to you.

“Taehyung played a dart game and wanted to give Ben all the stuffed animals there. He won the whole thing. We had to give the other half of the gifts to the little kids in the zoo,” Jimin explained.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be paid?” You slumped your shoulders, as Jungkook wraps his arm around you, bidding farewell to the babysitters who did an extremely good job, taking Ben out so you could have a little me time.

“Nah, we owe Jungkook a lot to doing editing for us, this is the least we could do, besides helping out with chores. Ben enjoyed her time too,” Taehyung gave Jungkook a playful fake punch on his stomach.

“I never thought that this dude would end up having kids faster than I did… he wouldn’t flirt for shit back in college,” Jimin reminisce.

“Really?” You gave Jungkook a look and he put on a bashful face.

“You jerk,” Taehyung jokes, “Who would have thought. The quiet ones are always the naughtiest one…” nudging Jungkook elbow.

“Once he set his eyes on someone, he really went full tunnel vision. Won’t settle for less, did he, Taehyung…” Jimin shoved both hands into his jeans pocket.

“Alright, go home. You’re not young anymore. You’re bothering my time with my wife by being here longer than requested. Your body is aging,” Jungkook passed, pushing Taehyung and Jimin away from the door.

“We took care of Ben and this is how you repay us?”

You crossed your arm, leaned your body to the door frame and watched the boys bickering all the way to the stairs. Your husband returns with a lingering smile. He stops in his steps, momentarily when he saw you. He wipes his hand together and continued his route, biting his smile as if he didn’t just do the most attractive thing a man could do.

“I know that look.” You started.

“What look…”

“That ‘remember what we did when they weren’t here an hour ago’ look.”

Jungkook chuckled through his nose and walked in the main door. He leans his back to it and locked them, still biting his lips the way that would drive you crazy, tipping his head back a little so you could have the little flashes of him having you on top of him, a little while ago.

“My coworker thought I was in mafia. Do I look that brute?”

“You’re probably the prettiest mafia there ever is,” you shot back.

“Awh, babe… what pretty thoughts you have.” He follows you lazily down the hallway.

“Ben… Ben!” Jungkook let out a sharp exhale, and you passed him a look that he didn’t catch. Dining table. Jungkook is trying to feed little Jeon. “Let’s eat our rice…” He sang tiredly, spooning the rice into a small ball, enough to feed your three year old, who is bunny hopping up and down the hallway. She had been excited after uncles Taehyung and Hoseok took her to the bunny farm yesterday. She hasn’t come down from her high. You couldn’t take the sight anymore. Ben looks at you when you shot her name, and came waddling her little feet towards the dining table, leaning her tummy on Jungkook’s knee. She knows she can find protection from her daddy. “What did I tell you about leaving the table when daddy feeds you?” Your voice is acid, gruelling, “When anybody feeds you?” You repeated yourself and she pouted with her perky lips and chubby cheeks, lowering her head. She had understood what she was doing had made you unhappy. Mummy is upset. “Not to… do that,” she mewled in little voice, she blinks repeatedly. Jungkook tucked her baby hair behind her ear as she was being scolded by her feisty mom. And he also pushed her bangs back and gave her forehead a loud smack kiss, whispering in daddy-like voice, “You promise not to do it again, right? Because Ben is a good girl, yes?” He attacked her with more forehead kisses until she giggles. “It’s not good for your tummy to jump up and down like that, when you’re eating. Get on your kiddy chair dad took for you,” you bracketed her waist and put her into her chair. You know she doesn’t like you right now. She had crossed her arm and turned away from you. She only entertain her dad. And he’s smiling proudly right now. You propped an elbow to give her an eye roll that Jungkook saw. “Beef briskets are your favourite, aren’t they? Dad cooked this for you. Your cheeks are all smeared with gravy,” he thumbed her cheeks in an attempt to clean her up, leaning towards her with his galaxy studded eyes. He dips his gravy stained thumb into his lips like it was the most natural thing to do ever. And you sit there, internally swooning over the fact that you had the amazing Jeon Jungkook, your baby daddy.

#pretty thoughts #bts #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jjk #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #kookie #jk #fanfic #scenarios #imagines #date night #fluff #bts fluff #bangtan #bangtan boys #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeongguk fanfic #kpop #kpop fanfics #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #domestic au #parenthood au #domestic jungkook

[gotatext]

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times.... 

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day. 

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming….. 

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her 

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. 

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way.  little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!! 

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

 girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? 

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. 

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

 ppl who she runs track with. 

someone she’s trying to make a zine with. 

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#this is soooOoOOO fuckin long cos every time i play greta i add more shit to it..... her seventh form will just be an entire fuckin novel. #anyway call me beep me if u wanna reach me #aka pls msg me either here or on discord. my discord is linday lohan's meth8664 #wshedintro

[everlarkficexchange]

Dissever My Soul From Yours (part 1)

Written by: @alliswell21

Rated: Mature

Warnings: Modern AU; Age Gap; Mourning; Grief Stages; Hurt and Comfort; Angst; Brief Description Of Domestic Abuse; Implied Past Child Abuse; Smut; Guilt; Canon Typical Anger Issues; Fasten your seatbelts, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. All mistakes are mine.

Synopsis: Losing a loved one is hard enough, losing a child is torture. Peeta Mellark struggles to move on from the loss of his son, so he clings to the last piece of him left alive, his son’s girlfriend. Based on Prompt 106: Katniss is Rye’s girlfriend when he dies. Katniss and Peeta (Rye’s father) start to hang out to go through their grief together. [submitted by Anonymous]

Acknowledgements: Thank you Anon for this prompt, I wish I knew who you were to dedicate it to you, but I guess this way the story simple belongs to the universe :) Also thank you @kleeklutch for reading this through and helping me get my ideas straight… I truly loved your insights! lastly, thank you Everlark Fic Exchange from bring us all together! 

Other Notes: Excerpt of the lyrics to “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman (Toy Story, 1995)

Excerpts and rewordings for the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe; featuring the poem “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

This fic got away from me. I had outlined it to be around 8-10K words, but this monstrosity grew up to be close to 32K… I'm submitting a second part, and when I post the story to AO3 there will be an epilogue. 

KPKPKPKPKPK

  The sky is overcast, not a ray of sun penetrates the thick blanket of gray clouds covering the entire town of Panem. The weather is appropriate. It reflects the storm I carry inside.

  No parent should ever have to put their child in the ground.

  I’m wandering aimlessly around the house. So big, so empty. I wish I wasn’t here right now. I wish I could follow my boy right into his grave, but life isn’t fair, at least that’s one thing my mother got right in all her wrongness. Now I’m thinking of my mother, and I feel anger rise in my chest along my hurt and sorrow. How is it that such a hateful woman gets to live so long into her elderly years, yet my son got ripped away from me so young?

  He would’ve been 23, in less than three months!

  He grew up to be a good man. He decided early on he wanted to be in the Navy; he served his country, and I never begrudge his time away from home, I prayed for his safety everyday he was gone. I almost cried with happiness when he told me he had some leave time for the holidays. My boy was coming home after almost a whole year away. I was so proud of him. I still am!

  But the worst happened before he even had a chance to settle in at home.

  Where’s the justice in that?

  Hot, fat, unshed tears fill my eyes, blinding me to the point I can only see silhouettes, but that’s alright, most of the mourners have already gone home; I’m free to cry and scream if I chose to do so.

  One such silhouette approaches me deliberately slowly. I know is my best friend, even before she calls my name in that pitying tone I’m starting to resent.

  “Peeta, the last visitor just left. Will you be okay if I start putting away—“

  She stops talking mid sentence. Her face turns sharply towards the room she stopped me by, and I grow faint.

  It’s Rye’s old bedroom, and someone’s sobbing inside.

  To their credit, whoever’s in there is crying very quietly. I didn’t hear it at first, and in my state I would’ve probably miss it completely if not for Johanna.

  I see Jo’s face contort into a mix of annoyance and anger. Before I can say anything, she throws the door open and stalks inside.

  “Excuse me, but visitation is over, and the family is getting ready to pack up for the move. So, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. I-I lost track of time. I—I didn’t mean to overstay. I’ll leave right away…” stammers the poor girl inside the room.

  I peek my head in out of morbid curiosity and see the raven dark haired girl scrambling to gather herself. When she lift her pretty, tear stained face, I feel an acute pain in the chest, where my heart keeps stuttering.

  “Katniss! It’s alright. You can stay!” I practically yell stepping fully into the room. I catch myself, seeing where I’m standing and freeze in place.

  After a torturous moment, I take a huge step backwards, until I’m outside the door frame. I tell her from the safety of the hallway, she can stay for as long as she wants, and that she’s welcome to help herself to anything in the room… unless it holds sentimental value to me, that is.

  I feel awkward standing there, saying the words. So I turn around robotically and stomp away as fast as I can.

  Johanna follows me to the kitchen, where I’m trying to fill up the kettle, but my hand is trembling something awful.

  “I never knew you had Parkinson’s,” Says Johanna snatching the kettle from me, pushing me away with her hips and taking over the chore.

  “I don’t,” I glare at her.

  “Well, that’s a relief Shaky Shakerton.”

  “Shut up, Jo. Is not nice to make light of a serious condition.” I tell her offended.

  She arches an eyebrow, and makes a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat.

  “So, that was the famous Katniss Everdeen, then?” She asks after setting the kettle on the stove.

  All the answer I give her is a distracted nod.

  “Hmm.” The noise sounds judgmental, so I glance at her.

  “What?” I ask defensively on behalf of Rye.

  “Nothing.” Jo responds. “She’s just… skinny.” She adds with a shrug.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing! That in the few years I’ve heard that boy gushing about her, I never imagined her being so small.”

  “She’s petite, so what? You are a stick with boobs!” I retort.

  “Awww! You noticed the girls!” She cooes, squeezing her upper arms together to push her breasts out.

  I roll my eyes. I’m not in the mood for Johanna’s irreverent antics. But the scathing response I want to give her dies in my mouth when I notice Katniss standing on the doorway.

  “Jesus!” Hisses Johanna clutching a hand to her chest. “You’re lucky I’m not a lumberjack! I could’ve thrown an ax at your forehead for scaring me like that! Are you part ghost or something? So quiet!”

  Katniss scowls at Jo. “I’m sorry,” she says curtly, giving the impression she’s not sorry at all.

  Jo shivers, but then gives Katniss her cat-like smirk, “Nah, it’s fine. By the way, I’m Rye’s favorite auntie, Johanna Mason.” Jo drawls.

  “Katniss Everdeen. Rye’s too skinny girlfriend.” She deadpans.

  Tensions are a little high for a moment. I’m a little aggravated at Jo when Katniss is the one to offer a peace branch.

  “Rye used to talk a lot about his auntie Jo.” She’s quiet for a second. “He told me once that you were the only mom he ever knew.”

  The silence that follows is heavy and full of grief.

  “Fuck!” Jo hisses. “Now you’ve done it, brainless!” She snaps at Katniss. “That was not an okay comment to share today. Excuse me, I gotta go punch something.” Johanna retreats to the backyard hastily, pawing harshly at the tears falling down her cheeks as she practically runs outside.

  I’m honestly befuddled by my friend’s reaction. Especially because the comment was actually very sweet and warming. I chance a glance at Katniss, but to my surprise, she doesn’t looked troubled or even curious about Jo. She realizes I’m staring at her, and shrugs.

  “Grieve is weird.” She offers mildly.

  The kettle starts whistling then.

  I rush to get it off the burner, and offer lamely, “Tea?”

  “No, thank you.” She responds merely staring at Jo through the sliding glass door for a second, before addressing me.

  “Mr. Mellark, I was wondering if I could take this picture?” She raises a frame and waves at me. “It has me in it. I’ve never seen it before. There are also a couple of Edgar Allan Poe books I’m interested in, as well.”

  My head shoots up from my task of pouring hot water into mugs.

  “You want the Poe books?” I must’ve sound harsh, because her cheeks turn scarlett and her eyes bulge a little.

  She stammers, “Well. Yes. I mean, Rye and I loved his writings. In fact, Annabel Lee was what got us talking to each other the first time we met outside school. We were discussing illness and death.” She stops in her tracks, and frowns. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate to bring up right now. I… I’ll understand if you rather keep—“

  “Katniss, it’s okay!” I cut in trying to placate her. “Take the books, please! I was just surprised you even noticed them.”

  “Why wouldn’t I’ve noticed them? I’ve read them all. I just don’t own any copies, personally.”

  I think I’ve offered her by the scowl on her face. She tries to reel herself in, but the way her jaw ticks is an endearing give away of just how frustrated she truly is.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to insult you. If you want the books, please, don’t hesitate to take them.”

  “I don’t wanna be rude. I’ve already caused a bad impression on Auntie Jo.” The way she says the name tells me Johanna didn’t impressed Katniss either.

  She tries to keep a passive mask on, but I see flashes of annoyance in her gray eyes.

  “You know, Johanna is my best friend in the world but she can be a bit…”

  “Judgemental?”

  “I was going to say, blunt, but—“

  “Mr. Mellark, look, you don’t have to make up excuses for your friend. I know grief brings out the worst in people. Miss Johanna and I met under horrible circumstances, I’m not gonna hold this interaction against her.”

  “But what about you? You were crying in the room when she bursted in kicking you out. You gotta feel sad and angry…”

  “Oh, I do.” She tells me plainly. “I feel like my heart got tore out of my chest, and the pain is slowly devouring me from the inside out. I just lost my best friend. The fact that he was away two mere blocks away from my place just makes it even more horrible. But, I’ve had experience managing my own grief. I only allow myself so much despair, and then I have to collect myself.”

  And here I was thinking it was lucky for her she wasn’t a professional actress, not being able to hide her emotions, when probably she was just choosing to wear her aggravation on her sleeve, to keep the sadness at bay.

  Rye was on his way to pick her up, for their first official date since he got back home. He was crazy about her. So excited to finally be able to see her, touch her, just spend time with her.

  But fate is a bitch. Rye was only a few blocks from her apartment, when he came across a family; the father was berating one teenaged kid, the mom tried to intervene and another kid stood by petrified. The man struck his wife across the face so hard she almost fell down. I don’t know what exactly moved him to do it, other than he saw a need and it was the right thing to do. Rye stepped in, to defend the woman and children from their abuser.

  My boy got stabbed in the kidney by the coward. There was internal bleeding the paramedics couldn’t stop. My Rye past away in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital.

  I had to call Katniss myself and to inform her she hadn’t been stood up. At least not on purpose.

  I wish there was some word of comfort I could say to ease her pain, but nothing comes forward. She seems to be well acquainted with grief, which kind of worries me a little. I’ve met her family because of Rye, I know that Mrs. Everdeen has been a widow for a very long time, but that’s the extent of my knowledge.

  At the end, we are both too stunned to say anything else, and Katniss just walks eerily quiet back to Rye’s room. A few minutes later, she steps out red-rimmed eyes avoiding me at all costs, with a couple of books and the picture frame hugged to her chest.

  She thanks me briefly and leaves.

  “Katniss,” I call out.

  She turns towards me.

  “Will you be okay?” I ask her.

  She nods slowly. “I will.”

  “Will you call me if you need anything?”

  She studies me for a moment, “Sure. Thanks.” She says curtly, and walks out the door quickly.

  I know she won’t call me, and somehow that feels like I’ve lost another piece of Rye.

  ———-

  I stand nervously in the hallway, re-checking the address, making sure I’m at the right apartment, despite having been here many times before and the glaringly obvious ‘Everdeen’ tag under the peephole.

  I knock and wait, rearranging my hold on the heavy box I’m carrying. It takes another minute for me to decide maybe there’s no one home, and my mind starts formulating ideas of what to do next.

  I could probably leave the box here, put a note on it… but what if someone steals it? Could I ask the super to keep an eye on it until she comes back? How does UPS do it when they have to deliver a big package?

  I don’t know if coming here is weird. I just couldn’t stop feeling like reaching out to make sure she’s okay. It’s what Rye would’ve want me to do.

  I’ve almost decided it’s better this way, it was a stupid idea to come unannounced. I’m already halfway down the hallway when the elevator arrives with a loud ping, and out comes Katniss, carrying grocery bags in both hands.

  “Mr. Mellark?” She sounds a little surprised to see me in her apartment building. “What are you doing here?” There’s no rejection in her tone, just startled.

  “Hello, Katniss. Sorry I showed up out of the blue. I’m just officially about to put the house on the market in the next few weeks, and I have to get everything out of the place by Thursday.” I tell her shrugging my shoulders.

  “Oh, yeah. I remember now. You’re selling your house and moving closer to your bakery in the city.”

  I chuckle under my breath. “Actually… I leased an apartment up in the 12th floor.” If my hands weren’t full I’d be scratching the back of my neck right now.

  I’m not sure why divulging this to Katniss suddenly makes me feel silly. I guess the expression on her face is what makes me weary.

  “Here? In this building?” She asks bewildered.

  I take a shuddering breath. “It was supposed to be a surprise for Rye.”

  “Oh.” Katniss averts her gaze from mine, and really I couldn’t hold hers much longer either. “I… See.”

  We both fall silent for a very long time, until I start justifying my ridiculous impulse of bringing my son closer to her. He was grown ass man, he could’ve moved in with her if he’d wanted to.

  “It just temporary. Six months tops. I’m remodeling the apartment above my bakery and it’s going so slow. And Rye was going to be home so short, he was dreading the one hour commute to work, and he was unhappy he couldn’t see you as often as he wanted to.

  “Those sounds like flimsy reasons. I’m sorry for not asking you beforehand if moving into your building would have inconvenienced you. It just dawned on me that I’m imposing on your privacy. I never meant to disregard your opinion. It just… never crossed my mind, until just now.”

  I feel like a jackass. But her face is impassive. I’m not sure what to say next, so I rush with the original reason I came here for.

  “Look, um, management is sprucing up my apartment right now. They’ve painted every wall inside and installed new carpets, they’re supposed to release it to me on Wednesday, and I’m all packed up.

  “But, I’m downsizing, and I have this Edgar Allan Poe collection that needs a new home. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to donate them to Goodwill or something, and I’m not sure if anyone will appreciate them.” I shuffle the box forward so she gets my meaning, her eyes go round, staring at the box.

  I add quickly, “You don’t have to take them thought. Really. I… I think I’m developing this horrible habit of assuming stuff with you and it’s not my intention at all… You know?” I’m rambling. Badly!

  She opens her mouth but mine won’t shut up.

  “So, how about you don’t pay me any mind and pretend I wasn’t here. In fact, if you see me around for the next six months, just ignore me. It’s okay—“

  “Mr. Mellark!” She raises her voice over mine, chuckling, “I’ll be happy to take the books off your hands! There’s no telling how long those poor babies would just sit on a shelf at the thrift store gathering dust.”

  I’m momentarily distracted by her smile. I’ve seen her a several times over the last two years, but I just realized that when she smiles, her lips curl just a little bit to the left, and her eyes crinkle a little.

  She’s very pretty.

  Objectively speaking.

  She brings me back to the present, “So… would you like to come in? That box looks heavy, and I have frozen yogurt in one of this bags.”

  “Oh! Yeah! Sure! Of course.”

  I’ve been in her apartment a handful of times since she and Rye dated, either to pick up letters and little gifts to put in care packages I shipped him during his deployment, or to drop off stuff he sent her.

  I guess I was some kind of bridge between them. In a way, I was also part of their relationship, as odd as that sounds.

  As soon as we walk in, I deposit the box on the coffee table, while she continues on to the kitchen. Her apartment is practically a studio, with one bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen-living room-dining area open floor combo. The one I’m renting has two bedrooms and a balcony, but the rest is the same.

  I offer to help her put groceries away, but she declines demurely.

  Instead, she asks, “Can I offer you something to drink?” I settle in the small couch and she adds, making a funny face, “Your choices are: straight up water, water in the rocks, hot water with a pouch of chamomile flowers, better known as tea, and frozen yogurt.”

  “Tea is fine.” I chuckle. Then add as an afterthought, “No sugar, thank you.”

  When she comes with the tea, we sit in the couch just taking sips of the calming brew, but her eyes keep straying to the box.

  “You should take a look at the books. I think there are some repeats in there, also, not everything in there is just Poe. I think there’s some Mark Twain and even a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

  Her eyes widen just as her hands reach to snatch the box from the table and dump it on the couch between us.

  Every time she pulls a new book from inside, she either smiles or “Ooh”s. It’s like watching a kid opening Christmas presents. I guess at least that part of the holidays isn’t ruined.

  I’m smiling widely as well.

  “Mr. Mellark, this is too much! There are books here that have been well loved for years!” She says caressing the worn, dog eared cover of Frankenstein.

  I smile sadly. “Some belonged to my granny. She took me a Rye in when I had nowhere to go with a newborn. She loved the old classics. She learned how to read when she emigrated to America, and she just loved books. She read to Rye every night before bed. I miss them both. I can’t make myself read the books right now, so I figured it would be a disservice to them both to just toss them out or donate them. If you keep then, at least I’d know they went to someone who will enjoy them as much as they did.”

  She looks at me with a sadness filling her eyes. There’s no pity. Just understanding.

  “I’ll be honored to take them.” She hugs Frankenstein to her chest.

  We fall into a companionable silence, but her eyes are lost somewhere in the rug. A sweet smile tugs at her lips.

  “Rye said you guys lived with his Gigi. He said he didn’t remember much about her, except that her kitchen always smelled like warm snickerdoodles and goulash.” She pauses scrunching up her nose. “I can’t say I could picture the smell. It just sounds like two completely different things to sniff at.”

  I laugh. A real, full belly laugh. One that I’ve forgotten I could produce. One that I thought was lost to me forever, with my boy.

  She looks at me for a second, before shaking her head ruefully and smiling at the book cradled in her hands.

  “How about I’ll invite you over for supper after I move in and recreate the aromas? Then you can have goulash and cookies Mellark style.”

  My smile wavers when she looks away, biting the inside of her mouth. I inhale deeply, when she nods minutely.

  “Okay.”

  “Good!”

  I feel better already. I’m not ready to let go of this ghost connection to Rye I feel through Katniss.

  ——-

  The first week after finally moving into the building, Katniss stops by with a six pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I’m surprised she even knew I like the drink, until she smirks uncorking one and simply says “Rye!” followed by a shrug.

  “I got carded too, and they gave me a hard time making sure my license wasn’t fake… so you better enjoy every last drop!” She quips.

  “I promise I’ll make them last!” I take the bottle from her and she opens one for herself.

  She sits on my brand new breakfast bar stools, and compliments my shark and alligator oven mitts hanging above the stove.

  We laugh together when I tell her the story behind them, how I bought them to entice Rye to join me in the kitchen, since coming from a very long line of bakers, it was my duty to teach my child to bake as well, but Rye wasn’t interested at all so he groused and complained the whole time until he turn on the mixer and we both got covered with flour head to toe. That was the only thing he liked about that day.

  From very young Rye wanted to be an army man, then he switched to Air Force pilot, and then when he was around 15 years old, we took to a trip to San Diego, California, where we toured the USS Midway Museum. He fell in love with everything Navy.

  “Where you okay with Rye ditching the baking tradition?” She asks peering at me curiously.

  “Yeah.” I say sincerely. “I would’ve never forced him to become a baker if he didn’t want it. I bake because I love it, and my bakery I inherited from Granny herself. I had to go to school and get me a business degree to run my shop easier, but I would’ve never hold Rye back from his dreams.”

  Katniss takes another pull from her drink. “I’m glad you had each other. Rye was a good man, just like you, Mr. M.”

  I smile gratefully at her.

  “You can call me Peeta, you know. Any person that brings me alcohol as a housewarming gift is in my best pals list.”

  “Oh!” She laughs making her shoulders jiggle, dislodging her long dark braid from them. “I don’t think I’ll be able to call you anything other that Mr. Mellark. Old habits dying hard and all that. But thanks, I like having a pal.”

  I sense some forlorn hidden emotion in her words. But then she mumbles quietly.

  “I’m not very good at making friends. That was Rye’s thing.”

  I frown. “Well… you have a friend, right here!”

  Her gray, sparkly eyes meet mine, and her lips turn up mischievously. “Are you gonna pull a cowboy hat and boots from under your counter and break into song?” She arches an eyebrow expectantly.

  I give her a quizzical look, and she starts singing.

  “You’ve got a friend in me You’ve got a friend in me…”

  She arches both eyebrows at me, but I stare back at her. Not because I don’t know the song, I remember it now, clear as day, but my mind is stuck on just how sweet her singing voice is.

  “Nothing?” She asks motioning with her hands.

  When I blink at her stupidly, she brings her cellphone out of her back pocket and starts typing furiously, she finds the song in YouTube and shows me the video.

  Tom Hanks’ voice rings out the beloved ditty.

  “You’ve got a friend in me

You’ve got a friend in me

You got troubles, I’ve got ‘em too There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you We stick together and see it through Cause you’ve got a friend in me You’ve got a friend in me…”

  She pulls her phone away, and the words slip my mouth before I can stop them. “I like it better when you sing.”

  She blushes a little, but smiles.

  “Thanks.” She offers quietly. “I don’t sing much. Not after my daddy passed away. We used to sing together all the time. But is not the same anymore.”

  I can relate to the feeling.

  I cover her hand with mine, “I meant it. You have me now.”

  ———

  I’ve been running myself ragged this past week.

  With the Christmas rush I almost never leave the kitchen at work.

  I take it upon myself to decorate every single cake we bake. Lately, I make a game to see how detailed I can make them, how many techniques I can use in a single cake, how many colors I can add to the mix without making it tacky. Anything to kill time.

  I stay in and frost until my sight gets blurry and colorblind. The night before Christmas Eve I’m surprised to see my staff file into the kitchen in the middle of the night, when I ask what are they doing here so late, I get quirky looks all around. One of the bakers asks me if I ever went home to sleep. It turns out I didn’t. I worked all night through and still stay the rest of my shift, until I pipe “Happy Jesus Birthday” on a cake commissioned by the Sisters of Mercy Halfway Home and Shelter and the whole top has to be scraped off.

  Luckily the rest of the cake was flawless. Somebody else takes over, but I still hang around looking over their shoulder and grimacing when they use a tip I wouldn’t have chosen. They finally have my junior manager, Rue, kick me out of the bakery.

  I finally come home and sit in the dark in the living room, driving myself insane with pent up anxiety. I flex my fingers on my knees debating if I should go back to the bakery. I’m the owner goddamnit, I can do whatever I want! But out of respect for my staff, I stay with my ass glued to the couch.

  Jo calls for the 100th time to ask me to come home to Panem. I can stay with her if I don’t want to crash at my folks. My brothers are there with their families. Yada, yada, yada.

  I tell her I’m busy. “Christmas is my most profitable time of the year, Jo, I can’t just up and leave while my poor staff stays and works. They wanna see their families too, you know.”

  Johanna snorts, “Since when do you care about the bottom line, Peeta? That’s the laziest lie ever, Mellark. You’re slipping!”

  I shake my head though she can’t see the gesture.

  “I’m busy, Jo. Maybe I’ll come next week.”

  “PEETA! Next week isn’t Christmas!”

  “Jo, seriously… I can’t go. I’m sor—“

  “Stop lying to me! I saw your old schedule, and you had given yourself today and tomorrow off! I know because I put it in my calendar! In fact I took a picture of it, so I wouldn’t forget to put it in my calendar… I’m sure it’s still stored somewhere in my phone, I’ll text it to you in a sec…”

  There was a timid knock on the door, and I have never been so grateful for solicitors on Christmas Eve.

  “Hey, there’s someone at the door. I’ll call you right back, okay?”

  “Peeta Mellark, don’t you dare hang up on m—“

  Silence!

  Blessed, beautiful silence.

  I’ll call her back tomorrow… maybe.

  They knock again, and I make my way to answer, because now I feel obligated to come see what they want, since I used the as my excuse to escape Johanna’s nagging.

  Katniss stands in the hallway, wearing a Darth Vader knitted sweater that reads “I find your lack of cheer disturbing”. It makes me giggle.

  “Hi,” she wiggles her fingers at me shyly.

  “Hey,” I say stepping aside to let her come in.

  She simply hovers around the door, hands clasped behind her back. “So… my mama and Prim came to the city for Christmas, because I decided I couldn’t be in Panem this year. Not after…” she trails off, her hand makes a vague gesture, then her ugg clad foot hooks behind her calf, giving her the look of a cute, dark haired flamingo.

  “You know.” She says awkwardly.

  “Yeah.” I respond leaning my shoulder in the door jamb. “I know.” Because I do.

  She sighs. “It’s just easier to pretend he’s not home because he’s somewhere on deployment, when I’m here. Here is safe. There are no reminders of him.” Her voice cracks, a wayward tear pokes to the rim of her eye. She averts her gaze to manage her tears, but I’m the one who breaks.

  I inhale a breath that lodges in my throat. Suddenly, I’m bent over at my waist sobbing. The stress of the week crashing down on me for what it really is: I’m hiding from this crushing pain.

  My baby was supposed to be here with me, instead he’s six feet under frozen dirt, alone and silent, and the only person that seems to understand the magnitude of my pain has finally put into words, plain and simple, what I haven’t been able to acknowledge: I don’t want to remember he’s gone.

  As long as I stay here, busy with work, Rye could be anywhere in the world, smiling.

  I feel a slender body wrap over my back, and then she’s crying and apologizing.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Mr. Mellark don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry…”

  We must’ve been kneeling here, huddling together and crying a long time, because I hear Katniss’ mother talking softly above us.

“Prim, help your sister up, I’ll take care of mister Peeta.” They bring us inside, sit us in the couch, and although neither of them have ever been to my apartment, Ms Everdeen and Primrose take control of the place.

  Lights are turned on, our legs are snuggly covered with blankets and they put mugs of hot tea in our hands.

  “I’m sorry Mr. M. I was just supposed to ask you to come downstairs to watch Elf and eat popcorn with us. I know you are staying in Capitol City because you miss him too. I didn’t want you to be sad and alone tonight,” Katniss mutters miserably.

  I look at her, and it’s the strangest thing!

  I feel the fluttering of butterfly wings in my stomach. Something I’ve forgotten how it felt a long time ago.

  Her face it’s all blotchy; her nose is red, shiny and bit runny; her eyes are also red and puffy; and there are dry tear tracks down her cheeks. I’ve never seen anything prettier in my life.

  I tear my eyes away from her and take a gulp of my scalding hot tea, burning my tongue. Karma will make things right, my little lapse in judgement is beyond inappropriate.

  I fan my mouth for a minute.

  “Sure, Katniss. I’ll come.”

  ———-

  Christmas came and left, and it was the most painful thing in my life. I cried so much, all the time, I had to constantly be drinking gallon upon gallon of water. I would give myself headaches, and I swear I lost 5 pounds just crying.

  Losing a child sucks. Losing a child around Christmas is just torture.

  The only saving grace in this miserable time is Katniss. She’s been the sweetest angel. Her mother and sister took care of us both for a few days. Ms. Everdeen offered to refer me to a grief counselor, and I told her I’d think about it. But the jury is still out on the topic.

  Katniss and I start having dinner together every weekend. It’s nice to catch up after a long working week, it helps smooth out the sting of grief. We talk about books, movies, ideas and Rye. We talk a lot about Rye.

  One Thursday night three weeks into our weekly arrangement, I hear someone banging at my door. When I look through the peephole, I see her standing there, raising her fist to bang again.

  I’m taken aback when I open the door, and she falls into my arms practically wailing.

  I pull her inside the apartment and just hold her while she shudders and huffs. Then starts the incomprehensible blabbering, I try as hard as I can to decipher. I can only make out a few words, though.

  Something that sounds like “who does that?”, what I think is my son’s name, and suspicions sound I believe is a cuss word.

  All I can do is massage her back and the crying gradually lessens, until hiccups take over the shudders.

  When she’s sufficiently calmed, I lead her to the couch and sit her there. I keep a box of Kleenex pretty much in every surface of my place, because either I start crying, or Katniss would, or Johanna when she comes to visit. I hand her the box of napkins, and she takes a fistful of them to blow her nose and wipe her cheeks.

  She talks without me asking, stopping at odd intervals so a stuttering sigh can pass through her full ripe lips.

  “It’s not. Fair! Xander Cato just. Got home from” sniff “tour. To his fiancée. That stuck up bitch. Clove.” Another sniff. “She posted pictures. At the beach. Sipping some stupid. Fruity con-coction. ‘Virgin’ because they’re. Trying for a mini. Cato.” She says the last sentence in a mocking tone accompanied by air quotes. “They’re not even. married yet!” She growls, “And what does it. Matter if you drink. Alcohol before you get. Knock up? She’s and. Idiot!”

  Katniss swipes at her nose roughly. And her reddened gray eyes fix on mine. “I know I told. Rye I didn’t. wanna get married. Or have children. Like… ever. But that should’ve been his life!” Her bottom lip quivers and a few tears fall inhibited down her pink cheeks.

  “He could’ve. Met someone. More deserving than me. Someone willing to. Give him a family! Maybe if I had kept. My mouth shut. God wouldn’t have. Taken him. Away. Before we’ve. Had a chance!”

  It’s a miracle she got it all out of her chest, or that I understood it all with her shuddering and sobbing.

  I can feel myself getting worked up as well by her words.

  Alexander Cato was in Rye’s year of High School. Cato enlisted in the army while Rye went to the Navy. They were friends and stayed in touch. Katniss and Clove were in the year below the boys but ran in different circles. On the one holiday the two couples coincided home, they had one double date. That’s their history of interactions. I’m not sure where did Katniss found out all this about the Catos.

  I reassure her as best I can, while feeling the acute loss of a future my son will never have. A future I’ll never get to witness and be a part of.

  “Katniss, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything to make God angry. It doesn’t work that way. And even if that was the case, it would’ve been me who God be punishing, not you and Rye.”

  She’s not convinced, but she stops crying.

  After a moment just sitting side by side in silence, she sighs.

  “I’m sorry I came in here acting all crazy. I shouldn’t be bring this crap to you. You have your own stuff to deal with and now I added to your grief.”

  “It’s okay—“

  “No, is not.” She shakes her head stubbornly. She sighs again, “I have to go home. I have school in the morning. See you Saturday, Mr M.”

  “You could stay you know.” I tell her sheepishly. “Johanna stays in the spare room all the time,”

  “Oh, no… I’m just a couple of flights of stairs below. I’ll be fine. I can call you when I get in, if that makes you feel better.”

  “Katniss, the truth is, I don’t want to be alone in this place right now. And honestly, I don’t think you should be alone either.”

  She studies my face for a little while, chewing the inside of her cheek. She does that every time I pose a hard question to her, I’ve noticed.

  “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’m inviting you.”

  “But I’ll have to leave early,” she cocks her head the right.

  “I’m a baker. Chances are I’ll be gone before you’re awake. I’ll leave breakfast on the counter. You can just take the spare key in the left drawer and lock the door on your way out, then you can return the key when we meet for dinner this weekend.”

  She’s still mulling it over. “Can breakfast be cheese buns?” She asks shyly.

  “Deal.”

  ———-

  Katniss has nightmares. Lots of them. She had them the night she stayed over and confessed she’s suffered them ever since her father died when she was 11, but now Rye has joined her hunted dreams.

  I told her I have them too, nightmares. I wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats and paralyzed with a terrible fear that I’ll never see my son again, just to realize he’s gone forever, that I’ve lost him and I won’t be able to talk to him, hug him or hear his laughter ever again; but then I think of the people I still have in my life and things aren’t so scary anymore. Sure, the pain is still there as acute as ever, but I find it easier to breathe.

  I start painting as well. I used to do it when I was younger. She asks to see my paintings, and sniffles a little looking at the portraits of Rye as little boy. I didn’t show her the one I go back to every night, the one I’m making of her. That one is somehow private, despite, or maybe because, she’s the subject of the piece.

  I do ask her to call me anytime she has a bad dream, sometimes talking about it helps too.

  If there’s one thing we have in common, is our love for Rye, and I will always honor that bond, day or night no matter the time. To my surprise, she actually takes me up on it after that evening; we talk on the phone almost every night so she’s not afraid of going to bed.

  ———

  One night, I’m the one knocking on her door as if a band demons was after me, chasing me down, and she was the angel that sent them away.

  She opens the door, and my greeting is a quivering, “The house sold.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. M.” She extends her arms, and I find shelter in her slender shoulders.

  I’ve wanted to sell the house since Rye left on tour. I didn’t need all that room when I was living by myself- realistically speaking, Rye had flown the nest- and though Rye had grown up in that house, the sentimental attachment didn’t hit until I handed over the keys to the new owners. Never in a million years could I had thought, selling that house was going to feel like losing my son all over again.

  Katniss lets me cry until I’m spent, the whole while she’s carding her fingers through my messy waves, and then I ask her for story, because I’m not ready to go back to my empty apartment.

  She tells me about her sister’s nanny goat, Lady. She wants to distract me, so she tells me stuff that have nothing to do with Rye.

  I stare at her, and the urge to kiss her is so strong, I force myself to loop back to my son and the sold house.We cry together. Eventually, we fall asleep in her couch, huddled closely to each other.

  I allow myself a kiss to her forehead when I wake up at 4:30 a.m. thanks to my internal baker’s clock. She looks beautiful and peaceful.

  I wish I had met her under different circumstances. I wish she was older… I wish she didn’t belong to my boy.

  And because of that, I tear myself away from her and return to my depressing loneliness.

  ———

  Our weekly supper becomes a bi-weekly event, and soon we are having meals together every other day.

  The day Johanna calls me just to chat, and I tell her for the fifth time I was in the middle of making supper with Katniss, she makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

  “What?” I ask annoyed at her.

  It takes her a minute, but she answers slowly, like she’s walking on eggshells. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

  “So?” I wave at Katniss, who’s slicing a cucumber, letting her know I’m going to step into my room. “I know there’s something you want to say to me, so just come out with it.”

  Jo takes a deep breath, as if bracing for a blow. “I think you should take some distance from the girl, Peeta. It’s all.”

  “Why? Being around her makes me happy!” I tell her harshly.

  “That’s exactly why!” She yells at me losing her patience. “She’s even younger than Rye was, and you’re not in your right mind at the moment. Nothing good will come of this. So before anyone gets hurt, badly, you should step away.”

Objectively speaking, Jo’s absolutely right, and I hate her for it, so I go on the defensive.

  “Are you for real right now, Johanna?” I hiss. “I can’t believe, my best friend in the world will insinuate that I could do something so shitty…” I’m too choked up to continue.

  “I’m not insinuating anything, Peeta. All I’m saying is that even if nothing ever happens, some space will benefit everyone. You may even heal faster on your own.”

  “Sure, Johanna. Thanks! I’ll call you later, after kicking out the only other person that gets how I’m feeling.”

  “That’s not fair! Nor is even remotely true! What about me, or your dad and brothers, even your mother? We all miss Rye!”

  “Yeah? Well, where are you guys right now? Because I’m sure as fuck not feeling any of you hugging me every night when I cry my eyes out, screaming my only child’s name!” I’m yelling at the top of my lungs now.

  “Peeta…”

  “No! I don’t wanna talk right now! I may say something ugly I’ll regret later.” I disconnect the call, turn off my phone and shuck it across the room where it bounces on the bed, and falls to the carpeted floor with a thud.

  I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees and the heels of my hands pressing my wet eye sockets, hoping I can contain the rage I feel inside.

  Her cool fingers slide around my wrists, and gently pulls my hands from my face. I bury my face against her stomach, and sob like a baby. She just cooes reassurances, while combing my hair back.

  “I’m so tired, Katniss,” I managed to huff out.

  “I know, Peeta.” She says soothingly. “Lay down, we need a nap. Supper can wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

  It’s the first time she says my name, and all I can think of is how sweet it sounds in her tongue.

  She lays next to me running her fingers through my hair, and I fall asleep while she sings a lullaby quietly into my ear.

  ———-

  I wake up with a start and relax right away.

  Katniss is asleep next to me, facing me. My arm is slung over her middle. I pull myself away from her when I realize how close I was to brushing her lips with mine.

  An awful feeling twists my insides, and I have to throw up.

  Johanna’s right. I need to put some distance between Katniss and I.

  ———-

  It’s Rye’s birthday.

  Today is shit!

  I didn’t get out of bed. My phone has been ringing forever and I keep ignoring it. I’m contemplating throwing it down the garbage shoot, but that means getting out of bed, out of the apartment and into the hallway near the elevator. That’s too close to the street. I’m staying in bed, waiting for the world to die.

  My baby is gone. Why am I still here?

  “Peeta?” Katniss whispers harshly when she pokes her head into my bedroom.

  It’s all dark and muggy, since the curtains are drawn shut and I’m under my covers.

  I haven’t seen her in over a week, and I’m sure I should be feeling something, now that she’s here, but there’s no room for feelings in me, only numbness.

  “Peeta, are you there?” She demands in that nagging whisper that grates my ears.

  “Go away, Katniss. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Neither am I,” she answers curtly, stalking to the window to pull the curtains aside. “You weren’t picking up my calls! You didn’t answer Rue’s calls, you didn’t answer pawpaw’s calls!” She chides.

  “I get that you’re depressed, Peeta, so am I, but so is your father, and you still need to let your staff know if you’re not showing up to work.”

  She pulls my sheets down to my chin. And I feel a jolt when my bleary eyes meet her angry ones.

  So pretty when she’s mad.

  Now I’m sad AND ashamed.

  “You don’t have to be happy, no one expects you to. You don’t even have to leave home at all today, but you need to shower, and put something in your stomach. I’m here to make sure you do so, even if I have to spoon feed you. So get on with it!” She orders.

  “And how are you enforcing my taking a shower? Are you planning to drag me into the bathroom and bathe me too? You aren’t very big, you couldn’t pick up my arm if I decided to become dead weight.” I counter angrily.

  She blushes and hesitates for a moment but then tells me seriously, “Will cross that bridge when we get there. I’m fixing you lunch for now. Please, at least wash your face and teeth, and don’t close the curtains again.” Her voice softens, “After lunch, if you’re still sad you can take a nap, but if you don’t try to get up, then you’ll miss a chance to remember Rye for the great guy he was.”

  I end up taking a very long shower, if you call standing under the hot waterfall motionless until the water turns icy cold a shower. I change into clean pajamas and sit under the covers of my bed, where Katniss lets me eat my lunch.

  She makes soup from scratch, and is so delicious I polished off two whole bowls making Katniss look satisfied. I like seeing her that way.

  She lets me go back completely under the covers to conceal myself from the world, but she settles next to me and asks me, quietly, with her Macbook. She’s working on something for school. I wish I had the decency to show interest on that, but I know her graduation is approaching and she has tons of work to do before that.

  “Tell me a story about him?” She requests meekly.

  I peek my head from under the corner of my comforter. Her computer is still on, on some document, but it’s just sitting forgotten on a pillow by her side instead of her lap. Her eyes are glazed over, fixed on a spot on the opposite wall.

  “The day he was born, it rained cats and dogs since dawn to dusk, but there was a moment, when the nurse put him in my arms, that clouds parted and in filtered a single sun ray, illuminating his wee little head. That was the moment my life changed for the best.

  “One minute, I was a scared 17 year old wrestling champ, with no discernible life skills, and a newborn in his trembling hands. The next, I was a daddy, cradling the most precious gift a person could ever get, and that gift was so soft, with a tiny head covered in downy blond fuzz, softer than anything in the world… and his smell! He smelled like a million butterfly kisses waiting to be born, and love and tenderness.

  “I could never explain with words, how I knew everything was going to be alright. But with my Rye in my arms, nothing was scary anymore; not my mother, or my future, or the fact that Rye’s mother didn’t want anything to do with raising a child at 16 and a half.

  “It was the first time I understood the meaning of love, and I swore to my baby, I would love him for always. I intend to keep my word.”

  ———

  I’m a man. I don’t really have time to go out and meet women, not that I’m too eager to date right now, I’m too sad and old for that, so when I feel the itch, I scratch it with porn in the comfort of my bed.

  I’m a creature of habit too. I have a handful of go to movies I enjoy. Redheads have done it for me since Rye’s mother, so I stick with them.

  I’m in the middle of my thing when my phone rings. I should have turned it off, but I was too keyed up for that. What I truly should do, is ignore it, but I look anyway mid pump, and her smiling face flashes up at me. I cum hard, instantly.

  The guilt and self loathing about finding release at the image of her smiley face instead of the busty bombshell pleasuring herself in my computer will hit me much, much, later. Right now I’m too confused and high on my euphoric orgasm, I fucking answer the call, though I’m in no shape to do so. And her voice is so sweet, my cock strains, and splutters one last tiny bit of jizz.

  I make an involuntary noise when that happens, I’m not so far gone to not realize how inappropriate that is, so I pretend cough to cover it.

  She stays quiet for a second, but then says cautiously, “I’m 5 minutes away from the apartment. I have leftover lasagna. Could I come in for dinner?”

  I should say no. I’m in no condition to host a leftover party tonight, but it isn’t until after I answer, that horror strikes me.

  ��Could you cum?” I repeat in a fog, “Yeah, that sounds nice. Lasagna is nice too.”

  I hang up realizing how cold my load feels on my hand and stomach. Fuck! I only have a few minutes before she cums—COMES!— before she comes! I take an icy cold shower, mortified and scared. Pull off my sheets and leave the bed undone for now. I’ll deal with it later.

  I’m dressed and out of the bedroom just in time.

  She usually just walks in, but today she rings the bell. I’m not sure if it’s to make sure I’m decent or because her arms are so full of stuff.

  Katniss is an excellent cook when she wants to be. She could be on Chopped-and-win good. She can make a meal from scratch with whatever is the pantry, but she truly dislikes cooking. She explains it away as learning to cook out of necessity, and not for the love of the food, ruined it for her, though, she loves food more than anyone I know.

  I’m not that surprised to see all this leftover containers all over the breakfast bar. I’m surprised about the bottle of champagne and box of chocolate covered strawberries she practically slams on the counter. The look she gives them can only be described as disdainful. I wonder how those things offended her?

  We pull stuff from my fridge as well, I don’t have that much anyway. She goes around plating odd servings of food, then nukes the dish in the microwave and sits it in front of me, then she repeats the process for herself.

  That’s another thing I can’t get over about her. She has to be the one serving the food, unless it’s second helpings, then is everyone for themselves. But she’s always so careful measuring what she puts in plates, making sure everyone gets a fair share, my chest tightens for her; I’ve inferred just by comments here and there that she had to do that, so everyone could eat something, because of the very hard times they fell into after her father died.

  I had a rough time with Rye when he was born, but that only lasted until my mother met the baby by chance once. It was instant love, something my brothers and I had to fight for, she gave Rye freely. I was taken back in my dad’s bakery and for the first time, they were paying me an actual salary. My son never knew hunger, but Katniss did.

  She’s uncommonly taciturn tonight. I’m afraid to ask, because I’m pretty sure she knows what she caught me doing, and I really don’t want to face that right now. I know I’ll have to do it soon, but I’m not ready just yet.

  I see little flashes of anger in her eyes and body posture. I’m not sure I could keep ignoring her growing bad mood, but she blurts out a clue soon enough.

  “Champagne?”

  I look at her, over my bite of cold lamb stew and plums she cooks at least once a week.

  “Mmm, sure?” I don’t think she’s very happy with the wine list tonight.

  She goes around opening the bottle, and somehow I’ve never heard a most ominous pop of a sound that usually means celebration and good times. She pours the bubbly drink in plastic flutes she brought herself, and puts one in front of my plate so delicately, I’m afraid is going to explode if I make a sudden move.

  She twirls hers in her hand, arms crossed over her chest, right before tossing the pack of strawberries between us. She looks absolutely rageful.

  She downs her glass in one gulp, slams the flute on the counter and stares at me.

  “You’re not gonna ask me, what’s the occasion?” She poses disgruntled.

  “To be honest, I’m afraid to ask.” I say observing her carefully.

  She points a finger at me, “You,” she reaches for the bottle to fill her empty mug, discarding the champagne glass entirely, and continues, “are a smart man!” She downs that one too. “Been saving this since that awful night, actually. Strawberries maybe a bit funky now, they’d been stuck in the freezer forever, but hey! Leftover night!” She cheers sarcastically. “More?” She offers the bottle to me.

  I shake my head, and watch her wearily, as she shrugs and refills her mug.

  “It’s my third year anniversary with Rye, today. And the boy was so sweet! Not a nasty bone in his body, my Rye. I miss ‘im”  

  I’m amazed at how thick her Appalachian accent sounds right now. She’s always had traces of it in her cadence, but right now, she could just be hailing down the mountain for all I know.

  “And how beautiful those bones were!” She tips the mug back and swallows the wine as if it was water. “Don’t know a single girl in Panem who didn’t wanna jump my Rye’s gorgeous bones, what with his hard muscles, and crooked smile, and the smattering of them cute little freckles on the bridge of his nose! Ooh-eeeh! That boy was hotter than Mr. Hawthorne’s 5 alarm chili sauce!” She fans herself with her hand.

  “I miss his clear blue eyes the most. Too bad yours don’t look the same, yours are darker, deeper, more experienced…” she trails off lowly, her own eyes darken looking at me, but then she takes another drink and shrugs. “His hair was more reddish and darker than yours too. Maybe is for the best, otherwise I couldn’t look you in the eye. It be like watching a mature replica of his, and I wouldn’t be able to stand it.” She tips the mug back and quickly peers into it making a face. “Empty again… da fuck?”

  I feel my eyebrows shoot into my hairline. It’s the very first time I’ve ever heard her use an impolite word in all the time I’ve known her.

  She completely bypasses a cup now, taking a generous pull straight from the bottle. That’s my cue to try and cut her off, but she pushes me away and swallows as much alcohol as she can before I forcibly remove the bottle from her hands. She’s managed to ingest three quarters of the champagne, minus what’s in my own glass.

  “We can’t afford any drunkards, especially you, Katniss.”

  She’s beyond tipsy. Too much drink too soon in such a tiny body. Her eyes are glassy, bloodshot. She slides off the stool, and I catch her just in time. She’s giggling uncontrollably.

  She keeps slipping until I pick her up in my arms and bring her to the couch.

  Her arms circle my neck and her nose nuzzles right under my jaw. She inhales deeply.

  “You smell yummy.” She mumbles, “Like cinnamon and dill.” She lays her head on my shoulder. “You’re gorgeous too, you know. Every girl in my class wanted to bang you. What’s hotter than a single cougar dad? is that a real a thing? A cougar dad? Anyway, yeah… all those girls giggling and batting their lashes at you every time you came to one of Rye’s things, they kept saying they’d wished you’d take them behind the bleachers. Cause you’d probably show them some moves.” The last word comes out raspy and sexi as fuck.

  “I-I-I don’t- I don’t… Katniss. I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation.” I place her in the cushions, and pry her arms off my neck as gently as I can.

  She pouts. “Why? We’re adults! I’ve fucked!”

  “Katniss, that’s enough.” I say half heartedly but she ignores me, and it gets increasingly worse to hear.

  “In fact, Rye was on his way to fuck me that night. We’ve planned it for weeks. I had bought a box of all size condoms just to be sure, I had the apartment full of candles and shit, I had to bring out my fire extinguisher just in case.” She chuckles mirthlessly, “I was so horny I was the fire hazard, not the ambience flames. All we talked about was how much sex we were gonna have that day.” She looks me in the eye, tears are flowing from hers. “You know how people say, sailors have a girl in every port?” she sings the phrase, then shakes her head emphatically, “Not him. Not my Rye. He was saving himself for me. And I was saving myself for him. We had waited so long. It was supposed to be magical!”

  I think she’s done when she starts sobbing quietly, but then she melts into the couch, and all her words pour out like a fountain.

  “The worst part of having your boyfriend’s daddy call to inform your date is detained in the hospital morgue, is receiving the call while you’re only wearing brand new lingerie and strappy kitten pumps.” She coughs, “That’s just humiliating.” Her breath stutters, “My teddy was his favorite color. It took me forever to find it. Now is somewhere in the city landfill with all the expectations of that night.”

  She covers her mouth with her hand and screams. “He deserved to get laid! How sick is that a fucking sailor didn’t get laid? I waited for him! I got all spruced up for him; I got a brazilian done for the occasion, you know how much that shit hurt? It hurt a lot! And he didn’t get to see it! That’s bullshit! It’s all a big pile of bullshit! I want my night back! I want my boyfriend back! Why can’t I have him? Why?”

  I gather her in my arms and rock her back and forth, all the while whispering apologies. “I don’t know baby. I’m sorry your night got ruined, sweetheart. I wish he has here too.”

  She cries herself to sleep, and all I can do is watch her. She looks so sweet and young. All I want to do is protect her from the world. I go into my bedroom and dress my bed, then I take her boots off and carry her into my room. I want her in my arms tonight. She was robbed of Rye, but she still has me, I don’t even care if that’s right or wrong, she needs me and I’m here for her.

  Her eyes flutter open for a second, as I’m depositing her on the mattress. She clings to my hand, laying her cheek on it.

  “Stay with me, until I fall asleep?”

I nod, breathing out “Always.”

  I get in bed fully clothed. I see the appeal of saving myself for someone you love that much. I wish I could say Rye got his principles from me, but it takes me only a week before the itch stalks me again, and I give in. This time I watch brunettes. Redheads don’t do it for me anymore. I tell myself it’s not because of her, but who am I kidding?

  I want her.

  It’s tearing me up inside.

#Springtime Edition 2018 #alliswell21 #prompt 106 #submission

[writers-shitshop]

better ideas n shit

Ideas for rps

https://savages-like-cabbages.tumblr.com/post/169708703381/soulmate-aus

💚Another soul animal au or animal related au

💚Another cafe au bc those bitches cute

💚Another writing sm au

💚alex strangelove/love, simon/the way he looks au

💚one night stand

💚Another house trapped where there’s no power

💚Another superhero au and maybe twist it so A and B work together but are so annoyed with each other

💚strippy au: bonus if A is the confident performer and has to give B a private show since their friends dragged them there for their birthday

💚You have your soulmates words written on your skin, except they aren’t their first words. They’re the first words they say after you have fallen in love them.

💚aphrodisiac au

💫Another domestic klance living together qnd wisdom teeth can grow in anywhere from teens to adults so wHoOp either Keith or Lance get them removed and fall in Love all over again

💫SOTS au with selkies n shit uwu

💫artist lance and photographer kEith(or the opposite again??)

💫 some dumb horn horn boys where lance and keith are friends with benefits or just sex buddies and go to parties and do dumbstuff and don’t understand pining, lipstick/catholic school ah

💫another kind of boarding school au where they just get there and absolutely everything is monitored at all times all the time and there are even people outside of the dorms listening but when the bo y s decide it should be fine to experiment, so they can woo the girls or something once they get back home they realize they lo v e

💫a klance au I read on tumblr where lance is a feminine innocent virgin and Keith is a badass biker edgy tattoo piercing boy and lance doesn’t even know how to be in a relationship let alone have a crush on someone but oops what is this weird feeling I always have when I’m around the edgy kid am I sick?

💫okay but imagine mega reverse godtier hs au where keith is the partygoer and lance is this virgin dork who’s just “whomst be care about parties im only here bc my headass friend wanted me to come” and he sees keith at one and instantly becomes gay

💫bbbbbiiiitttchhh,,, A has a disease that is unstable and finds out the day they might die while b is suffering and very sad and they only have a week left together and im aaAaaaaAAAA

💫klance masquerade ball

💫 risky business au

💫 long distance au with angst/phone sex??? idk??

💫but a being Altean but pretending to be galran since like idk they had to survive or smth and b realizing something just doesn’t seem right and oof they get into a relationship or smth and b wakes up next to a but instead of seeing them galran they see them as altean cause they fell asleep and whoops power went whoosh

💫neko keith where maybe it makes more logic based of some klancetober post where lance kisses the cat and poof it become gay boy

💫another thing because i opened up my notes after forever to update the lists: keith going to stargaze at a lake/bay and suddenly whoop theres this hot water spirit/mermaid and keith is AAAAA

💫Modern day klance where a is a nurse or doctor or smth and b is a vampire who tries to break in to steal blood but whoops why did a stay late after work that was a mistake

💫rich boy lance with a mansion or whatever becoming infatuated with this stupid punk kid from school

💫 lance is a witch and goes into an abandoned church and oh shit theres a hottie vampire there

💫 Tattoo artist au

💫CouGh Klance au where a is a naïve explorer and b is a siren who has killer toNs of people by luring them in but for some reason as they hypnotize a they can’t bring themselves to kill them so they hide them in their room instead because their family thinks they killed them

💫an au where keith owns a simple bakery or shop or something and wears cute dresses and aprons and the town enigma lance stops in for like two seconds but instantly becomes gay for keith, ok but an addition: keith being secretly a witch and going out into the woods at night and stuff to practice magic but lance follows him and oHjKskamaAAAA

💫college klance where Lance is a grade B douche cause he’s my Taylor level but you know what I mean and he’s strictly straight but Keith is out and is his roommate so Lance always teases him about it and Keith is so pissed cause he wants to punch that mofo in the face but he also wants to kiss him gently and have him hold him close- so Keith gets so fed up one night when Lance is being extra teasing and annoying with the iM StrAgith biTches thing so Keith acts all sexy to prove him wrong and is shocked because what the fuck Wait thAT WORKED

💚ONE SIDED SOULMATE AU WHERE YOU DONT KNOW IF YOU HAVE THE GENE OR NOT SOMCE ONLY ONE (1) OF THE PEOPLE DO. So only one person out of the two soulmates can see the others light, the other one can’t. So if your soulmate never finds you you don’t know if you’re the light or if you just haven’t found the light of your life yet. A light only appears in the seeker chest once they find their soulmate o o f

💫ok but klance taking a trip to the snow and renting a cabin and drinking hot chocolate and and making really ugly snowmen together and UWUWUSKSMAK

💚(???)) sksksjs jack and the cuckoo clock heart??

[mischief274]

* Domestic abuse against men can take the form of physical violence, emotional, verbal, or sexual abuse. Whatever your circumstances, though, you can find help and break free from an abusive relationship.

If you’re a man in an abusive relationship, it’s important to know that you’re not alone.

Domestic violence and abuse can have a serious physical and psychological impact. The first step to protecting yourself and stopping the abuse is to reach out. Talk to a friend, family member, or someone you trust, or call a domestic violence helpline.

This post isn’t written with hate. It was written with a lot of sadness and heartache. It may or may not come across the person it’s meant for but I am the one that has to live with all the pain she caused my partner...

This took me a two months to finish after reading all the awful lies she wrote about my sweet Jack.

Here I go....

Replying to February 12,2021

To his ex,

You have dreams of him to remind you of all the pain you caused him. The world isn’t going to be so kind to you and let you forget how awful you were (are) simply because you “found the lord” and I hope it continues to remind you every day until you genuinely regret all the things you did and said to his kind soul. By regret, I mean, finally speaking the truth.

The only scars you have from those 5 years are the ones Y O U made yourself. Quit trying to play the victim and make it sound like you have all these scars because he was a “monster” to you, he wasn’t. He never was and you know it.

Everyone saw how much he loved you. Every single person who cared for him warned him about you and begged him to leave you because they knew how miserable he was trying to show you that you were the only girl he wanted. They warned him because they knew how crazy and abusive you were and they knew if he stayed for too long that he would end up in Jail from one of your lies or dead in his room. Sadly you proved them all right. He ended up in jail and in the ER from all the blood he lost trying to take his own life to make you happy.

Had you just treated him with respect and loved him, he would’ve never lost his mind. He would’ve never experienced depression and he never would’ve tried to kill himself. He would’ve been normal today. But all you ever did for him was tell him that the world would’ve been a better place if he would just kill himself.

He’s not the bad guy here but you’re a woman so who would the public believe? He’s full of scars from the 5 years you kept him hostage in your relationship. For 5 years you begged him to kill himself so much that he cut his wrist in front of you with tears in his eyes and all you did was watch him bleed and run away. You didn’t even bother calling 911. You were just as bad as Michelle Carter except the judge believed your pathetic crying ass instead of his because he’s the one that looked tough and mean. Had they just taken a second to look into his eyes, they would’ve seen all the pain he was trying to hide behind his tattoos but apparently looks speak more than words. And now you’re here again at 11:33pm writing about your dreams of him, your trauma and “praying” that he and I get married and have a happy life with more kids.

You’re so fake. I feel so sad for who you are.

What did he ever do to you? He doesn’t deserve all the shit you continue to write about him. He tried giving you the world, did you know that? He lost so many jobs because of you and even when he had no income, he still tried to provide for you. He tried taking care of Y O U all the time. He cared for you and instead of loving him back or letting him go so he can be happy with someone else, you kept him around and made him believe that he didn’t deserve better than you so much so that when I came along and threw him any sort of compliment or treated him nice he’d look away and feel ashamed. He felt ashamed for wanting to accept a compliment!! How sad is that?! I had never met a man so broken.

You’re such a monster Jazmine and you hide extremely well.

Next time you want to write about him between 11:00 o’clock to 3:00 in the morning about how much you think about him or whatever, please don’t because you only make it seem like you’re the one living in fear when he’s the one who’s paranoid every time we go to a specific store or coffee shop because you’re the type of person to fake a scene and make people believe that he’s following you just to make him look bad and have a chance to “be” a victim again. He can’t even enjoy himself in public when we go out because he’s afraid I’ll get upset for simply looking up and thinking that he was looking at other woman.

He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t have to walk with his eyes down when he’s with me but he doesn’t feel safe because of you.

So, you didn’t go through any trauma those 5 years. He did. He wasn’t the abuser, you were.

When he finally had the courage to stand up for himself and let you go, you made up a whole story about how bad he beat you and he ended up in jail, taking him away from his kids once again and what did you do? You reminded him that no one would ever want him because he had kids which made him a burden to anyone else and who would want a fat father with a criminal record and kids now right? Those were your words to a man only trying to break free of you. But you were so desperate for attention that even after your “case” you still decided to secretly meet with him and fuck in his car for a whole year because everyone else you tried talking to would only use you for an easy fuck and let you go. Except for him. He was the only one that would give you any attention. He always gave you all of his time and attention. But he wasn’t the person you wanted attention from. Yet, you still kept him around and abused him anyway because being with someone you hated was better than being alone right? Those other men knew better, they saw how ugly you truly were so you had no choice than to go back to my sweet Jack and that made you miserable and misery loves company.

You’re the one who couldn’t do better than him. You’re the one who didn’t deserve better than him and you will never do better than him. He’s perfect. He’s one in a million. You could’ve had an amazing life by his side but you treated him like trash. Now you’re almost 30 and you’re still living a lonely life. Desperate to fit in. Desperate to feel wanted.

I hope you always remember that he was the only man who ever truly tried giving you the world. I hope you always remember that he was the only man who will ever show you that type of love. I hope you remember him when you start to fall in love and remember that his love was rare and that you missed out on the best one.

You were Amber and he was Johnny. You knew police officers and a judge would take your side because you play the victim well but we all know the monster you truly are.

If he would have taken all the voicemails and text messages between the two of you, you wouldn’t have won in court. Instead, Y O U would have been the one arrested for domestic violence. The only thing that saved you was that everyone believed that pathetic little “ God saved me” cry. You’re disgusting. I hate all the pain you put him through. He was too good to have met you. You should really consider putting that “ I am a daughter of God and I will do right by him” act away and actually try to be a good person. Who am I kidding, you probably never will. People like you don’t change. I hope you prove me wrong but I have extremely low hope with you.

So don’t you fucking dare!! Don’t you fucking dare talk about him because you’re so full of shit.

All that “lurking” is shit too because I’ve been on his social media for years checking up on him and he has never written one bad thing about you. He did once and it was only to reply to your pathetic excuse of an apology. Why lie about it if it just makes you look stupid and shows everyone that you’re still lying? In fact, I think I’ve had more shit to say about you than he ever has. So please, give up and just the shut the fuck up. You’re just as ugly on the inside as you are on the outside. And yes, I did lurk on your shit but only because I like to set you straight when you write up a lie. Don’t worry though, if you ever come across this post, it’ll be the last time I write anything towards you because replying to so many lies is tiring.

Lastly, don’t pray for his kids. I understand that prayers mean well but not when they come from people like you. In case you forgot (which I highly doubt) they didn’t get to see their father for a year because Y O U couldn’t handle him seeing his ex’s for 10 seconds to pick the kids up. For one whole year, he had to see his kids in secret because he was so afraid of the abuse he’d get if you ever found out about it. Acts like these don’t come from people who call themselves “daughters of God” you can keep praying and hoping that God forgives you for everything but remember that God only forgives those who tell the truth and ask for forgiveness that comes from the heart. So while you continue to hide behind the truth and continue to spread your lies, all of us will continue to call you what you truly are. A liar.

Anyway, luckily he and I met again and he left you for good. Now when he calls, he calls for me and not for you. It’s been a year now and he still flinches whenever I stretch out my arms to hug him thinking im going to punch or something.

It’ll take time for that trauma/abuse to go away but at least he believes me now when I tell him he’s worth everything. He went from “ kill yourself” every day to “ I love you’s”

He’s happy now. I don’t keep him away from his kids nor his family. In fact, I encourage it and I personally drive him to see them and bring them to our house. Now he gets to have a healthy relationship with the mothers of his kids and his kids get to have a perfectly healthy and loving relationship with their father.

He’s happy because he gets to be who he is without having to hide from me or be afraid of me.

He’s happy because he got away from you in time. God had good plans for him and I’m so thankful for that. I’m thankful that his suicide attempt failed because if it hadn’t I would’ve never had the chance to show him his worth and all you would’ve done is carry on making people believe that he was your great true love. That thought alone is sickening!!! People like you who can make up the most awful stories about someone and make themselves look so innocent all while destroying the life of someone else because they’re jealous and so desperate for any sort of attention that they go through such lengths to get it don’t deserve to be in this world.

In the meantime, go ahead and continue writing and saying all these things that only always make Y O U sound like the victim but remember.....the truth will come out and eventually people will realize that he was the one being abused. In your case, if it doesn’t, at least you’ll always live with that guilt. With that being said, I hope your “nightmares” keep following you and I really hope they make you miss him to remind you of the things you will never have again.

I’m not wishing you misery but I’m not wishing you happiness either. I do wish you well though.

Enjoy seeing us happy 🤍

Sincerely, me....the best thing after you.

[firekissedpiper]

— ✗ 𝔸 𝔻 ℝ 𝔼 ℕ 𝔸 𝕃 𝕀 ℕ 𝔼 '𝕊 𝔸 𝔽 𝕋 𝔼 ℝ 𝕄 𝔸 𝕋 ℍ — ✗ Time Period: Early December, 2018. — ✗ TW: Mentions of sexual assault, domestic abuse. It had all been a blur really, after she’d gotten in the car. Adrenaline had flooded her brain, making every move instinctual, easy. It had dulled the pain of her injuries, given her relief from the rush of turmoil that came with her ordeal – blessing her with a blissful numbness that left her feeling cold enough that it didn’t hurt. She could feel the pounding of her heart, the thrumming of her pulse and the tightness in her lungs. The desire to keep moving, to get away far and fast as possible. She hadn’t taken note to fear the truck driver. To her he was just a means to escape, which was the goal that drove every movement. Adrenaline. She could have used more of it. But as the immediate danger faded, so did that, and it set in. First it was like tuning a radio. With each notch turned up, the sound grew clearer. Only, as the adrenaline slowly left her system, the degrees of agony set in. Everything she’d been blocking out – the broken bones, the bruises, the rips, tears and scrapes, the shattered pieces of her broken heart and mind – it was all there, waiting, and it all rushed in like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. The pain was awful. She didn’t know what was worse, the agony in her body or the war in her mind. Terror – because any moment, she was waiting for Tomas to find her. For her to be brought back to him to destroy once again. Terror because he had found her over and over again, and he would again. Despair – because everything she had thought she’d known, every bit of strength and will to keep moving had been crushed. Every will and every power she had thought she’d had was ripped from her. Despair because her world had been torn out from under her. Disbelief – because she’d thought she’d been stronger. Even through the beatings, through the emotional abuse and terror, through the whole nightmare, she had still thought there was something left, something there. Disbelief because she had thought she was stronger, and she wasn’t. Anger – because everything that Tomas had taken from her – her pride, her confidence, her energy, her life, her freedom – he’d taken her soul now too. Anger, because he would get away with it, as he always did. Guilt – because she should have gotten him off. Because she should have fought harder. She had known the monster he was, but she had let her own mind convince her she could be free of him. She feared somehow she let him do this, like all the beatings, she had lid there, and shut down. Guilt because he had broken her, and she had let him. Closing her eyes, Piper tried to will all those thoughts away. Years of burying any and all emotions under thick layers of soil should have given her the ability to bury these too. The past year of burying everything Tomas had done to her. The past year, he’d broken her, over and over again – in so many different ways. She had buried that too. Had bottled it and locked it away in the back of her mind. But she couldn’t bury this. She couldn’t hide her fractured spirit, she couldn’t ignore the well of emotion bubbling and brewing inside of her. The only thing she could do was try not to cry too loudly. It didn’t work. The girl whose steel will had once kept her from ever crying in front of someone was now gone, replaced by a broken woman who had lost everything all at once. The silent droplets that had slid over her face had now become rivers, accompanied by a raw, gut wrenching sob. She felt her chest tighten as she let out the hollow sob, her head hanging forward a little as she lost the strength to sit straight and quiet. The adrenaline was gone, and all that was left was pain. It didn’t take long for the trucker to notice. In fact, she was certain it took her longer to notice that he noticed. It took her a moment for his voice to register. She couldn’t think or breathe or hear. It was as if there was nothing in the world utter than the crushing weight. Finally though, his voice rang through her ringing ears. It occurred to her he’d pulled over. “Lady,” he said, his voice was gruff, confused, as if he had no idea what to do. She couldn’t bring herself to respond. The emotion was overwhelming. Not just from the events of the night. Every bottled and buried emotion was coming out now. Everything from the last year. Every slap, every punch, every kick. Every hidden bruise, covered cut or lie about her clumsiness. Every insult, every time he’d called her a “whore”, every time he’d taken away any belief that she was anything other than a failure. It was all hitting her now. She felt every blow again and the words rung in her ears. “Listen, Lady, is there anyone I can call?” More confusion in the accented tone that seemed to be grasping at straws to stop the unusual situation. Light flashed in Piper’s blurry eyes as he turned on one of the overheads. “Oh my god,” another accented drawl. She didn’t know what he saw, but she heard the sound of the truck again. Piper didn’t understand, she felt the pain in her body, there was no doubt about that. Some spots were emitting a constant radiation of agony, others ached and stung. But it was the emotions that wiped her off the board. She couldn’t deal. She had never learned how to. And now when she desperately needed it, she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure how long they drove for. She knew they’d been driving for four hours and thirty six minutes. But then the pain had set in and she stopped watching the clock, stopped counting every minute – stopped thinking about each mile further they got away from Tomas. She couldn’t think of anything. She couldn’t process anything but the constant replay of what had happened. All she could feel was Tomas, still inside her. She remembered how much her legs hurt because of the awkward angle her haphazardly pulled down pants left them at. She remembered how his body kept slamming into hers. She remembered his hands holding her down. She remembered one hand ripping the collar of the sweater dress she’d put on at one point. She remembered the sound of each grunt he released. She remembered the words, his commands. She remembered the terror in her veins and the nausea in her stomach. She remembered the smell of his sweat, the scent of his breath. She remembered the clammy nature of his skin. She felt her stomach turning as she silently begged every god she could think of to just turn it off. The truck came to a stop once more, through the windshield, she saw blurs of lights and other shapes. She couldn’t be bothered enough to try and see what it was. What it could have been. “I’ll be right back,” the voice broke through the haze a bit. But what got her more, was when she felt a hand on her arm. It was like an electric shock. She immediately hauled away, so fast it actually made her head spin. His very touch grated on her skin. At least that’s how it felt. She heard the door open then shut. Then nothing. It was quiet for a minute. There was nothing but the sound of her ragged breathing, her sniffling and the sobs she kept choking up. She just sat there, letting her head rest on the window. It was cool, it made her head hurt less. Then the door opened. “She’s right here. I don’t know what happened to her but she’s…pretty beat up,” it was the trucker’s rugged voice. Piper blinked a few times, confusion breaking through her emotion as she took in the other figures in a jade green. The blinking made the blurriness clearer. It was easier to see through the tears. Then she realized they were nurses. The lights, the other cars. It all hit her rather suddenly. A hospital. No. No. Fear flooded her and some of the adrenaline seeped back in. She scrambled for the handle of the door, grasping it and trying to pull it shut. Her wrist protested the movement. Not that it mattered. The trucker was in the way. Away – she needed to get away. She knew they’d recognize her. She knew they’d tell him. He’d find her. He’d come for her again. “Get away from me!” She screamed. “You won’t take me back, you won’t!” She pushed herself to the other side of the car, sliding across the bench seat and forcing the open the other door. Her same wrist protested, her chest bloomed with a new agony. Her body aching all over. She scrambled out of the car and tried to run. Her legs were too sore, they wouldn’t support her. Her body ached, especially between her legs. Her knees gave out and her legs folded beneath her. She collapsed to the ground. Her knees took the brunt of it. She whimper as they hit the ground. The second time they’d taken a hard fall. Despite the rough texture of where she’d collapse, she flashed back to when she’d been knocked to the ground by Tomas earlier. It only made her panic more. Half crawling, she scrambled away. She could hear them getting closer to her. She knew if they got her she’d been in his hands again. She’d be back to him. Every muscle of her body protested the awkward and panicked movement, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. In her mind, she was running from him again. Every aching muscle and every movement was away from him. It took her further, closer to freedom. If they got her, he had her. It didn’t take long for them to catch up. “Miss, please stop you’re going to hurt yourself more.” “We can help you, you just have to stop.” “Jeff, we need some help out in the parking lot, J-zone.” “Can’t you make her stop?” Piper’s gaze darted around. Her vision was blurry but she desperately sought and opening or escape, anything. She tried to stumble onto her feet to try and get a better vantage point. But she couldn’t manage it. “Get away from me!” She wailed. “Stay away.” One of the nurses approached her and she smacked her hand away rather violently. Soon, strong hands gripped her arms. She was thrown back into the memory of Tomas gripping onto her. Stopping her from moving. It was him. It had to be. How did he find her already? “Stop, let me go,” she screamed, squirming and kicking as much as she can despite her body fighting her every movement. “Please, please don’t hurt me again. I’ll go back. I’ll listen,” she begged and promised. But the hands didn’t stop. Tears flooded her face again and she saw the blurry shape colored in jade coming at her. Something sharp pricked her inner elbow. She tried to fight harder, but a deep exhaustion hit her like a wave. Suddenly her limbs were like jelly, loose, useless for holding up firm. She tried to fight through it. But the waves eventually pulled her under, and she let herself collapse into that abyss. Darkness took her in its grasp like an embrace. ~~ Piper felt herself slowly coming about. There was the distant sound of voices, but she couldn’t fully understand what they were saying. They were chatting to her. Or about her. She couldn’t tell which. Slowly, the voices got clearer. Feeling started to pour into her limbs. Flexing her arm, she felt pain, restraint at her finger tips. She tried to blink a few times. Fluorescent lights assaulted her eyes, immediately making her want to shut them again. Each time she tried to open her eyes, she shut them again. The bright offending lights were flickering in and out like an old movie on a screen. She watched the image around her distort and change, slowly coming into focus. Tiled ceiling. The long tiles, constructed from foam. She remembered them from somewhere. But the fog pressing on her brain was keeping her from fully grasping it. Everything was in a haze, like there was a curtain existing between her in the moment and the rest of her brain. All that was left was confusion, grasping for strings that she wasn’t sure were even there to hold onto. “Broken ribs.” A memory came flooding back, hitting her like she imagined a car would. She felt something hard driving into her ribs. She saw a black boot. She looked up. Tomas. He was there. She felt the impact, the pain that exploded. Then she was back there, looking up at the lights. “Broken knuckles.” Another memory. She felt her hand curling into a fist, her thumb curling over her other fingers, like someone had taught her to. Her hand was coming up, but there was fear, like she was scared to do it. Her instincts told her to. And she drove the punch home, throwing the weight of her body into it. Bone against bone. Both injured at the impact. She felt the pain radiate through it as the bones fractured. She felt a sick joy as she hoped that his bones had fractured too. “Concussion.” Another. She felt her head smacking against the concrete floor. Felt the pain start in the back of her skull and radiate. She felt her head spinning at the impact. The world was a blur, but his face was there again. Once more, she was looking back up at the lights. “Bruised cervix.” This one was the worse. Each piece came in, another thread of the curtain came away. She felt him pushing into her all over again, his appendage slamming into her, its only concern seeming to be on causing as much possible damage. She heard him bark out his commands. She heard her own voice, heard it begging desperately for him to stop. She heard mumbled promises – which she knew in the moment she would have kept just to make it stop. Then there was no more lights. There was no more women’s voices. There nothing stiff on her fingers. There was him. He was everywhere. His body on hers, taking what was left of hers with reckless abandon. She couldn’t close her eyes now. They blurred with the tears that left her eyes, but she couldn’t close them. "No-no, please st-," she was screaming, it was too much. Bubbling up inside of her, consuming her. The fear, the desperation. Out she had to get out. Away, she needed to be away. ~~ Her body stiffened, her muscles tensing and readying themselves for a fight. They were ready to fend off whatever posed a threat to her. As she slammed into consciousness and sat bolt upright, a loud scream of terror left her. Her heart pounded, her air was coming slow. She felt the sweat slicking her forehead and it only reminded her of where she’d been in her nightmare moments ago. "Help," she let it slip before she fully realized she wasn't there anymore, she wasn't with Tomas, or in the hospital. She was here, the estate. Slowly her muscles relaxed and she looked around the room carefully, uncertainly, terror in her eyes as she tried to regain the ability to remember where she was, that there was no reason to fear here. Tears streamed down her face here too. Turning on her side, she reached up with a shaking hand to wipe the tears away. They just kept coming. That was the worst part of a nightmare. Finding no safety in waking. Finding no security. Finding that it had not been construed as trick of the mind. That was the worst part of the nightmare. Finding it was still so very real in the waking world.

#solos

[sethdegrassemacfarlane-blog]

Love In High Places Chapter 3

My throat stood poised for response, but my mind was far from ever being able to create one. I wanted to be here when he got back. I don’t think I was actually aware of how much I wanted to be there. But it was that faint, familiar little whisper in the back of my mind. It whispered, “He’ll be the same. You’ll never escape. He’ll hurt you.”

While I prayed for my inner dialogue to shut the fuck us for literally two seconds so I could spit out anything, I saw Seth’s face become dejected. His warm smile, capable of melting icecaps, was growing colder with every passing nanosecond. His eyebrows tilted up and furrowed together like a child saying goodbye to his mother the first day of preschool.

My instincts finally took over and I rudely blurted out, “Yes.”

There was a pause while Seth’s face shifted from disheartened to befuddled.

“Yes? Like you’ll say that you’ll try? Or yes like you will be here?”

I nervously sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to soothe my anxiety.

“Yes like I’ll be here.”

“Whew.” He let out a relieved sigh while I was just as apprehensive as the moment I met him. “I—”

The nubile chirp of Seth’s intern’s voice whined through the night air again, this time not startling, but interrupting.

“Seth?”

“Yes, Sonya?” He tried to hide his frustration from his reply. He failed.

“I’m really sorry. I’m sure you’re conducting some really important business and this whole interjection is really disrupting you and I really do apologize again and—”

“Sonya.” Seth turned his head in her direction but not his body and raised his hand like he was about to chop a cinderblock in half.

“Y—Yes?” Her voice was noticeably shaky which made me snicker just the slightest while Seth began again.

“What do you need to tell me?”

“Right. There was about 5 minutes until you had to go on. But now after all this, its starting to look like 2.”

“I’m coming. Thank you.” He brought his cupped hand from his mouth and gazed straight at me again. He quickly stepped closer to me, his body almost touching mine. Everywhere across my body, and I mean everywhere, began to tingle. I jolted a tad when he took my hands in his and his brown eyes met with my blue. It was the most perfect pairing since peanut butter and chocolate. His gaze darted from mine to my lips a couple times signing his desire to meet.

“I’ll see you soon.” He shook my hands up and down a couple times, pressing his body into mine, but only briefly.

Our enemies connection left me in such a euphoric state, I slurred out, “K.”

He smirked at my inability to form words. Then I watched as he spirited off to the luminosity of his house above. His formal and suave persona suddenly transformed into athletic and cheerful.

Before I could process the recent events which had transpired over only about 45 minutes, I heard the booming that was my father’s voice stopped me. He was closer than I though he was as I saw his freakish figure rumble down the steps toward me.

“Hey little woodland creature of Beverly Hills. Things are about to start. Do you think you could be domesticated from you woodland ways long enough to come inside?”

I snuck up from behind him and jumped up on his back which was met with a grunt. I jokingly began hissing at him and nibbling on his head.

He laughed at my attempt at being a woodland creature and let go of my legs, letting me land lightly on the ground.

“Good God. You’ve been practicing.” He smoothed out his hair and turned around to face me. “I have been. I just had to stop when I started pulling your toupee off.” I punched him jokingly in the arm.

“Hey. My toupee doesn’t come off. That’s how good it is. Now let’s go before the Biden’s snag our seats like last time.”

He took off in a flash, his strides leaving me in the dust. I arrived at the entrance to the house almost 10 seconds later and out of breath. My father on the other hand looked as fresh as a daisy. Perhaps because, in total he had taken 5 strides to the house and I had taken 80.

I panted like a mutt, hunched over with my hands on my knees as I screamed inside my head not to embarrass myself too much in front off all these all-stars.

While I began to come to and calm down, I rose from my hunched position to see that Seth was taking his place at the podium in the front of the room.

Wanting to hear every damn second of his speech, I yanked my father away from a conversation he had struck up with some senator whose name I will never know.

I drug him into the main room just as Seth clapped the bottoms of his speech papers, making them even. Before he could playfully scold me, my father saw not what, but who I was in such a rush for.

My heart thudded almost through my throat at the mere sight of Seth. The way his tux jacket hugged his shoulders, making them look as broad as they most likely were. I essentially had to lick the corner of my mouth to stop the drops of drool from falling.

My father’s assumptions snapped me out of it.

“Ah. No need to ask why, I guess.” He bellowed over the roar of the crowd and nodded in Seth’s direction.

My eyes followed the direction of his nod and met Seth just as he looked at me. Suddenly realized that I had been found out, I raised a skittish hand, waved, and grinned.

Seth dropped his head with a shy grin but just as quickly brought it back up, grid-locked in a smiling match with me. As we flirted from across the room, I saw Seth’s gaze shift to  just beyond me and to my father. His smile immediately faded to a straight grimace. I looked back at my father to see that he was staring Seth down with the coldest, hardest, most brutal stare he had more than likely learned from his time in the military. It was so intense, there was no way it could have been forced. That was all natural.

I shot my eyes back to Seth who nervously broke the stare with my father and swallowed hard as he looked out over the crowd.

I turned one last time to my father and elbowed him in the gut, causing him to let out a quick breath.

“Wha—”

“Don’t even start with this one.” I hissed at him.

“This one? You already have one. Well—” He hissed back at me as his eyes kept shifting from me to Seth.

“Jesus.” I pressed the tips of my fingers into my temples.

“What?” He leaned down to me and got quieter as Seth began his speech.

“Jack and I… We… He…” I didn’t want to ruin this night. I wasn’t about to let even the topic of Jack ruin another beautiful night.

“Spit it out kid.” His clueless expression grew into worry and apprehension.

“I’m not going to talk about this now. I can’t talk about this now.”

He stood up straight, certainly obscuring all the views of all the poor souls behind us.

“Let’s just try to have fun, okay?” I patted him on the arm.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and his frustration proved to be short-lived.

“Okay, kiddo.” He forced a smile across his face and patted me on the back. “He’s really a nice guy, Dad. I—“

“Kid. I’ve known him longer than you have. I know he’s a great guy. He’s also twenty years older than you.” His eyes never left Seth standing at the podium.

I chuckled as I knew he knew he didn’t have a case against this. He just didn’t like it.

“I know Dad. He is older. But that’s about it. He’s one of the good ones. I deserve one of them, don’t I?” My voice cracked ever so slightly which, of course, my father hastily picked up on.

He didn’t say anything and embraced me from behind. It  was everything I needed at that moment.

My dad held onto me a few seconds longer before releasing me. I looked back to thank him but saw that he had let go because his arms were spread wide to his sides, looking as if he were about to take flight. He mouthed, “What the fuck?” to someone in the middle of the room.

I followed his gaze and stifled laughter as I saw a snickering Vice President Joe Biden turned around in my father’s seat mouthing back to him, “Thanks for the seats, Todd”. My father just shook his head as the tiniest grin overtook his bothered complexion.

After Joe was finished teasing my father, he turned even further and his eyes lit up and he very excitedly waved to me. I beamed back at him and returned heavy fire with my wave as I recalled the numerous events and vacations we had attended with the Bidens; particularly the one where Joe brought everyone to his favorite ice cream joint, ate too much Rocky Road, and swore it off permanently. Well, turns out tentatively for he had it for dessert the next night.

“See what you did? That’s two years in a row Joe snagged our seats.” My father jokingly hissed down to me. “You better have this fella tied down by this time next year so this doesn’t happen again.”

I spun around on my heel, hope in my eyes, as Seth promptly ended his speech. I found that my father was fixated on what I should have been and was purposely ignoring me, stifling a smile.

“Did you hear a damn word of that?” My dad casually asked me.

“Not one damn word. You?”

“Hell no. But I’m a politician. I know how to pretend like I heard every single word.”

I shook my head and returned to face forward, never ceasing applause. Seth’s eyes darted from face to face until he found mine and his smile instantly became more genuine.

He broke his gaze so he could exit from the podium. He shook the mandatory hands of people he would never see again and smiled at the desiring wives of the rich and famous. It was almost as if it were happening in slow motion. The dapper and sought after older gentleman making his way through the thick of the crowd to the nubile female who for now, had his attention. His snug tuxedo, perfectly quaffed hair, and his dazzling half smile  parted seas of sexually at-the-ready forty somethings. Oh the dismay when their knight stopped his trek at the daughter of Todd Adams’ daughter.

“Beautiful speech, kid. You sure know how to get an audience.” My father gruffly stated as he protectively placed his hand on my shoulder.

Seth swatted at him as if swatting his compliment away. “Ah. Its the same speech I use for these things. I just switch names and dates.”

“Spoken like a true diplomat.” My father, even more gruffly said. Fortunately, Seth and I both knew that if we didn’t laugh, that was the end.

After an excruciating mere seconds, we silenced. Seth’s eyes met mine and we exchanged nervous and uncomfortable looks with the raising of eyebrows.

Fortuitously for all parties involved, Sinatra began to blare through the speakers and we watched as couples made their way to the dance floor.

“The World We Knew.” Seth and I gasped at the same time.

“This is my favorite Sinatra song!” I grabbed his perfectly toned arm and quickly let go, remembering that my father was only a few inches from sexual tension city.

“Yes! Me too!” Seth’s voice became higher with excitement with each passing moment.

I heard my father sigh from behind me and bark, “Well jeez! Are you going to ask her to dance or what?”

Seth, taken aback and clearly flustered, had no idea what to say. So, I extended my hand to him which he reluctantly took in front of my father.

“Have her home by 10.” My father sipped his whiskey for effect.

Seth quickly glanced at his watch. “But… But its 11:15.” He choked on half the words he said.

“It was a joke, MacFarlane.” He sipped again. “Some comedian.”

“Ah. Right.” Seth slowly shook his head as I elbowed my father causing him to dribble his drink down his tux. He cocked his head and widened his eyes down at me which I took as my cue to abscond with my man candy.

I drug Seth past everyone who wanted to be him and be with him. The faster we ran, the more intertwined our hands became. The more intertwined our hands became, the less I wanted to let go.

[misadventures-phan-can]

Chasing Phantoms ~ Prologue

It was not meant to be.

A Mother clutched her month-old daughter close. The ship shook, fire danced in the corner of her eye. Outside, a dark figure loomed. Another ship, the attacker, raining bolts down on its prey.

Oh the life they had planned. The love, happiness… The hard times and anger, sadness. All of it they were prepared to face together, forever. But not this. Never this.

The child she held in her arms cried, either from the jostling of her mother’s running, or the loud, terrifying sounds of battle that engulfed the ship whole. Soon, soon they could escape.

The woman felt terrible. Torn between the men and women of the crew that had helped her so much, the urge to stay and fight for them like they were for her… or her daughter, her Star, and the life she would surely have if she took an escape pod and ran.

The Captain knew what choice she would make, the crew knew. No one held it against her, even as she rushed away, no time spared for goodbyes. He only looked at her, stoic as always, nodding once. She smiled grimly, the first hit rocking their ship on its axis. She ran. The Captain turned and started barking battle orders. That was the last she ever saw of them, the valiant crew and their leader.

It was not meant to be.

It was hot as hell on this planet, the humidity in air stuck to the skin, only adding to the sweat that formed over faces and arms- for the humans anyway. Men and women alike wore sandals as they walked down solar-paneled sidewalks. Bicycles casually rolled past on the sidewalk separate from the pedestrian path. Every few feet the solar-panels displayed the image of a figure walking on the appropriate lane, and little bike signals on the bike path.

Leafy, flowering vines grew up telephone poles and hanging baskets dropped down within reaching distance, most full of small pitcher plants to help control the insect population. Although the wild variety​ smelled like rotting flesh, these small domestic ones smelled like overly ripe fruit. Edible plants and berry bushes hung down as well, such as ripe red strawberries, plump peaches, juicy oranges and many others, both from different planets and native to Linus.

Natural bridges went over highways for both human and fauna safety alike. Every block had a shaded solar charging port surrounded by benches, walkways that led to the beaches, bicycle racks and parking lots. The skyscrapers in the distance grew with greenery, bearing a strong resemblances to the massive forests surrounding most of the coastal capital.

The community, whether native or not, enjoyed this planet’s climate immensely… however the foreign General felt his sweat squelch in his thick military boots and under his formal uniform. The locals merely wore bikinis and shorts, with only the rare few daring to cover up with sundresses and tank tops. He had only been here for barely half a Standard Galactic Day, and already he hated it with determined vehemence.

The man stopped under some shade, both to catch his breath and check in with Head Quarters. Taking his communicator off the clip on his coat, he clicked it to the correct signal.

“General reporting, Sir come in, Sir.” The man states, pressing the receiver of the little device, all the while shaking sand out of the speakers despite it not having been exposed to the beaches at all.

“Oh hun, always so uptight and formal… you couldn’t just lay your head back and relax for the day could you…” An effeminate voice chimed through static from the other end. One could just imagine him in his Cat’s eye sunglasses, filing his nails. The General fought back a cringe of disgust.

“They didn’t know about the mineral… they don’t apparently use much mining resources… pride themselves on being green, having low impacts on the environment and all that… A biologist I found along the shore did not suitably help… he was more concerned with some species of cat beasts and a slug…”

“Ah yes….” The man on the other end of the line hummed. “I heard about those cuties. I think I may have seen one earlier today… maybe two if wolves in sheep’s clothing count. Very adorable little things, really. It makes me want one…” he hummed in a slight airy manner, with noticeable emphasis on the want.

“Sir, I do not think it a wise course of action…”

However within moments he was walking down the sidewalk to visit the flea markets, casting cold, grey eyes along colourful stalls that seemed to sell everything on this planet. From exotic fruit and meat, to equipment for ships, Earth antiques, and every species imaginable living on Linus, which seemed as good a candidate for ‘pet’ you could get, in as loose a sense of the word as possible.

He decided upon a particularly dedicated looking vendor, which was really just a collection of small play gates and cages full of animals. The first creature to greet him was a many-eyed reptilian-looking cat with 6 arms. It started growling- the man assumed- for it made a repeating, aggressive ticking sound combined with a series of rattling snarls. Eventually it turned to lay contentedly under a heat lamp. Then, he saw an odd looking snake whose eyes seemed to jut out like a chameleon’s and whose tail wrapped around a branch like it had a mind of its own. A certain scaly thing even vaguely resembled a dragon. But one species in particular caught his eye. If one had lived on Earth, in its golden age, one would compare it to a cute, chubby baby otter. To the people of Linus, they were Mimics. And, to the people who knew what they were capable of, limitless sources of potential.

The stern General was, however, hoping he wouldn’t have to go through with this tomfoolery.

Approaching the manager, or owner of sorts, he cleared his throat and presented his dilemma.  

“I need a pet for someone… a Service Dog like animal. Something smart. Something vicious.” He said, with a glint in his eye.

“Ah, is it perhaps for that special lady in your life? I mean, it all depends on what you want smart for exactly…” The manager replied, the local Linus lilt colouring his speech as he scrutinized his latest client.

The man grimaced, disgusted by the latest developments. He supposed one could call his Commander a ‘special lady’ alright… special with a helmet maybe.

“You pry too much…” He retorted, in a very smooth, very dangerous tone despite his apparent anger. “I came to ask questions, not to answer them…. I am here for a Mimic.”

The vendor- thought he seemed slightly dumbfounded- laughed heartily. “Pardon my manners, us mainlanders don’t mean to pry as much as we do. Should have just been straight forward- we got a whole litter. I hear even the SDF are starting to use these guys. I do warn ya, they aren’t pets. With ‘em little guys it’s like adopting a kid of your own…”

He motioned to a small group of Mimics, round chubby faces with antenna like whiskers. One seeming to be a small white female, another a large dapple grey, the third a grey with a black back and light underbelly. The fourth, and final one was a small black, and white male, standing just slightly taller than the female.

“That one right there, he’s a smart one I’ll tell ya.” He says pouring some milk into a saucer with a small amount of cat food. By the time the dishes were placed in their pen, the “alpha” Mimics were chittering and hollering loudly. Already they had started to mimic the noises of the animals surrounding them. The small black and white male remained silent as the two others pushed and shoved, snapping at one another for the food.

“Chester, come over here boy.” The puppy, though young, seemed to have a natural aptitude towards this sort of thing. He stood up his hind legs, prancing up and down as if he were a kangaroo jumping in delight before the dish was placed down in front him. Followed by another one for the other two Mimics.

While the two grey males fought over who would drink first, the black puppy stared at them. When the moment was right, he snuck his snout under their chests to stealthily pick dish up carefully in his mouth, all the while pushing the other with his flippers. Once his thievery accomplished, the small male sat by the passive white female, with whom he shared his prize. She pressed up against him, affectionate, but most certainly shy.

Then, suddenly, the black male looked up at the scowling General, their gaze locking. A galaxy of blue ocean waves and worlds of the multi-hued coral beneath seemed to scrutinize the man’s very person- for he had no more soul. They glowed with multitudes of deeper secrets, hidden thoughts he would never see. Perhaps it was intelligence. Or maybe not. Was it, perhaps, something more?

It didn’t take long before the Grey’s realized what had happened and approached. They bristled and snarled, copying all sorts of offended animal calls. The black male, Chester, simply looked at them before growling and making a noise that the man had heard before, upon approaching the stall. The Mimic pup got up on his hind legs and made a noise resembling the roar of one of Linus’ big cats, albeit softer and smaller, babyfied, almost. Now, before the Grey’s, stood an almost perfect replica of the reptilian, six armed cat who slept a few cages over. The male’s siblings retreated in a frenzy, fearfully whining high pitched screeches that made the General want to shoot them. But nevertheless. If his Commander had stated he wanted a pet, he would have his damn pet. And if it was to be, the General would make sure its usefulness would be maximized. He would make damn well sure. And if he was to be stuck with an overgrown, doggish copy-parrot, he would make sure it wasn’t a dumb overgrown, doggish copy-parrot. This would be it. 

The man spent the rest of the day carrying an unstable cardboard box, with holes punched in the top, under his arm. Heavily annoyed, very unamused. Little did he know, this was the beginning of 15 years of annoyance and un-amusement.

Next: Chapter 1 - The Cloak

#mop&d #chasing phantoms #prologue #fanfiction #space pirate captain harlock #captain harlock #my ocs #friends ocs #space #original planets #leijiverse #galaxy railways