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just-a-girl-who-wrytes · 8 months

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When will I come up with a name for this? Only time will tell....

PART 7. <3

The next morning Nikki woke up in the arms of the man she loved. Their night together was everything Nikki had dreamed of and more.

“Good morning, beautiful.” David said, his voice still heavy with sleep, when he realized his lady was awake.

“Mmm, good morning, baby.” She moaned and nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck.

“Would you like to take a shower with me?”

“Is shower sex involved?” Nikki asked with a chuckle.

“One hundred percent yes.”

After their first night together Nikki wasn’t sure if she could physically endure anymore orgasms, but she would love to bring David to another one and it still felt amazing in the process. She followed David into the shower once he had gotten the water hot. He pulled her into his embrace as the water ran down their intertwined bodies. After a few moments, David pulled Nikki from his chest, turned her around and began make sure her hair was wet and ready for shampoo. He grabbed her shampoo, squirted some into his hand and began working it through her hair, massaging it into her scalp. After her hair was soaped up, he took the time to wash his own hair and beard while Nikki cleaned her face with face wash. Once Nikki rinsed her face, David washed his hair and beard, then turned Nikki again so he could work the shampoo out of her hair. Nikki stood with her arms folded in front of her, enjoying the intimacy she was sharing with David. Nikki put conditioner in her hair while David put her body wash on her loufa. She turned around to face him and kissed his cheek as he began washing her chest.

“I love you, David Kay.”

David paused washing Nikki’s body and looked at her with a smile, “I love you more than anything, baby… and I will never get tired

of hearing you say it.”

Nikki rinsed after David washed her, only to have to wash again once David was finished with her. She loved making him feel so good.

The couple was on the way to grab lunch once they finished in the shower and got dressed. David’s hand was holding Nikki’s on the center console.

“So, one thing that I completely forgot about last night… we didn’t use a condom and we didn’t talk about me pulling out…” David said.

Nikki could sense the hesitation in his voice.

“My birth control is in my arm…” She said, “It stays there. I haven’t had a period in years and I’ve spent 31 years in this body, I know ovulation aches and pains and I also haven’t had those in years. I’m not concerned, but if you are, I don’t mind condoms.”

“No, baby, I was just asking. I don’t want to scare you off, nor am I trying to have the ‘I’m ready for kids when you are.’ Talk, but there are worse things in this world than making a baby with someone you love.”

Nikki grew distant for a moment and Deacon was worried he might have scared her by being too forward. His worry multiplied when he saw tears threatening to spill from her eyes. The couple sat in silence until he noticed her breathing pattern change – attempting to calm herself without falling apart.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t -“

“No, David, it’s not you…” Nikki said. Deacon squeezed her hand. She sniffed.

“There was one part of the story I left out when I told you about the attack from my ex.” She suddenly became petrified of telling her lover the truth. She was terrified that he would lose all trust in her and worst of all – she was scared she would lose him.

“What’s that, love?” His voice was soft… comforting.

“The reason that he attacked me that day was because he found out I was pregnant… despite raping me on multiple occasions, he was insistent that he didn’t want children. I had to agree with him. No child should have been born into that environment. I hid my pregnancy for 23 weeks - that’s why I was trying to leave. Until he found the sonogram pictures in my car. When he cut me that day, he missed my uterus, but my blood loss killed my baby.”

The tears spilled from her eyes as she thought back on feeling her baby move and watching her belly grow. Her baby would always be a part of her. Deacon had no words for his girl. He immediately pulled into the next parking lot, got out, and took Nikki into his arms as she sobbed. He was surprised that she had kept this from him after telling him the first part of her story, but he made conscious efforts to put himself in her shoes. Regardless, he couldn’t be mad at her – not with her falling apart in his arms like this.

“He took so much from me, David.” She cried in between breaths.

“I know, I know, baby.” Deacon tried to console her as he rubbed her hair. He kissed her head.

Nikki thought she had gotten over this…. But again, maybe she hadn’t.

Deacon was slightly bothered that Nikki had left out such a huge part of that story, but after seeing how much it still affected her, he decided to let it go.

“Her name was going to be Dakota…” Nikki said, her voice weak with surrender.

“I know she would have been just as beautiful as you, darling. There’s not a doubt in my mind she’s watching down over you, so very proud of the woman you are.”

Deacon held his love in his arms until she indicated she was ready to resume their day. Once they were in his truck on their way to food again, Nikki began apologizing. She hadn’t meant to unload on David like she had and part of her felt guilty for not disclosing this information beforehand, but now she understood why her mind chose to suppress it.

“Sweetheart, please don’t ever apologize for feeling the way you feel. I’m here to love you through it all.” Deacon kissed the back of her hand.

Nikki knew Deacon had questions and she was more than willing to answer, so she began.

“I guess that’s why I never got into another relationship after Jason - my ex. I knew the heartache I experienced every single day knowing what a horrible dad my baby was going to have and I knew that in order to protect her, it would mean leaving… and leaving killed her.” Nikki felt nauseated at finally voicing these thoughts, feelings, and emotions, but she continued. “I’ve never met anyone that even came close to what a husband and father should be in my opinion. I always refused to put myself or any innocent lives in that danger again. It ate away at me for so long and clearly it still bothers me, but I’ve come a long, long way since then.

“I want to have children one day, with the right person and David, you are my person. I don’t necessarily want children right now, but you give me such a security… you are home to me, David. That’s why last night, I didn’t care what happened in the aftermath of it all. I still don’t. My birth control does a pretty effective job, and one day, when we decide it’s time to have children, I can get it removed, but until then, I’m not die hard on all preventative measures.”

“Nikki, whatever makes you feel at ease is what I am willing to do for you… no matter what that means.” David looked longingly into Nikki’s eyes as he parked in the restaurant parking lot. He leaned across the console, pulling Nikki in for a kiss. Her lips still tasted salty from her earlier tears and it crushed him.

Several days later at work, Hondo walked in on Deacon searching for Jason Matthews.

“Who’s that?” Hondo inquired.

“Nikki’s ex-husband…” Deacon said, lost in concentration as he read the prick’s rap sheet.

“Ex-husband?”

“Yeah, man.”

“You didn’t tell me she came with all of that baggage… does she still talk to him?”

Hondo’s words struck a nerve in Deacon and he found himself slightly irritated at his teammate. He opened the window that held Matthews’ obituary and slid the laptop Hondo’s way. Hondo’s eyebrows furrowed as he read the article that detailed how the man lost his life.

“Holy… fucking… shit…” Hondo looked up at Deacon, “I’m so sorry, man.”

Deacon took the laptop back and scrolled through several mugshots. Most of them were from his marriage to Nikki.

“She was pregnant too…”

This caught Hondo off guard and Deacon could tell by puzzled expression on the man’s face.

“That’s what started it all. He raped her, found out she was pregnant halfway through the pregnancy, didn’t want the kid, so tried to kill the kid himself by gutting her. Nikki shot him in the head, but lost so much blood it killed her baby… Her baby girl.”

Hondo had no words.

“Yeah, I was just as surprised as you are. But you’d never be able to tell it, brother. She’s had to do even more work on herself than I have.”

“She’s a fighter,” Hondo agreed. “So does she want kids later on?”

Deacon nodded. “She’s on birth control now, but that’s all we use.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Deacon appreciated how Hondo always cared about his situation, but ultimately cared the most about him as his SWAT family member.

“Honestly? She could tell me she’s pregnant right now and I would be just as happy as if it were something we were planning. I’m not scared of it, man.”

“You know,” Hondo grinned, “You’re gonna marry that girl one day.”

Deacon chuckled. “You are absolutely right.

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sequinsmile-x · 8 months

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Home - Chapter Six

Revenge - (re·venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Hi friends,

I am so so sorry for the length of time it has been since I updated this fic. Honestly, I love this version of them so much and I promise you this hasn't been through a lack of care for this fic.

This is incredibly emotionally taxing to write and I, for a number of reasons, have not been in the place to write it.

I am feeling better now, and I am back into writing this. I hope you enjoy this, and please do let me know what you think - and that you still want to read this version of them!! <3

-x-

Words: 3.3k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily blows out a shaky breath, the sound loud as it echoes around the bathroom. Bouncing off the walls that Haley had helped pick the tiles for. She’d always had a knack for interior design, something that neither Emily nor Aaron particularly cared about, so she’d helped them decorate their house, leaving Emily to wonder if there was a corner of her home she could look at without thinking of her best friend.

Her best friend who’s funeral she was about to go to.

It had been two weeks since she’d found Haley barely alive in her house, and it felt like no time at all but also like it had been years since she’d spoken to her friend. At first, when she could still see the dried blood in around her nails, stuck in places she’d never had to focus so hard on washing before, she’d been lost in the haze. Stuck in the grief and shock that felt overwhelming. Stealing her ability to breathe, to think.

Then they told Jack, and then Eleanor, and all of a sudden her grief didn’t seem to matter anymore. She’d put it on the back burner, letting it simmer away, slowly coming to a boil she knew would spill over soon, scalding her and anyone who happened to be nearby. It was easier to look after them, to look after her husband, than it was to acknowledge her own grief. It was easier than acknowledging her guilt that, no matter what Aaron said, no matter how much he assured her nothing was her fault, was burning her from the inside out.

The last two weeks had involved more interviews with the police than she cared to count. They’d confirmed that the crime matched Foyet’s MO, and that the only thing missing from Haley’s house was a photo, the frame broken and left on the living room floor. Aaron had confirmed that the missing picture was from Eleanor’s most recent birthday, a moment frozen in time that Haley had proudly displayed. Her arm was around Jack, who had his little sister on his hip, with Emily and Aaron on her other side.

Emily can almost put herself back in that moment if she closes her eyes. The sound of small children running around their backyard, the laughter that followed them everywhere. The smell of the candles that she’d helped her daughter blow out. The peace she’d felt at the time, just out of reach now that it had been snatched away by men who would never see their own role in the mess of their lives.

She jumps slightly at the sound of the timer on her phone coming to an end, and she turns it off before it can alert anyone else in the house. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before she turns to look at the white stick laid out on the counter. She blows out a shaky breath as she picks it up to inspect the result, even though it was clear as day, no room left for interpretation.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, gripping the test tightly for a second. It was the result she’d expected, the one she’d been anticipating for days as she put off taking it. She swallows thickly, pushing down the emotions that threaten to climb up her throat.

“Emily?”

She sniffs and wipes a stray tear from her cheek as her step-son calls out for her, and she gives the test another cursory look before she shoves it in a drawer, hiding it under several skincare products, even though she knows her husband never goes in there. She steps out into the bedroom and feels her heart seize in her chest at the sight of Jack in front of her, dressed up in the black suit he’d bought for his high school prom, missing the red tie he’d bought to match his date’s dress. His body is tense, a tightness to his shoulders he’d had ever since he came home, and his eyes are wide and shining, lost in a way that makes him look like the little boy she’d met all those years ago, not the young man he’d grown up into in front of her very eyes.

“Yes, sweetie?”

He clears his throat and avoids eye contact, already looking like he is on the verge of tears, and he looks at the ground, “Dad said I could borrow one of his ties?” He says, his voice rough, “He’s almost done getting Ellie ready.”

“Of course,” she says, nodding towards the closet, indicating that he follows her. She opens the drawer full of Aaron’s ties and pulls out a black one before she hands it to him.

“Thanks,” He says, smiling tightly as he lays it over his shoulder and pops up his collar. She watches for a second as he struggles with it, his hands not working as he wants them to, almost as if his grief, his shock over losing his mother in such a violent way, had made its way into his bloodstream. Freezing up his extremities from the inside out. He growls in frustration and throws his hands up in the air, “Damn it.”

“I’ve got it, honey,” she says, closing the gap and tying it for him. It makes her think of her and Aaron’s wedding. How Jack had run from the room he’d been getting ready with Aaron into hers, his smile wide as he saw her in her dress. She’d fixed his tie for him then too, the knot of it seeming absurdly large in comparison to him. She lays it flat against him once she’s done, clearing her throat as she makes sure it’s straight, “There you go.”

“Thanks, Emily,” he replies, standing stiffly in front of her, lost and unsure what to do. She pulls him into a hug, sighing when he gratefully returns it, his hands fisting in the back of her dress as he holds her closer like he did when he was small and barely awake from a nightmare. Things were different now, he was taller than her, just barely but enough he’d often joke about it, making a big deal of getting things from the top shelf of the pantry when he was home, and this wasn’t a nightmare.

It was their reality, something they’d never wake up from.

“I don’t want to go,” he says, his voice tight, “It…makes it real.”

She nods, pulling back to look at him, curling the sleeve of her dress over her fist so she can wipe his tears away, another flash of another lifetime, “I know,” she says, “But…the sooner we go, the sooner we can come back home.”

He chuckles humourlessly and nods, “And then what?”

She wishes she had an answer for him, but she doesn’t, and she thinks that hurts more than anything.

___

It had been a long day.

She was exhausted in a way she hadn’t been in a long time, the weight of it heavy on her shoulders. Aaron and Jack were on the back porch. Emily had seen her husband walk outside with two bottles of beer, the pair of them exchanging a soft smile. Jack was only 19, but if ever there was a day for them to let him drink it was on the day of his mother’s funeral.

Emily sighs as she steps into the kitchen, the quiet of the rest of the house bleeding into it. The silence haunts her, hanging over her home that was usually so full of life and sound, chasing her like a ghost she could not escape.

“Mama?”

She turns to look at Eleanor, and the sight of the little girl in her black dress, the funeral outfit she hates that she had to buy her, turns her stomach. Emily clears her throat, failing to dislodge the grief that had been stuck there for days as she approaches her daughter and crouches in front of her.

“Hi sweet girl,” she says, tugging gently at one of Eleanor’s braids as she lays it on her shoulder, “How are you doing?”

Eleanor shrugs, her sadness written all over her face, and it makes Emily ache, “I’m hungry.”

Emily nods and picks her up, wishing she could ignore the way her little girl grasps at her, her fists tight in the material of the neckline of her dress, hanging on as if she was going to disappear too.

“Me too, baby,” she lies. She hadn’t been hungry since she’d found Haley, every single thing she’d eaten something she’d been all but force-fed by Aaron, “Let's see what’s in the freezer.”

As she pulls the freezer open she sees one of the casseroles Haley had left there, a time capsule of another life. A simpler time that felt so much longer ago than the two weeks it was. She swallows thickly and shuts the freezer, tightening her hold on Eleanor. “Why don’t we order something in, huh? What do you think we should get?”

“Chinese!”

She frowns, tilting her head to look at her little girl, “Not pizza? That’s your favourite.”

Eleanor shakes her head and rests her forehead against Emily’s neck, her little hand tangling in with her necklace, “Jack likes Chinese food. It makes him happy.”

Emily closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, her daughter’s kindness, her endless empathy, almost knocking her over. The little girl had struggled to understand everything. It was her first experience of loss and it had taken some time for it to sink in that Haley was truly gone, that she’d never see her again. Eleanor had been sleeping in Emily and Aaron’s bed ever since Haley had died, something her parents took as much comfort in as she did, neither of them willing to even think about putting her back in her own bed yet.

“Yeah,” Emily replies, kissing Eleanor’s temple, “Chinese food is a great idea.”

They eat dinner as a family, but in silence. None of able to bring themselves to make idle chit-chat, the day not feeling right for it. Jack excuses himself for bed after eating, hauling his little sister into a tight hug when Emily makes it clear dinner had been her idea. Aaron takes Eleanor to bed, skipping any pretence of putting her in her room and laying her down in theirs, a kiss against her forehead when she was already asleep promising they’d be there soon.

Emily settles onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions, and she sighs, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

“Long day.”

She looks up and smiles tightly at her husband, nodding as she bites the inside of her cheek, “Yeah, long day.”

He points towards the kitchen over his shoulder, “Can I get you anything? Maybe a glass of wine?”

She opens her mouth to respond, having to swallow down her initial instinct, “No,” she says, shaking her head at him, “No I’m okay,” she says, offering out a hand to him, “Come sit with me.”

He doesn’t need asking twice. Throughout the day they’d barely been able to look after each other, their attention on their children and helping Haley’s sister make sure the wake went smoothly. Every time he’d sought her out, looking for his wife across a crowded room, he’d see the way she was barely holding herself together. Taped and glued together with love for Jack and Eleanor, putting them first like she always did. He wraps his arms tightly around her, hauling her into his lap, her side against his chest.

She feels the immediate sense of home she had always found in his embrace, a sense of safety even Ian had never been able to take from her.

“What can I do to help?” He asks, his hand trailing up and down her arm, holding her closer as she hides her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

“You’re already doing it,” she replies, pulling back to look at him, running her fingers through his hair, “You buried a woman you love today. What can I do to help?”

He dresses a kiss to her forehead and then her temple, “You’re already doing it,” he says, both of them smiling softly as he repeats her words back to her, “Do you want to go up to bed, or shall we sit here for a while?”

“Let's sit here for a while,” she says, snuggling further into him, and he nods, reaching for the tv remote and switching it on, desperately needing the background noise, the silence in the house almost suffocating.

He chuckles when Star Trek pops up on the screen and he presses the guide button, smiling into the top of his wife’s head when he sees there are several episodes on in a row, “Look Em. Your favourite - a marathon.”

She shakes her head at him and lightly slaps at the shoulder she isn’t resting her head on, “Jerk,” she says, her smile fading before she turns her head to kiss his jaw, “I love you.”

He holds her closer, letting the weight of her against his chest comfort him, “I love you too.”

___

Aaron watches as his wife falters on Haley’s porch, her body betraying her will to push past the nausea that the mere thought of going back into the house brought her.

He looks at his son, watching as he opens the front door and walks in, and he stops Emily, his hand on her arm, “Em, you don’t have to go in there, Jack would understand.”

She puts her hand over his, linking their fingers together, “He asked us both to come to help him get some of his things,” she says, smiling tightly at him, “I have to do this for him.”

He looks like he wants to argue with her, but he stops himself, something she’s grateful for as she follows Jack into the house.

It smells clean. Not the kind of clean Haley kept it, the floral scent that would usually hang in the air replaced by a strong scent of bleach. She knows the crime scene cleaners had finished up a few days ago. She hadn’t come back since the night she’d found her, instead, Aaron had come over with Jessica to pick out some clothes to give to the funeral home. She pauses near the living room, unable to bring herself to look into it, and she turns to look at her husband, clearing her throat before she speaks, pushing down the fear she can feel climbing up it.

“We don’t have too long until we need to pick up Ellie from school,” she says, still anxious to be separated from her daughter at all, but aware that the school had a lot of security and would only let her or Aaron pick the little girl up, “I’ll…” she looks at the living room and then back at him, “I’ll go up into the attic, I think some of the things Jack wants are up there.”

Aaron nods, wanting nothing more than to reach out for her, but he knows her well enough to know this wasn’t the place for it. That a hug from him would be her undoing and she couldn’t afford to fall apart here.

Emily makes up the stairs in record time, passing Jack in his bedroom, her chest tight as she listens to him root through drawers and his closet as if this would be the last time he would be here. She pulls down the ladder and goes into the attic, grateful for some alone time, for the chance to pull herself back together. She blows out a steady breath and starts to look for Jack’s things, some of the childhood books and toys he’d asked for them to take to their place instead, so they could store them in their attic. Keep them safe from the violence that now lingered in the air of this house.

She spots one of the boxes with his name emblazoned on the side, but stops short of it when she sees a box with her name on the outside. She frowns as she kneels down in front of it, her hands shaking slightly as she opens the top of it. She gasps, catching the sound with her hand as her breath gets stuck in her chest, painful as it tries to escape. The box was full of Eleanor’s baby clothes and toys. Tiny onesies she’d packed away when she convinced herself Eleanor had been her one baby. Items she’d asked Haley to donate years ago when the thought of having another child was too much to bear, the losses she’d had draining her of any hope she may have once had.

She frowns as she sees a small picture she hadn’t put in there, something Haley clearly had added. It had been taken the day Eleanor was been born. Jack and Haley were the only visitors they had at the hospital. It was just her, Haley and a tiny little Eleanor in Haley’s arms, a quick capture of the most unlikely of friendships. Emily can imagine Haley slipping the picture into this box, a smile on her face as she thought about how she’d present it to Emily when she had another baby, a glint in her eye that said nothing except ‘I told you so.”

It felt like cruel irony that her friend who’d clearly believed she’d have the chance to have another baby, the one who not-so-gently encouraged her to push past the fear, would never know she was pregnant.

She knew before she took the test that it would be positive. Symptoms she’d put down to the chaos their lives had turned into finally too intense to ignore. She presses her hand onto her belly, closing her eyes, tears escaping down her cheeks, as she thinks of the positive pregnancy test in her bathroom at home. It had been three days since she’d taken it but she still hadn’t told Aaron. She’d tried to, more than once, but she’d felt wholly unable to say the words. To say something that should be so full of joy, of happiness, when they were living under this blanket of grief.

“Damn it, Haley,” she says outloud, shaking her head at her friend, “You really are something else,” her smile slips off her face, “You really were.”

She frowns as she hears her husband’s voice travel all the way upstairs, raised and barely controlled. She climbs down the ladder and meets Jack on the landing, his eyebrows furrowed. She squeezes his arm in an attempt to reassure him.

“It’s probably just work,” she says, tilting her head towards his room, “You go finish in there and I’ll go check on your dad.”

Jack nods and heads back into his bedroom, and Emily walks down the stairs, her husband's voice becoming clearer.

“I am not making a deal with you,” he seethes, his jaw tight as he talks to whoever is on the other end of the phone, “Every federal agent in the country has your picture. You can’t run forever.”

Emily hears what sounds like a laugh from the other end of the line and then the dial tone. Aaron pulls the phone from his ear and looks at her, something in his eyes that she can’t read.

“Honey, who was that?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, fear that she already knew the answer making her chest tight.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, uneasiness settling deep in his gut, “It was George Foyet. He wanted to make a deal.”

-x-

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themultifandomgal · 10 months

Text

Will Halstead- 2 Lost Souls Pt2

Trigger warning- blood and pulling glass out of skin.

Weeks later and Will and YN become close, I guess running over someone and then having them live at your apartment does that to people.

Will being a doctor meant that YN would have the best care. Will had been out at work all day and YN decides she would try and make some food for them both since she is feeling the best she has since the accident. YN reaches for the jar of coconut oil and attempt to open it up, but it slips out of her hand and smashes all over the floor

"Shit" YN sighs now regretting not wearing any shoes. She looks at the clock in the kitchen and realises that Will will be home soon after his first shift back at work after YN forced him to go back to work. Trying to jump on to the counter top so she can slide herself to safety she slips and lands on the floor on her broken arm, now covered in cuts from the glass. Tears spill from her eyes from the pain searing through her body.

Will gets home but smells burnt food. Rushing into the kitchen he sees YN on the floor crying and smoke coming out out the oven

"YN? What the hell happened?" He rushes over to her and turning the oven off first before crouching down to look at the woman he's quickly grown feelings for

"Tried making a chicken curry but the coconut oil dropped and I slipped" let's get you up and I'll sort this mess out later once I know your ok" carefully Will picks YN up bridle style and carries her into the bathroom placing her down on the toilet seat. He gathers the medical supplies he needs "this is probably going to hurt"

"I know" YN sighs. Will gently takes her hand in his and starts to pull out small bits of glass from her arm, leaving her with little cuts

"Why did you want to make a curry? You know I would have picked one up on the way home"

"I just wanted to do something nice for you. You've looked after me for 3 weeks now and I just wanted to say thank you"

"YN you don't need to say thank you. It was my fault that your in this state"

"Not just your fault. I wasn't looking where I was going" YN shrugs. Both Will and YNs eyes meet, a moment passes before Will looks back down at her wounds.

The worst one was a large piece of glass on her leg which started to bleed when Will removed it

"It's not to deep but I need to stitch it up. Is that ok?"

"Yeah" Will nods and gets to work.

Once YN was all patched up Will gets her comfortable on the couch with a film on and a blanket over her while he deals with the mess in the kitchen

"I'm sorry" YN calls looking over at Will sweeping the floor

"Stop apologising" he calls back making YN chuckle "how's your arm feeling?"

"A little sore"

"I'll get you some painkillers in a second"

"Thank you" YN looks back to the TV and continues with the film. In no time at all Will is sat next to YN with a bottle of water and some painkillers in his hand

"Here"

"Thank you" YN takes the pills and the bottle of water to wash them down

"YN can I ask you something?"

"Of course"

"I know it's been only 3 weeks but do you have this feeling of... home when we're together?"

"Weirdly yeah. It's like I've known you forever. Like we're 2 lost souls"

"I want to take you on a date, that's if you'd like to" Will nervously says

"Oh Will. I'd love to" YN smiles feeling giddy inside

"I'd say I will pick you up tomorrow at 7, but since we are living together at the moment, be ready for 7?" YN chuckles

"Kinda need you to help me get ready"

"Oh right yeah course"

"What a way to start a romance story" YN laughs thinking how all of this was because of that dreadful night

"I'll never forget that night for sure" Will shivers a little

"I guess everything happens for a reason"

"We were bound to meet at some point. Would have much preferred meeting you at Mollys or when you and Jay come to the hospital to talk to a suspect or victim" this gives YN an idea. She gets up off the couch giggling

"What are you doing?"

"Just go with it" she hops to the front door, opens it and closes it behind her. Will gets up off the couch making his way to the front door confused when he hears the door bell. Opening it up with raise eyebrows YN sticks her hand out for him to shake

"Hi I'm YN YLN and I just moved her. I heard your my partner at PDs brother" laughing will takes YNs hand and shakes it

"Will Halstead. Please come in"

#one chicago #one chicago imagine #will halstead x you #will halstead x yn #will halstead #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #chicago fire #chicago fire imagine

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thesmokingguns · 2 years

Text

Izzy and Joy: 😺💦

Minors DNI 18+

Mentions of female masturbation, sex toys, sex talk, age gap and squirting,

Izzy was standing in line at the coffee shop, his hair stuffed under a trucker style hat as he held his phone a foot away from him and tapped at the screen with his finger, loud enough that the barista looked up at the man who didn’t seem to know how to use his smartphone. The way he was looking had the kid sighing, feeling badly for the older gentleman.

“Sir, your coffee is ready.” he slid it towards him and looked around at the empty cafe, “Is your phone broken?” Izzy looked at the young kid, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no one was in the cafe before showing his phone to the younger man.

Izzy pointed to the latest text from the girl he had met on Tinder. He called her Joy, a nickname for the pretty young thing who he felt like brought absolute happiness to his life. Aside from letting him share her Netflix account and showing him all sorts of apps that were life changing, he liked spending time with his joy. The one hookup that had resulted in what he learned was called a Netflix binge with, Izzy’s favorite new App, an order from Uber eats from his favorite restaurant. She had been a permanent fixture the past few months. They talked daily and he saw her at least five days a week. But the lack of titles and the new world of dating had the older man very, very confused.

“Did she wash her cat?” He was holding his cellphone up for the kid to read the two emojis, a language Izzy wasn’t fluent in. 😺💦

The younger kid blinked, mouth opening and closing before he coughed, uncomfortable 2: Izzy’s phone chimed.

“The picture explains it.” Izzy turned the phone, his eyes widening as he saw the picture the girl had sent.

A dildo was stuck to a mirror, she was on her hands and knees, the fake cock half inside of her, legs spread enough that the glistening tendrils of her own cum stuck on the silicone and her pussy. HIs joy was looking over her shoulder as she snapped a picture and Izzy didn’t know what to do with the information. Another image loaded with a triangle on it and the kid cleared his throat, looking down at the coffee Izzy had ordered.

He picked it up, hitting the picture to make it bigger not realizing it was a video and the volume on his phone was at full volume.

“Oh yeahh daddy….” the hot purrs of her her moans mixed with the wet squelches of her pussy as she fucked herself. Pushing back against the mirror. “Come fuck me daddy. Come fuck all my holes, daddy.”

The coffee Izzy was holding, spilled over him as he tried to shut his phone off as the video continued with moans and pants. Finally it locked, his front wet with hot coffee, he looked at the horrified barista who thought he was just going to help an old man decipher a text from their grandchild.

“I’m not her dad…dy. In the literal sense. I mean the blood sense…i mean-“

“You should go.” Izzy nodded in understanding, stepping out of the coffee shop that he knew he could never go in again and pulling out his phone to call Joy.

She didn’t answer and he felt the tension headache growing between his brows as he moved to sit in the car, trying to calm himself down after the debacle that just occurred.

His eyes shifted, looking around the empty parking lot as he pulled out his phone, feeling guilty as he pressed the triangle play button and watched the way Joy shifted back, fucking her dildo like she had fucked him. He watched her body opening as she made all the sounds izzy loved to hear.

He didn’t seem to realize what he was doing, his hand sliding to the front of his khakis and pressing against his aching cock, stroking himself through his gap pants. He groaned out softly, shifting in the driver's seat and looking up to see if anyone could see him or if they would notice if he unzipped his pants and delayed with the problem she had made come up.

The barista was staring at him through the glass. The younger man shaking his head in disappointment at the creepy old man wanking off to cam girls in the parking lot.

Izzy instantly slammed his phone down, driving away in his car before he landed himself on the registry for indecent exposure and started driving away from what felt like a crime scene.

His phone lit up with a picture of Joy. A selfie she had taken on his lap after she had been swimming in a river Izzy insisted was filled with leeches and wouldn’t go in. She had jumped on him, soaking his clothes because of course she forgot a towel and took his phone he was currently beating leveled 197 of Candy Crush on to snap the bare faced selfie of herself. She had set it as her picture icon on his phone and Izzy acted like he didn’t get hard every time he saw it.

“Hello?” He answered, turning towards where she lived because he didn’t know where else to head.

“Sorry I missed your call. I was trying to teach myself how to squirt. I came so hard I blacked out but I think I need a new toy to stimulate my g-spot. I looked online but think I’m going to head over to the shop downtown.” She was going off and Izzy was left half baffled by what she was saying.

He blinked, trying to comprehend what was going on and what world he was living in.

“Iz? Do you want to come?” He wanted to cum between her thighs but he realized she was not talking about that and agreed to come pick her up in five minutes.

He had forgotten he was covered in coffee until joy was jumping into the car, her pretty nose wrinkling as she looked him up and down.

“If you were stopping for coffee you could have bought me one.” And Izzy remembered the wet cat emoji and it finally clicked that when she had sent him the cat and water she was talking about the pussy cat between her legs.

The short phone conversation they had made him blink and he turned to her, looking at the younger woman who had taught him about wordle and helped him make Spotify playlists and realized he could teach her something as well.

“I can make you squirt. Let’s go to my house.”

Taglist: @ayablackwood @rocknrollsoul76 @greeneyezblackheart @lady-jane3 @rocketgrrrl27 @slutforstradlin @theoutsiders25 @fispapercrafter @bbyamberx @brezeblog @samanthasgone @aggressive-slytherin @clover270 @grayxiu @another-obsessed-with-duff @badfvith @bia003 @queenbae18 @axl-roses-rose @d-ahliaa@beebemarie @guns-n-roses-gal @themoonbelongstome @pinksweetgirl18 @cemmia @bieberhoodforever

#izzy stradlin fan fiction #izzy stradlin headcanon #izzy stradlin and the ju ju hounds #izzy stradlin fanfiction #izzy stradlin imagine #Izzy Stradlin #guns n roses smut #guns n roses fan fic

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forever-valentine14 · 2 years

Text

HEAR ME OUT!

Kyoutani who is just fucking scary all around. His look? Leather jacket, fang-like teeth, motorcycle. His location and where you can find him? Red light district, bar, disheveled apartments. His job? Hitman.

It is worth mentioning that kyo’s favourite way of killing someone is more suited to his personality. Small hand guns don’t do, not even poison. He is more of a brutal killer, opting for a simple yet highly nuanced tool, a personalised scythe. They do say that when serial killers let you see their faces that means they wont have plans of letting you see daylight again. Kyo lived by those principles, feeling every kill with passion and pride.He is dedicated and a 5-star rate hitman. Nothing gets pass him. Whatever problem you throw, he will face with efficiency to solve. Everyone knows that when kyo enters into an operation, failure is not an option.

The problem he has right now though is not a matter of killing or getting someone to talk but rather how to tie pig tails for his baby girl. Scary Scythe hitman! Kyo has the sweetest and prettiest daughter. She is about 7 years old and her mom is supposedly Kyo’s favourite woman at the red light district, though he doesn’t let her know that.

This little girl is so protective of her father in her daycare when all the other kids tell her that her dad is scary, she denies it and tells them he just dresses like that for work.

This baby came into kyo’s life when she was just about 2 years old, left by her mother to kyo’s handlers. Ever since then the amount of kills that kyo does during the day has decreased considering he has to take care of the house and his child. Kyo changed for her so much that he even started cooking for her and learning more children food to cook. He is a good cook, and takes just as much pride wielding a knife when he cuts her up the veggies for her bento as his pride for cutting someone’s head off.

He got her matching leather jackets and teaches her all sorts of things like how to tie her shoe laces, how to make get to the places they frequent such as supermarkets and parks. He even teaches her the importance if using the non-sharp scissors so she wont cut herself. Out of all the blood he has spilled, the small blood from his daughter’s booboo is the one that makes him understand pain.

Kyoutani barely hires baby sitters as he hates when people get up on his business but there have been times where he had to ask his handlers- Ehem Uncle Hajime Ehem and Uncle Tooru to take care of hisgirl. This is only when its a high stakes job during the day. He never told his daughter his work though, opting to lie and just say that he is into helping farmers harvest goods by the country side. Though this was really a ploy to let her understand why he has a bunch of scythes in his closet. To even go along with this, he’d buy fresh produce every 2 weeks. Kyo was not just a Dad, a feared hitman, and a great cook but also a now loved member of the farmer’s community by the close country side.

He first thought it was unnecessary but kyo was happy they were around, they taught him what veggies worked best for kid’s tummies, the importance of just thoroughly washing the veggies, and how to prepare the best long lasting dishes. He even got so good at this that he can now pickle some as side-dishes. He got so involved that there were times he would help, this is the only way he even felt like he was part of society again.

Most people would think of this as why keep the child at all? Well kyo found his daughter to look a lot more like him than her mom. She had soft features except her eyes, they were his alright. He remembered all the years of his life where his parents were mostly absent and though they loved him greatly, they weren’t around very long. He didn’t want to see his own child go through the same, the empty apartment and the deadly quiet nights when he had to tuck himself in. There was no way, he’d be the same.

So here he was, tying her pigtails to send her off to school. He had tied her hair gently and added the pastel coloured clips in her hair. “Buba, Pwerty (Pretty)?” she consults to her father, waddling towards the mirror. “Very pretty, flower~” If anyone from his job saw him like this they wont be able to recognise him with his yellow waist apron and fuzzy monster slippers when he brings his precious gem to her school. “Be good, yeah? Make daddy proud-“ “And beat up any bullies!” She interrupts. “Flower, we talked about this. No fighting, just tell teacher, okay?” All while he tells her off she nods and runs to her school’s doors.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani kentarou #hq kyotani #kyoutani x y/n #haikyuu aoba johsai #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu au

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neteyuum · 1 year

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promises

pairing: neteyam x fem!metkayina reader

warning: mentions of guns/war, mentions of death, vomit if you squint, fix-it (ish?), neteyam lives au

w/c: 1.7k

notes: hey yall new account alert!!! happy to christen this blog with some sweet sweet neteyam fluff. yeah, he lives, cry about it mr cameron i am in your walls. ANYWAY please send any thoughts about avatar my way here! i am very happy to scream about them with you

currently have some more neteyam stuff in the works eheheh hope you enjoy this as i did xx

Your hands haven’t stopped shaking.

Even after being hauled onto an ilu (by who you can’t be sure), stumbling your way onto the shore of Awa’atlu and falling to your knees, scrubbing the tacky blood from your palms. They tremble as you ball them into fists and retch the acrid taste of gunpowder that clings to your insides onto the sand.

The waves wash it away. Within seconds, it’s like you were never there at all.

Someone calls your name. The sound rattles in your head and your eyes squeeze shut, willing the ground to stop spinning. A warm hand falls to your shoulder, firm and grounding.

“Hey,” the voice says. It’s Kiri, who comes to kneel beside your wavering form. Your eyes remain shut as she reaches for your hand, just holds it there. When you squeeze with all your might, she tightens her grip just as much.

She needs this too.

“He’s going to be okay.” She speaks softly, like the words can be carried off by the ocean breeze to Eywa herself.

You nod, but even with your eyes open, fixated on Kiri’s tired eyes, you see him. You see the pained grimace as he presses his hand to his chest, red spilling out between weakened fingers. You can’t shake the image of him gasping for air on the back of Tsireya’s ilu, body bowing over.

“Come back,” Kiri murmurs, noticing your unfocused eyes. You blink rapidly, falling back into your body and that’s when you notice the chaos of the village. The Metkayina people rush to nurse their wounded and the shouts of horror leaves a sour taste in your mouth, because without Kiri, you are sure your broken cries would be among them.

“Is he—” Your voice cracks.

Kiri looks over her shoulder at the Tsahik’s marui. “Norm and Max are with him. So is your mother. He is in good hands. Just…” She gives you a smile, small but genuine nonetheless, “give them time. ”

She sits with you until your breathing evens out and your fingers relax around hers. She beckons you to stand then, turning back to the village, to the healers spread thin. “Our help is needed. Will you join me?”

Anything to keep you busy; to give them time.

—

It’s deep into the night when the last of the wounded have been tended to, when you wrap up your last injured warrior and are dismissed, urged to rest.

The adrenaline has worn off. You’re running on fumes and your body feels like it’s being weighed down by the burlap sacks of sand. Still, your mind gives you no reprieve. With every slash and burn you’ve treated, your mind has reeled with how exactly you could treat a bullet wound.

You need to see him.

You stumble out of the makeshift healer’s tent, breathing hard. The chaos has calmed, now the village is cocooned in a somber blanket. Candles line the walkways. The air is heavy with mourning.

Your feet carry you to the Tsahik’s marui. Each step amplifies the blood rushing in your ears, and your breathing hitches when a figure slips out from the tent flap.

Lo’ak’s eyes meet yours and then you’re barrelling towards him. He catches you, stumbling under the force and his breathless chuckle lights a flicker of hope within your chest.

“Where is—”

Lo’ak answers before you can spit out the words that burn your tongue.

“He’s inside, with my mom and dad. He’s okay,” his voice wavers, from the wide grin or the tears welling in his eyes.

“He’s okay,” you repeat in an exhale and you expect the relief to calm the pounding of your heart but it doesn’t. Now that you know he’s alive, you need to see him alive and breathing with your own eyes. You pull away to do just that, but Lo’ak catches you with a hesitant hand to your forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he says, bowing his head, “it was my fault he got hurt. He could have died and it was my fault. I am so, so sorry.”

Lo’ak looks so horrifically defeated, even with his revelation that has lifted the steel weighing on your shoulders, that you pull him into a hug. Your head shakes fiercely, as if that will dislodge those thoughts from his head for him.

“It was not your fault, Lo’ak,” you whisper, and your heart clenches when you feel his warm tears fall on your shoulder, “the blame lies with the Sky People and them alone. I am grateful for you, Lo’ak, that you were there to help him. I know Neteyam would say the same.”

The boy’s shoulder’s shake in silent sobs and distantly, you think that his hurt needs healing that can’t be brought with your medicines and herbs.

“In fact, we should just let him say it himself.” You joke. Lo’ak’s mouth twitches into a smile, hands darting to wipe his tears hurriedly. He nudges his fist against your shoulder, every bit the Lo’ak you know.

“I think my sister wants to talk to you,” you offer him an exit, peering over his shoulder at Tsireya lingering at the far end of the walkway. She watches fondly, especially when Lo’ak’s cheeks flush a deep purple and his tail swishes nervously behind him.

He leaves with her and then it’s silent. With a deep breath, you lift the flap and slip into the marui. You nearly walk into Jake’s back in your haste, freezing at the threshold.

He and Neytiri turn to face you, eyes brightening as you gesture your respect in a greeting.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” you breathe out, fighting the urge to crane your neck to catch even a glimpse of Neteyam, “I just- I needed to see him.”

Neytiri shares a look with Jake, who has an arm protectively around her shoulders. Their smiles are bracketed by tear tracks and you can feel the pure, unbridled happiness, relief radiating from them.

“Mawey, sweet girl. He is resting.”

They step to the side, and you finally see him. Your Neteyam.

His chest, wrapped in layers of white gauze, rises and falls with each breath. He sleeps, peacefully, as if he wasn’t shot in the chest mere hours ago.

Your hand comes up to your mouth, smothering the cry of relief that escapes against your best efforts to restrain it. You laugh, sheepish eyes darting to his parents who watch with knowing eyes.

“I think it’s time we all get some rest, hm?” Jake says, tilting his chin towards his sleeping son – the empty spot beside him on the mat. He lifts the tent flap for Neytiri. She steps out with one last glance at her boy, and then at you, before she takes Jake’s hands in hers and the tent is plunged into silence.

You stand there, watching him breathe, for an inordinate amount of time. Then your brain kicks in, wraps around the fact that he is here, alive, right in front of you. You get to tease him, hold him, love him for another day.

You’re by his side in the blink of an eye, legs folded to your side. Fingers gingerly trace the stripes down his forehead, smoothing over the brow ridge in reverence. His nose twitches and your hand withdraws.

His eyes flutter open, blinking slowly as he adjusts to the low light of the marui. His gaze falls on you and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. He knows he shouldn’t, by the twitching of your eye.

“I know what you’re going to say, my love– ” he begins but you don’t give him a fighting chance.

“Your skxawng ass is so lucky you’re injured right now,” you seethe, “what, in Eywa’s name, were you thinking, running into gunfire? Do you think you’re invincible, my mighty warrior?”

Neteyam looks at you with heavy, lidded eyes, probably from whatever Sky People medicine Norm had supplied. He’s got a lazy smile on his lips as he raises his hand to wipe away a tear on your cheek that you never even noticed you shed.

“You are so beautiful when you are angry at me,” he sighs, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone. His smile widens when you lean into his touch, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“I am glad the Great Mother forgave your stupidity, so I can remind you of it every day from now,” you mutter, pressing a kiss to his palm. He hums.

“Me too.”

He seems content to keep watching you, fighting the clutches of sleep that pull at the edges of his consciousness. No, he’ll stay awake, if only to stare at you for just a moment longer.

He watches as your fingers tighten around his wrist, the other hand coming to rest on the uninjured side of his chest. You hesitate, breath catching in your throat. He waits, patiently, thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

“I thought…” Your voice is a whisper, hoarse like the words are clawing their way out of your throat, eyes shut. “I thought I lost you.”

His face falls, though you can’t see it. He imagines what you felt, what he would feel if you were in his place. A heaviness falls over him, and it seeps into his bones, cold and gray. If he ever lost you, he would tear his way to Eywa and bring you back himself, this he knows.

“Open your eyes, my love,” he urges, his voice deep and warm, freeing you from the grasps of a world without him in it. “Come here.”

Neteyam’s arms open for you, and slowly, too carefully, you settle against his good side. He whines when you maintain your distance, mindful of his wound.

“I will not break, yawne, come closer.”

He tugs you into him, looping his arm around your waist and tucking your head under his chin. He’s glad you can’t see his pained wince.

He breathes deeply and you know he’s letting you remind yourself of his sturdy presence beneath you.

“I will never leave you,” he says, the words rumbling under your ear. You lean back to meet his eyes. “I swear it.”

Your eyes search his own, only finding love boiling golden. He leans in close, hand cradling your jaw. Warmth runs through your veins as he speaks his promise into your lips.

You know it’s a big promise to keep, one he came close to breaking, but it’s what you need in this moment. For now, it is enough.

#first fic in like a year in a half #the rust is rusting #please be nice i will cry #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x you #avatar twow

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alysblog15 · 11 months

Text

Ok so hi guys, I wanted to start posting some writing on here because why not? I found this old start to a book I was working on so I just wanted some feedback on it I suppose (it’s really cheesy bare with me- it’s promit correct grammar too tbh).

Warning ⚠️: Blood, crime, country depression? Basically just basic detective type esc

The Window

The cold air whisked through the broken windows as she stared down at the man, the pool of blood spilling out from underneath him. She had been so close to grabbing him; but he took matters into his own hands and ended his life before she could end his so called “career”. As she stared down, feeling an almost sense of sympathy she heard a voice behind her “ Bernadette do not pay any respect to him, he was a terrible man who did even more terrible things.” She recognized the voice of her childhood best friend, Jaques, who she ended up working with, solving crimes around France. She looked up at him with a look of regret washed upon her face, what she felt it for she didn’t really know, but it was prominent. Jasques took in the look on her face and his gaze slightly softened, as he opened his arms welcoming an embrace. “ I know this unfortunately did not turn out how we anticipated but you can not blame yourself.” Bernadette looked up at him and nodded her head slightly, as if to agree yet not fully understand. They walked out hurriedly, in an attempt to leave before the officers arrived on the scene. Though they knew that there was a slim chance anything would even happen to them due to the lasting effects of the war- there was an increase in illegal activity yes, but the economy was in a shocking state prevailing the ability to continue to chase and hold. The country was completely devastated. But the two were unknown heroes in a sense, working an underground private investigating business. Hurrying through the streets as a cold hard rain pounded against the sidewalk. Entering their flat they took off their coats, hanging them next to the ticking stopwatch hanging on the wall. Bernadette slowly walks over to the window, staring out at the view of the Eiffel Tower through the soft falling snow, changing rapidly from the pouring rain just an hour before. She sighed, thinking about how peaceful it looked, an evil deception to what the world outside was actually like. She turned around and picked up her violin, releasing the strong emotions into the bow, letting a sad beautiful cry escape from the instrument. Jaques stared and quietly watched from the kitchen doorway, he loved her music; it was one of the only times she let herself be vulnerable and he aspired to keep it that way. In a sense that he could never be emotionally vulnerable himself but was always ready for anyone else. Eventually the cry stopped, as the sun set behind the clouds leading into the darkness of night. Bernadette crawled into bed that night, staring up at the ceiling and letting her mind wander the mountains of thoughts. Eventually drifting into a restless sleep leading deep into the depths of the night. She awoke quite early the next morning, grabbing her coat and practically running out the door. She walked along the snowy sidewalks as she stared at the people opening their shops for the day. Coming up on her usual spot something triggered in her brain telling her to turn back, but the curious urge was even stronger as she saw something sticking out of the snow. As she knelt down to pick it up she saw it was a singular cream glove. Stained with the maroon metallic scents of blood. She shoved it in her pocket and quickly turned on her heels, walking swiftly away feeling as if someone was staring her down. Hurrying to lock the door to her apartment; her heart pounding against her chest. Jaques steps out of his room, taking in the apparent fear on her face as she hurriedly walks over and closes the blinds. “Where were you, what happened?” he asks, the concern lacing his voice. Bernadette turns- piercing her eyes through him, staring off into nothing. “ I believe I found another case”. She pulls the glove out of her pocket and hands it to him. “ Where ever did you find this?” The surprise in his tone is relevant. “ I went for a walk and was going to my usual spot to sit and let my mind wander but I found this and got a bad feeling so I came back and-”

“ It’s alright, take a breath and slow down. We will figure out what’s happening. Now did you see anything else at the scene?” his voice cuts her off. “ No, I did not see anything else but when I was walking back this terrible feeling of dread washed over me as if I was being watched.”. Almost if it was on cue, a loud banging comes from the door followed by the doorknob rattling. The two look at each other in shock and run to the closet tucked in the corner of Bernadettes room and lock it; it was agreed months prior when they moved in that it was the safest place in the house. The crashing of the door being slammed open rings through the house. Deep voices could be heard from the living room, though not fully being able to make out what they were saying it clearly wasn’t good. One seemed to be more controlling and the leader, while the other was submissive and following the directions of the other. *Bang*, another loud crash echos. The voices grow loud and angry full of panic, soon fading away as they leave. Bernadette and Jaques exit the closet, going into the living room. Shock filled their faces as they took in the sight. The place was ransacked as if the men were looking for something extremely important. Bernadette’s breath catches in her throat as she looks over to the corner, where a small child’s glove lay. The same cream color as the one she found earlier, just smaller. As she takes a closer look she can see that the small glove is also coated in the shiny metallic coating of blood. Questions fill her mind as she finally takes in what has just happened. Why did they leave this here? Who are they? What do they want? Who’s blood is it? Were there multiple victims? As these race through her mind Jaques turns and sees what had broke, an old antique vase that they had for years. Along with that lay a note with an address on it, nothing else. “Well I think I have an idea of where we should start” he states, turning to face Bernadette, the horror still present on her face as she turns to face him holding the small bloody glove in her hand. “I believe anywhere to help would be a good idea just now” she says, serious and panicked.

- So there’s that, I know the separation is really awkward but it’s my first time ever doing this so I’m trying to figure it out 😭

#teen writer #idk what else to tag #idk what this is

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kisstheashes · 1 year

Text

Kiss Me Goodbye

TW: drugs, suicidal ideation, partner abuse

She tasted as if strawberry candy burst and left your mouth alight with tingling, fizzling aftermath, your lips cracked and pained from the juice. His fingers tangled into her freshly washed thick hair, disappearing into the locks. The pair gasped between kisses, their tongues tracing each other and drool starting to fall down their chins. They refused to part, until their soft gasps didn't allow them enough extra air to survive. Heavy panting splattered the air as they parted, her excited grin being met with his own; shier and half hidden behind his own hair.

Their eyes turned to the fire in front of them- made with termite-broken wood and scraps of fabric. Embers danced high into the sky, alerting anyone who cared to look where the couple might be. After a few minutes the boy stood up, grabbing his bag and pulling out an old, beat up aluminum tray, starting to cut a line of cocaine on the solid surface.

The girl frowned. "Crisis, is that necessary...?" She watched his starved body move, pacing and prowling like a feral dog. Even the way he rifled through his own bag reminded her of a dog, pawing through a pile of trash. She didn't remember him acting like that before.

Crisis paused for only a second to glance at her from under his hair. He continued preparing the cocaine, voice flat. "If you want to be my girlfriend, don't worry about me. I've already told you that." He picked up his straw and did the line before she could protest. Crisis stood taller and squared his shoulders, glaring at her. "Well?"

She opened her mouth to speak, and only sputtered for a few long moments before finding some footing. "You don't need to be high every second of the day to not go through withdrawal, Crisis," she spoke softly. Her frown only deepened as he stood unmoving, staring at her. She hesitated and bit her lip before letting her words spill out. "I don't like seeing you hurt..."

He paused.

Crisis grabbed the tray and slammed it on the piece of concrete they'd been sitting on. The clang ricocheted off the nearby buildings. She jumped and scampered to find more cover. Crisis grabbed her arm in a death grip before she could, an animalistic growl leaving him. "If you don't want to see me hurt so bad, fucking kill me!" He yanked her close enough she could feel his breath on her face. She cowered, tugging uselessly on his arm. She whimpered, tensing to protect herself. Crisis growled again. "If you care that much, you'd kill me. But no one fucking cares enough to kill me. The only way I'm staying sober is if I'm dead." He shoved her away, not looking at her.

She yelped as she tried to catch herself and fell over the concrete barrier, landing on her ass with a grunt. "You asshole!" she yelled. Her body shook with fight-ready adrenaline, trying to find the threat. She reminded herself she didn't need her knife. She stood and dusted her hands off on her torn jeans, scowling. "You can't tell me you love me then tell me to kill you! That's fucking bullshit Crisis! You don't ask people you love to kill you!"

His sharp eyes never left her, glaring the whole time. "I don't know where you come from baby, but where I come from, you might have to kill your blood so you can live. You should be fucking happy about it! I'd even let you kiss me goodbye." Crisis scowled and stormed off, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Don't fucking follow me. Find Axis."

She stood next to the fire, body frozen. She could not will her feet to chase after him, to catch up, say she's sorry. She opened her mouth, unable to speak for a few moments, before ripping the words out of her throat. "Will you kiss me goodbye now?" The question came out softer than expected, she didn't know if he would even hear it.

Crisis paused, her question barely whispering on the wind. He turned, staring her down, eyes alight with chaos. He strode towards her and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her into a passionate, hard kiss, his teeth breaking the skin on her lips. He gripped her hair and forced her on him, his surprise assault continuing until he couldn't breathe.

She gasped as he grabbed her, not having enough time to take a breath before his lips were on hers. The familiar feeling sent waves through her, relaxing her tense muscles and leaning into his lips. Once relaxed she returned the assault with just as much fervor, tugging on his lips whenever she could. She clung to his shoulders, refusing to let go.

They both gasped for air as they parted, and his grin split his face wide, showing off his oddly sharp canines. "Put out the fire and I'll carry you for a bit."

She giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush and started stepping out the fire like she was playing in a puddle.

Crisis's grin didn't break as he leaned against a broken building and watched her. "That's my girl."

#writeblr #dark fiction #writing inspiration #fiction #dead dove do not eat #crisis #ashes writing corner #my ocs #a crime you cant do read more on mobile

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peterpanfromlemonland · 1 year

Text

The Night I Heard You Cry (pt. 6 Caramel Coffee)

CW/TW: TF-141 dad appears, mentions of SH, SA, very emotional turbulent Simon

youtube

The next morning when Mai awoke, she sighed in relief, hoping everything was a dream. It was not, she almost screamed in terror, but knowing she was safe and sound she felt her fear dissipate. She opened the door only to find Soap sitting against the wall fast asleep, rifle in hand, was he there for the whole night? The girl sighed and went back into her room to grab a blanket before wrapping the man up in it, nice and snug and warm, she smiled before walking off to search for the bathroom or somewhere to wash up. She was still grimy and caked in dried blood and dirt, her body littered with old faded scars and still fresh new ones; it was cold at the base and she couldn’t wait to just take a long hot bath to forget how those scars came to be.

“Ms. Phan?” a voice called, the girl almost shrieked until she saw who it was, “Are you lost?” Laswell flashed the girl a soft smile.

“I- um-” Mai stuttered, it was still hard for her to speak to people, to be fair she hadn’t spoken to anyone in 2 years- anyone friendly that is. “Bath…” was all she could mutter, she forgot her notepad in her room, her gaze directed towards the floor in fear. The older woman couldn’t help but smile before taking her hand and leading Mai to the bathroom to clean up. Laswell introduced herself, Mai just nodded along- she was listening, she just was too scared to speak.

“This is the womens’ bathrooms,” Laswell stopped at a door with a small white label, “Go get yourself cleaned up, kiddo.” She smiled. Mai nodded a ‘thank you’ before shuffling into the room. It was empty, Mai had never been in a military base before- sure her father was in the military and she did visit him at work once in a while as a kid, but she never explored the base fully. She was disappointed to find that there were no means of privacy in the showers, even worse, a bathtub, she sighed and trudged on.

Undressing herself, she shivered as the cold stale air assaulted her body, hoping the water was warm enough to wash her painful memories away from her skin. She stepped in front of a mirror to scan her bruised and broken body one last time; slashes across her stomach, bruises on her breasts which were colored purple and yellow- she didn’t want to remember what happened, yet the memory still found its way to her head- a trail of bruises, cuts and scars were littered up and down her body, leading down to her pelvis- no- her heart beat sped up- not again- Leave me alone. Her thoughts screamed. Go away. She started trembling. You’re not welcome here. She cried silently as she made her way to the shower, turning the water all the way to ‘H’ for boiling hot.

Flesh searing in pain, red. Mai bit her lip to keep herself from screaming in pain, the semi-fresh wounds oozing and dripping a mixture of blood and water- just like the catholics believed that Jesus, the messiah, spilled blood and water the day he was crucified- her body couldn’t take it, she wanted out, but no, this was punishment. Punishment for the pain she caused her mother, her father, the pain and anger she caused for the people who swooped in and rescued her. How could she be so pathetic? Whimpers and sniffles filled the empty bathroom, echoing off the walls like ricocheting bullets lost in the fight.

Simon was making his way to Mai’s room, he wanted to apologize to her for the night before, he still didn’t know why he behaved that way- at least that’s what he kept telling himself- emotions were not his strong suit, but he wanted to at least make her feel safe even though he was shitty with how he worded it. He could feel his thoughts speed up, his brain buzz with anxiety, his heart beating a thousand miles per second. He scolded himself internally for feeling nervous, ghosts don’t get nervous so neither should Simon. He felt a small grin make its way across his face from under the mask only to have it quickly change to a grimace once he saw his sergeant asleep and outside her door.

Simon stopped in his tracks as that butterfly feeling in his stomach turned to pure annoyance. He kicked Johnny awake angrily, “Sleeping on the job?” Johnny yelped as his head hit the cold tile floor, “What are you? A fucking peeping Tom?”

“LT,” the now very flustered and very awake Scotsman jumped to his feet, “It’s not what it looks like! I-”

“Sure,” Simon rolled his eyes, “you barmy git.”

“I just wanted to make sure she was safe at night-”

“Where’d you get the blanket?” Ghost gestured to the pink fluffy blanket now on the floor, Soap looked to where his masked friend was pointing only to widen his eyes in fear. She couldn’t have left. He thought to himself as panic set in. He knocked on the door, calling out to her to see if she was awake, no answer. He knocked again, dreading the worst, when there was no answer he opened the door just to feel his heart plummet from his chest and onto the ground.

“No,” he whimpered, “No, no, no. How could I not have heard her leave?” He checked the windows to see if she might’ve climbed out, he couldn’t tell if it was relief or worry when he noticed that the windows had not been touched at all.

“You let her escape?” Simon growled, “You fucking nob.” He smacked the back of Soap’s head before storming out, uttering something about sounding the alarms and starting a search. Soap was a bit confused as to why he started giving a damn about the girl now but shoved those thoughts to the back of his head, right now she was their priority. Johnny followed after the taller man, the two of them emitted an aura of sheer worry and panic. Neither of them wanted to admit it, to themselves or to each other, that they would hunt down every last remaining piece of The Chess Board until they found her.

“So how do you like your coffee?” A familiar voice came from the dining area of the base, both mens’ ears perked up at the sound of the male voice, “Sugar or no sugar?” Captain…

“Um,” Mai muttered ever so softly that her voice came out almost as a wail, “condensed milk… coffee.” In that moment Simon and Johnny could feel their hearts flutter in sync as they heard her voice ring through the halls. She was alright, she was safe. A sigh of relief came from both of them as they practically ran towards the direction of the voices. The storm in their heads came to a calm as their eyes fell upon her; clean, glowing, smiling.

“Condensed milk?” Price cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, “I don’t know if we have any condensed milk but we do have caramel coffee creamer- I don’t know, you Americans drink your coffee very differently than us Brits do.”

“Mai!” Soap exclaimed as if he had found his puppy that’s been lost for a month, “There you are!” The girl nearly jumped out of her seat by the sudden loudness in Soap’s voice. She glanced behind her to see the two men just as their faces were washed with relief upon finding her.

“Oh,” Captain Price greeted the two, “You know these two, dear?” He motioned towards the two men as he brought the girl the coffee creamer. Mai responded with a single nod as she wrote a ‘thank you’ on her napkin. Soap and Ghost had sat themselves on either side of Mai; Soap was just happy to see that she was alright. Ghost was fuming with rage and worry beneath his mask, she could’ve at least told us where she’d be instead of just walking off, he thought to himself but his anger quickly dissipated when he saw that smile. Mai wiggled happily in her seat as she poured nearly half of the bottle of coffee creamer into her coffee. The three men’s eyes widened in shock and concern as she took a long sip from the mug, it wasn’t coffee at this point- it was just pure coffee creamer.

Mai removed the mug from her lips with an audible gulp, a relieved smile painted on her coffee mustached lips followed by a hiccup. She turned red and covered her face with the napkin before muttering out an apology, Simon felt his heart flutter as if it were trying to fly out of his chest and into her lap- a small chuckle escaping from behind the mask, causing Mai to blush more.

“I was just having a very riveting conversation with this young woman here.” Price gestured to Mai, “She don’t speak much, but she’s a good listener.” he chuckled and patted her back, causing her to flinch and scoot closer to Simon.

“I’m afraid she’s not used to you yet sir.” Johnny interjected, “You see we-”

“I understand the situation, boys.” Price nodded, “I just didn’t think she’d be this jumpy.” Simon glared at Price as he made this comment, is the captain making fun of her? It was then that Simon noticed how close she was to him, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. She was practically curled up and hugging her knees to her chest on her seat, head leaning against his bicep, she smelled of strawberries. Her hair looked so soft, he just wanted to run his fingers through it and… pull it.

#Youtube #reboot simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #soap x oc x ghost #soap x ghost #angst

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merotm · 1 year

Text

@deretm asked: “how could you do this to me?” | you just know which one this is.

Against her predictions, the inside of her chest doesn’t cage a wildly beating heart. He’s distorted behind the cell bars, the metal concealing parts of him and the dim light speckling his figure in shadow. She thinks that this is how he has truly become to her - unrecognizable and veiled in a darkness that puts her on edge. Perhaps the woman she had been a week ago would have flinched away from the accusatory question, solemnly lowering her head and hushing her voice. But the woman that stands before him, equally as unrecognizable and changed beyond his comprehension, has grown a spine and straightened herself out after running herself around and around in her mind.

“ You don’t have to believe me, but I did it for you, ” Yuika responds, taking a deep breath. The air in jail is both damp and suffocating; she feels she might drown if she stays down here too long with him.

What she speaks is not a lie, though. Even in the low glow of her anger and anguish, Yuika will never abandon him all the way, holding onto him by the final thread on his jacket if he extends nothing else to her. She’s a crossed a boundary somewhere, no matter how honorable her intentions were in trampling on it. They have been so close so many times, and she, in a willfully ignorant dizziness, had thought it was just a matter of being able to see each other more clearly. Finally, it dawns on her that they have been gazing at one another perfectly - without any distortions or tricks. They are as they have been for a long while now, but Yuika has decided to stop overlaying him with a rose-tinted filter.

It steals all the warmth in her blood in an instant, but she still feels the same rage she has felt for the past 5 years. She is a soldier; she fights; she rages.

“ What you’re doing is dangerous. I told you that. Why don’t you listen to me ? ”

It’s becoming about more than whispering in Hange’s ear about the happenings of her ... comrade and his conspirators. ( Are they even able to return to being what they used to ? Or has that already been pulverized and chewed up much like other precious things that had once been in her life ? )

“ You don’t even bother to listen to me or understand me at all. Not now. Not before. ”

There’s an ache in her arms. The presence of her nails digging into her palms registers sluggishly, utterly contrasting the way her voice keeps spilling out like the crushing waves of the sea surrounding this island. For the first time, Yuika wishes to lay waste like the tides have stranded countless wanderers and invaders to this home of theirs.

“ Stop thinking we are the same on everything. We’re not ! ”

The manner in which her breath leaves her mouth resembles a panting animals, desperately fighting off the bubbling heat inside of them. Each gasp used to be a reminder that they were alive, but the dampness of this place sinks into her lungs more and more. She might truly pull the two of them under, continuing on like this - undeterred in her speech and unrestrained in her emotions.

“ I could never cheer and rejoice after what happened in Liberio. We killed so many people who were not fighters, who were able to do nothing but run screaming in fear. All of their lives stopped because our hands were forced by someone. And you want to defend him !? ”

It’s absurd. Everything about him has become maddening to her in this moment. His beliefs wash on her like acid. She jerks away from them, reddened and burned. His coldness towards her damages her soul unseen, and, still, she had thrown herself completely into trying to understand him. She wishes that holding his hands in hers and smiling had been enough. Yuika had felt herself almost delegate her place to one of a sinner, on her knees and fervently seeking guidance from something above her.

The world had gotten too large for all of them. But it hadn’t become too vast for her heart to reach.

“ I don’t care if they hated me or would come to hate me in the future ! I felt sick to my stomach, and I wanted to throw up throughout the entire thing ! It’s not pleasurable to kill people like that ! It’s disgusting and it’s wrong ! ”

Stop. Stop. Her voice echoes hostile against the stone walls.

“ I don’t care if we want the same thing at the end of the day. I won’t let you do something that might repeat that again. I ... will not ... sacrifice so many people to make sure I stay alive again. ”

Everything stills for second. It’s the same kind of silence a crowd of mourners gives when the coffin is being lowered into the ground. She opens her mouth for a final time, steeling herself to nail the coffin shut once and for all. Something in her softens and her exterior loses all of its fight. An open hand comes up to place it over where she can feel her heart beat in her chest. It’s the only balance that she can afford herself before him.

“ You know what, Floch ? I-I’m really scared right now. Of what is going to happen. Of what you’re going to do. So, please just stop whatever it is that you’re doing because I don’t -- ” She swallows. “ I don’t want to have to see you on the other side of a gun barrel. Because I really will hesitate ... and I know it would be the death of me. ”

With that, Yuika musters up the last shreds of courage and turns on her heel to leave him. It’s not enough to reach him, but at least if she were to drop dead soon, the thought of having at least tried would lull her comfortably into the darkness of the other side.

#deretm #「 ♕ 」 —— ❝ these shining hearts can recognize each other anywhere ❞ » asks.#MMMMMM PERISH KOJIN.

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ase-trollplays · 2 years

Text

Safe Haven

Cacoph sat in his living room tuning up his ukulele after replacing one of its strings. He got a little carried away while playing in the park and snapped one of them, and there were no replacements in either of his moduses. Once the string was fixed, he sat it down next to him on the couch and picked up the plushie of his lusus Damath commissioned for him.

“I oughta get you some little fake hearing aids to wear so you can really match Dad,” he said with a smile and nuzzled his face against it. The fabric felt so soft against his cheek he never wanted to put it down.

Then came a frantic knocking at his door. With a sigh, replaced the doll on top of the miniature bongos on the coffee table, he pulled a roll of duct tape from one of his sleeves, and tore off a piece to cover his mouth. As he headed toward the door, the knocking turned into heavy pounding, and his otherwise mellow mood turned to annoyance.

He swung the door open and was immediately thrown aside as someone forced their way past him. Cacoph’s vuvuzela was in his hands in an instant as he prepared to defend himself from the intruder, but he dropped it with a loud thud when he saw that said intruder was none other than a panicked Florah absolutely coated in various shades of blood.

“I-I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I just-- I-I--! Oh god, everything’s wrong! Everything’s fucking wrong and I don’t-- I don’t know what to do! I--” Florah stuttered and stammered as she frantically paced around the room. Cacoph immediately closed and locked the door and rushed over to Florah. He noted that her hands were manacled behind her back and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“What happened? Where have you been?! Karima told me you went missing three perigees ago, and I’ve been looking for you!” Cacoph signed. Florah, now that she was no longer being held by him, resumed pacing.

“I don’t-- I can’t-- It’s complicated! It’s really complicated, and I--- I killed-- I don’t know what happened, but when I came to, I-- Dammit, I need to get these things off!” she sputtered and started pacing faster with each cutoff sentence. This time when Cacoph approached her, he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to be still. She looked down at him with frightened eyes as he held her for several moments before letting go.

“You’re okay here. You’re safe. You don’t need to panic. Breathe,” Cacoph told her and took a deep inhale and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. Florah followed his lead and took deep, shaky breaths until she calmed herself enough to stop trembling.

With his friend calm, he took notice of the large scars on her chest and shoulder where her brands used to be. Whatever happened to her, either she or someone else cut her brands off. The thought made him cringe. He had so many questions, but the last thing she needed right now was an interrogation.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. You can take a shower upstairs. I’ll wash your clothes for you. You can borrow my robe for when you come out,” he said. Florah looked down at him with tears in her eyes. “But first, let’s get your hands free. I have a lock pick somewhere around here.”

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

“I only remember some of what happened,” Florah began. She and Cacoph sat on the living room couch, Florah wearing a fluffy yellow robe as her dress was still in the wash. She held a mug of hot coffee in her hands and gripped it tightly as she forced herself to take deep breaths to keep calm. Her wrists were deeply bruised and swollen from the manacles, but she was grateful to have use of her arms and hands again.

“My ex that destroyed my life kidnapped me. She chained me up like an animal and starved me,” she continued. Her voice cracked and shook, and cold tears of diluted jade welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill over. She didn’t dare look at Cacoph and kept her eyes glued to her mug.

“At some point, I just... blacked out. I don’t know how long I was like that, but when I... when I came to, I-I’d...”

Tears fell into her coffee and slid down her face as she began to sob, and Cacoph leaned over and rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. He could feel his own eyes welling up.

“I killed someone. I tore open their throat and drank them dry,” she confessed between sobs. Cacoph leaned against her and pulled her into a side hug as she cried. “I don’t even know how I got away from her. For all I know, she’s out there looking for me to bring me back.”

“Have you told anyone else?” Cacoph asked. She set down the coffee to wipe her eyes.

“N-no. I tried going to Tuuya, but they’re not at their hive. I waited, but they never came back, so I came here,” she explained.

“You have to tell Karima you’re safe. She’s your moirail,” Cacoph reasoned, though it only served to once again cause her to start to panic. Her breathing became rapid and she curled in on herself.

“N-no, nononono, I can’t. I can’t--! I don’t want her to see me like this! She’ll go after allmah and she--! S-she’ll--” Florah stammered before the snapping of fingers got her attention. Cacoph, once he had Florah’s attention, held his hands up in front of him defensively before starting to sign again.

“It’s okay! I’m not saying you have to go see her right this second. Just send her a message letting her know you’re okay or something. She’s been worried sick about you,” he said. “You can borrow my phone since you probably don’t have yours anymore.”

Florah nodded silently and brought her knees down from her chest shakily before taking a sip of coffee. They sat in silence for half an hour until the loud buzzing of the washing machine in the other room sounded. Cacoph left to switch her dress to the dryer, briefly leaving Florah alone with only her thoughts.

Cacoph’s hive was the only safe place she could go. He was her only friend who wasn’t on Allmah’s radar; she didn’t know who he is or where to find him. When Cacoph came back, he handed Florah his phone to text Karima.

-- tapeFace [TF] began trolling floraMistress [FM] --

--floraMistress is an idle chum--

TF: Hi Karima

TF: It’s Florah. I’m using Cacoph’s phone.

TF: I’m safe. I won’t be back for a while, but I’m safe now.

TF: You don’t have to worry.

TF: <> <> <> <> <>

-- tapeFace [TF] gave up trolling floraMistress [FM] --

Florah gave him his phone back, though Cacoph could tell there was something he wasn’t saying. He gave her a small nudge and raised an eyebrow at her, and she took the hint.

“Can I stay here for a while? I’ll do things around the hive for you, and you don’t need to get blood for me or anything like that. I... I know a person who can supply me,” she proposed. “If you don’t want me to, then I totally get it. I can be a handful and hard to live with, but I just... I can’t go to Karima. Not yet. I just can’t.”

She her voice hitched as she began to cry again, and Cacoph placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked over at him, and he drew a smile over his taped mouth with both index fingers. She forced a smile onto her face and allowed herself to relax into the couch.

After three perigees, she finally felt safe.

#things to read #Florah Cronoa #Cacoph Octahv #You can't run #And with that the plot has come to an end

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caroleyre · 2 years

Text

self para // mom, i'm tired, can I sleep in your house tonight?

A JOURNEY OF HOME, SPIRITUALITY AND STILLNESS

Mom, I'm tired Can I sleep in your house tonight? Mom, is it alright If I stay for a year or two?

Mom, I’ll be quiet It would be just to sleep at night And I’ll leave once I figure out How to pay for my own life too

Mom, would you wash my back? This once and then we can forget And I’ll leave what I’m chasing For the other girls to pursue

Mom, am I still young? Can I dream for a few months more?

Mom is sat kneeling next to the washbasin, hands deep and soothing into Carol’s hair. It got long again, she notices in silence and smiles to herself. Carol stays lowered under the water jet, chin glued to his chest. He feels like a clogged up sink, like a midday migraine.

“I can wash my hair myself, you know?” he points out, but there is no real bite behind his words. He doesn’t mind human touch. He’d been so neglected that he craved it, even, in the simple forms. His mother tucking a wet curl behind his ear with gentle caution. The hug from his father upon seeing him for the first time since winning. His childhood friends, shaking his hand like he was something else now.

Mom looks at him like at a fragile thing. This is not the same boy who spilled blood and poison everywhere, just a little over a year ago. In front of her is a boy who came home, who had to have had a change of heart about his sins, even if he’d never admit to it. In front of her is a clever boy who is doing his best. She wants to kiss the soap off his forehead, but she doesn’t. She knows her son’s limits, what he can and cannot live with.

The cold water snakes all the way to his eardrums. For a split second, Carol can swear it sounds like that demonic music from the arena. He presses his hand against his ear, to remove it, and it’s all just an illusion clouding the clear sound of water pouring, fresh and harsh. Here, you can hear the birds singing. Here, things have a sweet nuance of lime, grass and juice and roofs. Carol has never liked it home, but he also never felt this calmness anywhere else. Like nothing bad could happen to him. Like nothing really counted, and the days just passed, one after the other, like giggling girls holding hands. He could have gotten old without notice in this village.

Once the shampoo all drips, mother twists the wheel handle and the water jet stops like a knot in the throat. Drops are sliding down the faucet, lazily. Carol looks up at mom. Water rains over his white shirt. Mom takes a towel and wraps it swaddle-like, trapping Carol’s locks in. He lets it. She then rubs her hands against the tower, and when she removes it, Carol looks more mess than human. With a brush, she patiently starts unknotting, knees now glued to Carol’s back, straightening it with gentle, motherly firmness. Silky hair is now hanging above his shoulders, almost pitch black when wet. She stands up. “I’ll let you shower.”

They have a shower outside, no roof, just the sun leaving its kisses into bare skin. Carol loves that shower, made of wood painted white, even though he was ashamed of that shower when Rio visited, long, long ago. He steps inside. Mother is long gone. He takes off his shirt, takes off his shorts, he takes everything off, and he turns on the water. Cold like a beating. He doesn’t tremble under the jet. He waits there, for lukewarm water. Then, he starts rubbing with a sponge, as if he’s cleaning himself of his own skin.

***

Dad finishes mass. In spring, they pray outside, by a lake. A lake is quieter than the sea, thinks the pastor. He is wearing light blue robes, no ornament. He picks his words carefully. Everybody deems him as wise, and, as a community, everybody loves the Eyres. He slides his bony fingers over the holy book spine, wooden and yellowed by daily reads. A woman with a scarf coiled from an ear to the other asks for advice. They hold hands. The woman laughs gently, and the sunlight falls unassuming on her bright face and round cheeks.

Everybody is pretending not to have been looking at Carol all along. Most of them cannot remember the last time the pastor’s son attended liturgy. They’re not bad people. In fact, they don’t even hold resentment for him in their hearts. Everybody is in their Sunday best, with their patent leather shoes -- those who can afford it. A teenage girl is carrying a big toddler in her arms. They scatter, one by one, after the farewell prayer.

Carol looks only at her, when he is not watching his father. Carol is wearing black. He blends in. He waits in the back. He doesn’t disturb the mass and doesn’t wish to capture his father’s attention. Instead, he listens and thinks on his own. Something about crosses to bear, about eternal hope, about faith in the lord. There is truth to it, as dumb as it all was. He is surprised to find new senses to his father’s ancient words, the ones he long ago deemed as thick and silly.

Dad is facing the lake. He listens to the birds’ trill. Almost, he listens to the wind. He is a very sharp man with quick eyes. Intentionally, he looks through half closed eyelids. Out of nowhere, he parts his lips to talk. “Thank you for being with me today, Carol.” He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed.

“I think I want to confess,” Carol numbly murmurs. The words surprise him too, as much as he had been thinking them for long. It’s not belief, it’s a search for ease. Sometimes, he can feel his sins in his chest, like a knot where Medea’s knife had dug. Maybe his father deserves an explanation, even. Carol knows he judges him while being the best at pretending not to. He deserves it too -- the judgment. It doesn’t redden his cheeks.

For once, dad is surprised, touched even. He welcomed his son under his roof, but the two haven’t spoken yet. Eaton Eyre is short on words to say to him, not out of malice, rather than due to that feeling deep in his gut making drowning feel comfortable. He was out of his depth, happy Carol was alive, and deeply pained he had to volunteer, and kill, and take pleasure from it.

There is a brief pause. Carol wants to take it back. His father reaches out, his hand held up for Carol to grab. The young man hesitates, but he steps ahead next to his father and he does take it, formally, without any real squeeze. “I killed by intent and mistake.” This was the easy part. For what comes next, he rolls his eyes before delivering, knowing all about the right phrasings and not wanting to use them properly. “Impure thoughts. Impure actions.” Blah, blah, blah. He bites inside his mouth, letting his cheek slip between his teeth. “Homosexual activity?” he inquires, as if to check whether it counts. Carol taking it seriously comes almost as a surprise.

His father shakes his head. He softly motions for him to keep going, eyes still and endlessly patient, pointed at his son. He doesn’t interrupt, and he doesn’t make suggestions, even though he knows much about Carol’s sin. Instead, he lets him.

“Indifference to good and evil. Blasphemy -- oh, I committed so much blasphemy. I deliberately chose evil. I... volunteered for the Hunger Games by will. I was proud.” Carol grins. He hopes his father would grin back. “Really, insert all of the deadly sins in here. They sort of became my brand.”

His father doesn’t grin back. He prays in his mind. It stings, to hear it. But he doesn’t want to run from the factual reality of it. It heals, to hear it. This is more important to Carol’s soul than Carol knows. Wind sweeps over the surface of the lake. It all glimmers in the sun. “Do you feel this is enough?”

“Do you feel there is more?” Carol laughs briefly, but, for some reason, his imagination twists embarrassingly as he considers what his father can possibly think of everything. What is shameful is never shameful to him, but at home, he gets a little less immune to it.

His father clicks his tongue. In this light, he resembles Carol a little too much for both their tastes. His raveny hair is cut short, and threatened with whites. He went white in the past year, and they both know it. “Only you know what’s in there.” The man gently pats at his chest with one finger.

Carol passingly thinks it’s something full of shit to say, but it oddly touches him. His mind goes arrow to Rio. He is disarmed, suddenly inadequate with his hands. He hides them in his pockets. When he talks again, it’s a ripple. “I... don’t care about any of the other things. I killed him.” Something ties in his throat. Carol steps out of eye contact, and walks a couple of steps to face the lake and not his father’s careful gaze. He cries and is trying to make it tiny.

The pastor doesn’t turn immediately, but he eventually follows Carol’s lead and approaches, a little taken aback. Not in his heart, though. He remembers his son’s excited and endless stories of Rio from years ago. He remembers them ending, and nothing about him coming up again. There was a lot, then radio silence. At that point, Carol stopped talking to them about anything of importance entirely. But he touches his shoulder in light comfort, and sits in considerate silence.

“I don’t need comfort,” he shakes his head and makes a useless attempt to step out of his father reaching out. He doesn’t. He stays put, he prefers it like this. Sometimes, even steel cracks. This is cue for straight-up crying. The tears climb down his cheeks hot, and he still refuses to acknowledge them. He is angry at them.

Dad has no words about Rio. To him, it’s caprice to cry after a man you killed. He has no understanding of what is boiling in Carol’s heart, but he is rich in tolerance and compassion. There is no pleasure from seeing your child cry and struggle. “I can’t absolve you if you don’t regret. I can be with you as you learn to.” He’s always been too veracious of a man.

He doesn’t say this is not about forgiveness. He doesn’t explain that his reasons for trying to squeeze some feeling out of the confession is to identify the slightest peace of mind, egoism for fuel, more than guilt. Carol shakes his head, and tries to go for a smile, but it comes off weak and transparent. “I’ll leave you to pray,” he concludes, instead. Whatever he is looking for, it’s not of this world, nor of the faith his father preaches about.

***

Carol lies with his head on the porch swing. It rocks him gently. His eyes are closed. He only mildly tolerates the presence of other people. It feels as though they come to see him in lack of a museum, in lack of excitement in the village life. He forgives it, though. He would have done the same, had he stayed local and boring.

Arabella watches the thin sunlight over his features. When she was a child, she loved him and imagined they would get married. Nowadays, she pities him with a heavy heart. She still loves him like a childhood memory. Even when she feels she is annoying him, even when she feels he grew too big to hear the sounds her mouth is making, even though she knows she sometimes is saying the wrong thing, Carol is important to her. Though they’ve never been friends, his mother was her teacher, and they did play with some of the same toys before that. When he was in the arena, she hadn’t slept at all, watching him sleep, instead, as if the guarding kept him safe. It worked, though. It had worked. “Your life is so precious, Carol.”

He doesn’t ask why, with snark, though it’s on the tip of his tongue. It must mean a lot to live when twenty-five others died. To him, it only matters because Rio died. He appreciates the comment, though it makes him feel nauseous. “It’s nice you came to see me. I’m bored out of my mind. I think I need to return.”

“You don’t want to because of the Odair family?” This is an unfair mistake, but she doesn’t sense the gravity of it. She has loved before, but never to death. She is actually about to get married, not to Carol. In the chair she is sitting on, she holds a basket with raspberry muffins, made personally and delivered with care.

“Yes, I don’t want to because of the Odair family,” he chooses this partial truth, because nuances are difficult to explain. It was true enough to stand, true enough for him to own it. Sometimes, they sit in silence. Sometimes, he thinks of Holland. Sometimes, he answers all of her questions with patience he didn’t know he had in him.

Eventually, at some point, she gathers the courage to ask about Rio. For the longest time, she watches him go silent. She regrets every syllable, by now knowing she took the wrong step, that it was private, that Carol was not ready for that name to drop. Still, Arabella is curious. She needs to know, to understand. This isn’t love to her, and so, it makes no sense. Neither to Carol, but she can’t know that.

“I’m not mourning his life,” he finally says, as if to redeem himself, to claim back some dignity. The rest falls flat and lame, and he wants to swallow his own words, instead. “I’m mourning mine.” But it’s the pathetic truth. They smile with bitterness at each other. None of them knows what to say to follow that. He sniffs. He rises and throws an arm over the backrest, off-handedly. He plays pragmatism with his eyes in tears. “It’s not about him and feeling sorry for his life, and blah, blah. It’s about what I lost when he died.” This is not the truth. This is a bedtime story that fools only Carol.

She stops dropping by after the third visit. She has a wedding to plan. “I hope you can come to my wedding.” Unlikely. They both know it. When Carol gets to the train station, he doesn’t look back.

#self para #129 #mom i'm tired can i sleep in your house tonight?

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