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ohtobeleah · 8 months

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Gift of The Gab // Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: Throat Cancer. It’s never the way Rooster thought he’d go out. But when he does—he gets to give Jake a piece of his mind.

Warnings: Throat Cancer. Mentions of suicide. Mentions of death. Bradley Bradshaw x Platonic!reader. Afterlife lore. Death.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author Note: Day Seven of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Flatline. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list. This is also apart of the Life After Death Series

Bruises Masterlist | Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Name: Bradley Bradshaw. Age: 60. Cause of Death: Aggressive Throat Cancer.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Get me a crash cart in here!!” There are distinct differences between male and female brains. Female brains tend to have a larger hippocampus, which usually makes them better at retention and memory. “He’s coding!”

“Jesus what the hell happened here?” Male brains however, have a bigger parietal cortex, which helps when fending off an attack. Male brains confront challenges differently than female brains. Women are hardwired to communicate with language, detail, empathy.

Men? Not so much.

“He was fine five seconds ago! Dammit he’s flatlining.” But that doesn’t mean they aren’t any less capable of emotion. They can talk about their feelings. It’s just that…..

Most of the time—they’d really rather not.

***~***~***~****~***

It wasn’t uncommon for Bradley Bradshaw to wake up in an unknown environment. Over the years he’d made quite the reputation for himself amongst the young, dumb and hopelessly ignorant badge bunnies that would saunter into the Hard Deck. He never saw a reason to settle down, find the love of his life, create a family, grow old with someone. Everyone Bradley Bradshaw had ever cared to care about had left him in some way shape or form.

But a name Rooster never thought would be added to that ever growing list of people who had left him behind, was Jake fucking Seresin.

“Fuck—“ Bradley groaned as he rolled over onto his back, he could feel the draft coming up between his legs as he did. The hospital gown that was tied together in the back by three little bows did nothing to keep his broad shoulders, back, and ass covered.

Across the way—Jake was busy in the horse pen trying his best to train one of the wild brumbies that hung around more often than not. He’d been trying for a few days. It wasn’t easy, but it was honest work that kept his mind at ease.

“Easy boy—easy.” Jake cooed as he approached the gentle giant that had become used to his presence. “I’m just here to help.” He mumbled as he approached the horse he affectionately referred to as Simon the stallion. “We’re just gonna hang out.”

Bradley sat up with a groan, he could feel the air in his lungs that he hadn’t been able to feel in what felt like an eternity. When he reached up to touch the port that he’d had in his neck for months to find that it was gone—Bradley couldn’t have been more confused if he tried to be.

Where was he? Why did he feel thirty years younger? Why was he not in his hospital room with the blonde nurse he really liked? And—hold on a minute….is that? Is that Jake fucking Seresin?

Bradley would never forget the day he walked into Jake's home and found him unresponsive. Seeing one of his closest friends lying there without conscious thought. It was one of the worst days of his life, nestled between losing his mum and dad. Jake's death affected everyone in all sorts of ways that couldn’t begin to be unpacked in a far too expensive therapy session.

So—as a long drawn out beep rang out in Rooster's mind, the sound of his heart monitor flatlining, he stood and made strides to where Jake stood trying to gain the horse's trust. Ass on display and all.

He never spoke to anyone ever about Jakes suicide, he never spoke about how it made him feel or acknowledged any of the trauma that came alone with seeing one of his best friends dead in his bedroom. Bradley thought with time Jake would be alright, he didn’t know how much he was truly suffering because Jake never spoke about it. He never spoke about your death and how you died. He never spoke to anyone besides himself in the depths of the night.

Where no one could see just how much he missed you.

Jake saw the man he’d left behind all those years ago in favour of reuniting with the love of his life coming towards him like a brick shit house. Jake couldn’t say he regretted doing what he did though—but he missed Bradley, every day. They were close, but he wasn’t you.

“Shit—“ This was the reunion Jake had been dreading the most. “Sorry pal, looks like our session’s just been cut short.” It was only as Jake was jumping over the wooden fence that Bradley took off into an all out sprint in Jake's direction. “Bradshaw! What the hell—Oof—“

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” It was as painful as it was laced in spiteful anger. A rage that had burned in the depths of Bradley Bradshaw’s heart for years and years and years. He didn’t look a day older than when Jake had last seen the mustache clad aviator. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT? HUH?” Rooster laid as many punches as he could get in into the friend he hadn’t seen in years—getting out all his built up aggression.

Maybe it was the past that was talking, screaming from the crypt telling Bradley to punish Jake for things he never got to do. It was his way of justifying his anger.

“Rooster! Stop man—“ Jake shouted back as he tried to wriggle his way out of this situation. “Would you cut it out! You don’t have any pants on!! Get off of me!”

“YOU KILLED YOURSELF!” Rooster huffed as he dismounted from the wingman he hadn’t seen in over two decades. “You coward, I always thought you were stronger than me, but then I had my fucking fingers down your damn throat begging you to stay and I knew—I fucking knew you were the one who was full of chicken shit.”

“For someone who’s got the gift of the gab you sure do talk a hell of a lot of crap man! Get off me!” Jake wasn’t backing down. He could do this all day if need be. But he knew Rooster had a lot to get off his chest.

“Who’s dad yelling at mama?” Ellie asked as she watched her father swing a right hook into thin air.

“You remember the imaginary friends we spoke about, baby?” You cooed as you held your daughter's hand and walked across the expanse of the gravel drive across to the paddocks. “Well—I think another one of daddy's friends is here.”

“But I can’t see him?” Ellie frowned. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t see the people who had passed by your family farm. She wasn’t old enough to understand. But one day, one day you would tell her.

“Because this is one of mummy and daddy’s friends darling, it’s like how we can’t see your imaginary friends.” As you made your way over with your daughter hand in hand, Jake caught your eye. He knew the moment Bradley saw you he would understand.

“Bradshaw, your entire ass is hanging out for the whole afterlife to see.” You chuckled behind your hand as a heat so pure rushed to your cheeks. “Cute tattoo though, I always thought you had an ass tat but never got a chance to ask.”

“Hollywood?” Rooster nearly collapsed on the spot when he saw you, it had been so long yet you looked exactly like you did the last time he saw you. “Oh my goodness, I—“

“Could you maybe stop beating my husband up? He keeps the house from falling apart around us, I need him in one piece.”

“Husband?” Bradley turned back to where Jake stood dusting himself off. He caught the sight of a silver ring wrapped around his left ring finger. “You married Hollywood?”

“Of course I did, I died for her—I wasn’t not going to marry her.” At the very mention of the word death it all sunk in. You could see it plastered all over Roosters face—he was connecting the dots. “Bobs been through, so has Nat.” Bradley felt again at his throat for scars and staples that were no longer there. “What was it?” Jake asked softly, he knew it was always better to rip the Band-Aid off.

“Throat cancer—I think I flatlined, I just remember not being able to breathe and then I was here.” Bradley never thought he’d be one of those people who get some form of cancer. He didn’t smoke or do drugs. The most he ever did was drink and sometimes that could reach an excessive amount. Liver failure seemed more on brand for the Naval Aviator. Not throat cancer.

“I’m sorry Rooster, that must have been awful.” You really didn’t know what to say, because what do you say to people once they’ve died. Natasha didn’t want to believe it. Bob seemed scared, Rooster though? He was just angry.

“You were just gone—“ Bradley shrugged as he looked around the farm, amber orange from the mid afternoon sun made the fields look almost angelic. “You both took so much from me, I never saw a reason to love, to settle down, share my life with someone because I couldn’t put them through the experience of loss.” It made sense, but that was a heavy burden to carry. Jake wasn’t even sure he deserved to be the one to carry that load. “I saw what happened to the both of you and it scared me shitless, it made me so goddamn angry.”

“Rooster—“ You cooed softly as you approached him. “Honey what happened to Jake and I, it was an extreme case.” You tried your best to explain as you reached out to touch his cheek gently. Bradley leaned into the gentle touch of a woman he kept a picture of on his mantle piece, alongside Hangmans. “You know we love you, but it was our time.”

“Did you fight?” Jake asked as his daughter raced his way. Bradley watched as the man he’d known from the academy crouched to pick up who Bradley could only assume was his daughter. They looked the same in so many ways. But she was her own version of you too. “The cancer?”

The silence that fell over the four of you as you waited for Bradley to answer was heavy, you knew he knew that he was dead. You didn’t need to explain it. But in the silence you saw a man racing across the field—there couldn’t have been two Dagger deaths in the same timeframe could there?

“I wasn’t ready to die.” Be a man. People say it all the time. “I wasn’t ready, but I’m glad I got to tell you how much of a jerk you were for leaving us behind.”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t live without her Rooster—Hollywood, she’s everything to me, and after everything we went through? I never wanted her to be alone again, even in death.”

You watched as the man ran and ran and ran—he looked like Bradley, just a little less buff and sporting the same stupid mustache. He wore a smile so bright it could have broken his cheeks.

Your neighbour was Roosters dad, Goose, this entire time and you never even knew it.

“I can still hear the beep, that flatline on the monitor.” Bradley explained as he furrowed his brows. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back or not. “How do I stop it?”

“Just means that you can go back, if you want to, someone’s trying to bring you back.” It was probably the doctors and nurses handling the defibrillator, giving him rough but life saving chest compressions.

Be a man. But what does that even mean? Is it about strength? Is it about sacrifice? Is it about winning?

“I don't think I wanna go back.” Bradley sighed as he watched you make your way over to Jake and your little girl. The perfect mix of the two of you. God he was angry, he was still so mad at how things turned out the way they did. Why you both did what you did. But he’d get over it. He had to, he didn’t have a choice: Because the beeping had stopped. He’d flatlined.

“Bradley!” The man who Rooster had been trying to make proud ever since he was a little boy, called out as he ran. “Bradley! Is that you! My boy!”

Maybe it’s more simplistic than that.

Men have to know when not to man up. Sometimes it takes a real man to set his ego aside, admit defeat, and simply start all over again.

“Dad?”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#whumptober #ailesswhumptober2023 #bruises // jake seresin #Bradley bradshaw Whump #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #tw: throat cancer

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luminarai · 1 year

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I’m kind of horrified at the amount of people reblogging the sunscreen poll saying that they flat out refuse to wear sunscreen??? I completely understand that some people have sensory issues with it and I know that it’s a pain in the ass and I know it can be expensive but holy melanoma you guys, skin cancer is no joke. It’s one of the most common types of cancer and it can absolutely be deadly if not caught early. And it’s something we can actually take fairly easy preventative measures against.

So please, for you own sake and those who love you, wear sunscreen or cover up in the sun. It doesn’t matter if you don’t tend to burn or if you have dark skin - you can still develop skin cancer (in fact, darker skinned patients are more likely to only be diagnosed in the later stages of skin cancer because many doctors don’t know how to properly check and diagnose skin cancer in dark skin). Wear the stupid sunscreen. Or the sun hat or whatever, even on days that don’t feel particularly warm. Minimise your time in direct sun if you can and have no other options. Check out sunscreens in your country that don’t leave a gross feeling on your skin, they do make some good ones now. If you wear makeup, make it part of your daily routine - sunscreen, then makeup. Everybody messes up or forgets on occasion but any step towards protecting yourself is a good step. Take care of future you, they really do deserve it.

Okay, getting off my soapbox now. Kindly, someone who has had both friends and family affected by skin cancer.

#cecil blogs her life #cancer tw #cancer mention #my aunt is currently recovering from her latest bout of chemo bc the skin cancer spread to her throat (? not a doctor)#it’s looking good thankfully but chemo is NOT fun

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yonderghostshistories · 16 days

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Man, I fucking hate cancer, specifically throat cancer! I wish throat cancer and all types of cancer had fucking ceased to be!!!

In other words, I miss Graham Chapman man.....😔🥺😭 I miss him so much! Gray was only 48!! He was literally too young to die early on in his life! He had so much to offer the world!! He was literally taken away from us to soon, man! TOO SOON! GAH 😖😭😭😭

Like fr, I wish I had a time machine with the cure to throat cancer and save Gray from dying and suffering! Or at least go to an alternative universe where he never got cancer and was still alive in his 80s and was happy and well and living his best life!

I just.....*sad sigh*...I just really miss him, man....

#monty python #graham chapman #personal rambles #tw throat cancer #tw death

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doctxrdoctxr · 2 years

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I don’t know if this will make me post more or less, ah the dilemma of sick medcore bloggers./lh No matter what I just will keep hoping for wellness for myself and all of you.

#personal #illness tw #medical tw #cancer #cancer tw #yeah #i have several lumps all in my throat #not sure yet if malignant #but my breath smells.... like that #if you know you know #scheiße just pray for me and my system

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queerbuckleys · 11 days

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LONG MAY YOU ROAR [bucktommy | soft & gentle | 1k] a/n: hi uhh so this randomly popped into my head, and it's the first time i have ever really written in tommy's pov so it's far from perfect but it doesn't really make sense to tell it from another so i tried something new weee. there's some bonus sweet buckley siblings implications <3 title barely has anything to do with the fic/i do not want to be too sad about it, i just love robin from ttpd and it's about childhood so it fit... well enough. tw for mentions of canonical childhood cancer and death of a child

Tommy stands in his boyfriend’s living room, beer in one hand and he takes in the decor. He’s seen it all before but he's still getting to know the man that’s fussing over dinner in the kitchen. And there is something new, resting on the tv stand, is a photo of a boy riding a bicycle, his back toward the camera. It’s the first time Tommy has noticed it. He had never seen any pictures of a young Evan before, it never struck him as strange, not very many people kept baby pictures around their adult home – that’s why this one felt somewhat strange. There were the photo booth strips, Polaroids, and school pictures of Chris and Jee on the fridge or placed in a drawer around the loft, but no other kids were present in this space. Nothing else is so formal. He figures it has to be Evan, and it was special for some reason. So he picks it up and turns to his boyfriend who is smiling and making his way over to him, finally satisfied with letting the lasagna finish baking.

“Who is this handsome young man?” he asks, a gentle teasing lilt in his voice.

And Evan’s demeanor shifts, he’s still smiling, but it turns sad and bittersweet. His whole body sags ever so slightly. Tommy watches as his Adam's apple bobs, he takes a deep breath with his eyes closed and steps closer. He traces the edge of the frame, his eyes transfixed on the back of the bike. “This is my brother. Daniel.” Evan swallows again.

“You’ve never mentioned…Could he not make it to the wedding?” He asks, but there is a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that tells him that there is more to the story.

“You could say that,” Evan responds with a dry hough of a barely there laugh. “He, he um, he died when I was little. Leukemia. I never really knew him. Our parents–” He shakes his head.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to. It’s just, that I haven’t told the story so far removed from finding out. I told the 118 right away, while I was still numb. And the very messy deep personal feelings version to my therapist, but I’m still working through a lot. So, I don’t know. It might be hard for me to explain it all.”

“Well we can sit down to start,” He says gently with a smile. Taking Evan’s hand, running a soothing thumb over his knuckles. Evan nods and follows his lead to the couch.

“I just, it’s hard to know where to start,” Evan sighs.

“What about why you only now have this picture up?”

Evan smiles a little. “Maddie gave it to me for his birthday last week.” he clears his throat, “So, basically I didn’t even know that I had a brother until just before Jee was born.” Evan looks over at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He lets the words flow over him, and his brow scrunches, tilting his head in confusion.

“My parents kept several secrets from me, forced Maddie to keep them too, for thirty years. They all came to light when I stumbled across that picture in Maddie’s baby box. The past few years since then have been busy, and she found it again after her move and everything and had a copy made for me and had it framed. He has the right for his life to be remembered and celebrated after being a secret for so long.”

“Why was it a secret?” He lets the question slip out, “If you want to share that.”

“Well, um,” Buck ducks his head a little, “Have you ever seen My Sister's Keeper?” he asks, looking back at him with a questioning look on his face. It isn’t what Tommy is expecting in the slightest. But Tommy has seen the movie in question, and the dots slowly begin to connect. And Evan has this look in his eyes that tells him he’s right.

“Oh, Evan.”

“It just never worked for him though. Sometimes I still feel like I failed him somehow.” Evan rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “I was always treated like a disappointment by my parents and didn’t know why until I was thirty years old, I was never going to be absolved of a sin I didn’t even know I had committed. Maddie though, she raised me. She always treated me like any kid would want to be treated. So, now we celebrate his birthday when we can and Maddie tells me about him. She always comes up with new stuff she remembers after keeping it tucked away for so long. Or how I remind her of him and stuff. It’s good for her to talk about him, and for me to hear it.”

Tommy smiles at him at that, “I have never been under the impression that your relationship with her isn’t very special. Thank you for telling me about this part of your family.”

“Well, you knew most of all the other members of my family before me, as Chimney likes to remind me.” Evan laughs and relaxes back into his arms, tucking his face into Tommy’s neck. “Thank you for listening.” he runs his fingers over his hands, “I wanted to tell you. I just never knew how to bring it up, or what base talking about a dead brother was.” He can feel Evan’s small smile against his neck, and he laughs gently too.

“Someday soon I’ll tell you about my family too.” He twists his fingers in Evan’s curls.

“Whenever you are ready. I’ll wait.” Evan places a light kiss on his jaw.

The oven beeps declaring the lasagna to be finished and Evan groans, ungluing himself from his side. Once Evan is back in the kitchen, Tommy lifts the photo up again from the coffee table and gently returns it to its home.

#evan buckley #tommy kinard #911fic #bucktommy #911 #*aj writes stuff

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ashthemadwriter-archived · 1 year

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TW: Smoking, Slightly suggestive, Cussing

"Ever seen one of those movies where the guy blows smoke into the girl's mouth?"

CHUUYA tightened his grasp around your waist, sighing comfortably. The cigarette between his lips was halfway till finished, held by his thumb and his index finger. His deep azure eyes moved to the corner of his eye sockets, a side glance of them enough to give you chills.

"Where are you going with this, doll?"

"I'm just thinking..." You clung onto his arm more, taking a deep breath once your face nuzzled against his head, semi-drunken by the addictive smell of his hair. "It looks very hot when they do it, so maybe we could give it a shot? You already have a cigarette in your hand"

The sudden jump of his eyebrows reflected his amazement, but Chuuya was never one to turn down a fun idea, especially when it was you proposing it. So after flashing you a smirk, he drew his face closer, thumb gently rubbing your hip.

"You think so?"

A small nod was all you managed to do as your mind was mostly concerned with his touch and the way his hand was carelessly wandering on your back. Clearly, he wasn't yet satisfied with his impact, so he put the cigarette between his lips, not breaking eye contact. The end of the stick lit up and its length got sucked into the ginger's mouth, not making a sound. And when Chuuya stared at your lips, you opened your mouth, impatiently eager to make small contact with his lips; instead, a brutal huff of smoke broke into your throat.

You coughed. Not a light one to clear your throat or get rid of a slight discomfort; they were multiple, painful coughs of a man desperately fighting to not lose his grip on life. This was not like the movies at all! Well, if the movies weren't about manipulative ways to get young women cancer.

"What... What the hell was that?!"

Chuuya didn't appear to be as shocked, or even concerned. He seemed like he was watching a magic show, except that he knew all the trickes behind them.

All the tricks... behind them?

"You knew this was gonna happen, didn't you?"

That was the first time you found his juvenile grin, annoying.

"You fucking dick"

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs #bsd scenarios #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya imagines #chuuya scenarios #bsd chuuya #ashthemadwriter

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ohtobeleah · 7 months

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I love thinking about poor Ice always getting caught in the middle when Kerner!reader and Bradley are growing up. Whenever they get into trouble, Slider blames Bradley while Mav swears it had to be Reader's idea and Ice tries his best to stay out of it.

Uncle Ice is always caught in the middle and when he gets throat cancer he kinda uses it to his advantage to just shut the fuck up and not be asked his opinion all the damn time. ☠️☠️

But he always always gets caught in the middle because one days it’s Slider talking his ear off about that damn Bradshaw boy and the next is Mav going on about how baby!Kerner is a bad influence on his nephew when Ice knows damn well Bradley wasn’t that brightest to begin with so of course you’re able to manipulate the kid. He’s in love with you, he’d jump off a bridge if you asked him to.

#tw: throat cancer #Bradley Bradshaw x reader #Vee ✨

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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Masochist Yan bully with a sadistic student council reader

Tw: smoking, cigarette burns, masochism, slightly suggestive themes

Erin watches the cafeteria door as he wastes for you to come outside. He was standing behind a building in the recreational area of the school, tucked away from human eye less they rounded the corner. He flicks on his lighter as you finally make your way outside for your routinely inspect of the school grounds.

He puts the cigarette to his lips. The other week, you caught another school smoking in this same spot and gave them an earful. You forced everyone to leave, but there were rumors you made them smoke the entire rest of the pack after-school. Erin still got tingles when he remembered how the student cries from your verbal assault.

Erin lights the cigarette, taking in a puff as the nicotine burns. He gags. It's not his first time, but in his excitement he ended up inhaling more than intended. He stands close to the end of the corner; tossing his pack onto the ground as your footsteps approach.

He steps out and picks from up, cancer stick hanging from his teeth as he waves. "Hey, Y/n. What's up?"

Your expression is neutral. "What are you doing, Mr. Hart?"

"Nothin." He takes the cigarette from his mouth and blows into the air. "Just enjoying my break like everyone else."

Without another word you walk over. You grab him by the wrist, pulling him around the corner as you then shove him against the wall.

"Give it to me."

Erin's face heats up. He feels your breath against his face. He shakily hands you the cigarette.

You grimace. "How disgusting. Tainting our school grounds with this stench. It's fitting for someone like you, but that doesn't mean you can do it."

His heart beat excellerates. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Well I let the last pest off with a warning, but I'll make an example out of you. You're tougher to crack than them anyways." You step back. "Kneel."

Erin's not as tough of an egg as you think as he immediately falls to his kneels. He was a little over a foot taller than you standing, now at stomach level. It was a good imbalance. One he'd like to see more often. He gets as close as possible, chest pressed against your leg. You stare down at him; him returning the look with one that reminded you of a dog in heat.

"Stick out your tongue."

Erin again does as told. That smart ass confidence of his had been withered down to an obedient pet. You had yet to fully tame that spirit of his - but you would. You yank him forward by the jaw; flicking some of the cigarette's ash onto his tongue. He trembles in anticipation. You finally press it into the flesh of the muscle; keeping an iron grip on his jaw.

"Gah.. Hah..." Erin moans in pain as the bud chars his tongue. He grabs your thighs, nailing hooking onto the fabric of your pants. It fucking hurt. He could feel the tastebuds in that area melting away, but he wanted more. So much more. The pain was as enriching as the sweet embrace of a lover. It believed with his sick obsession for you that left him in a puddle of pure ecstasy.

Saliva pours over his lips and onto your fingers. He tries so hard not to bite down; jaws clenching, but unable to close around the cigarette. It eventually goes out from the combine weight of his saliva and being forced into a surface. You twist the extinguished bud for added measure before flicking it onto his lap.

You force his head back; another moan erupted from his throat as you yank his hair. Your fingers enter his mouth as you except the extent of the damage. A circle red is burnt into his tongue; the flesh raw. He nearly finishes on the spot as you tug on it. Deeming he's learned his lesson, you let him go.

"I think that's enough punishment for today. Don't do it again or..." Your voice trails off. As you spoke your eyes wandered his body; falling on an unflattering sight between his legs. "Are you- Did you get-"

Erin doesn't respond. Too caught up in the pleasure running through his body to speak. You nearly retch.

"How repulsive... Clean yourself up and go home for the day."

You walk away as the alarm rings for the next period. Erin slumps against the wall as he shoves his fingers in his mouth, trying to reach that same high he felt when yours were in their place. It's not enough to settle his heart back into his chest, but enough to finish what needed to be done.

#this is nasty #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #male yandere #Yandere bully #Yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc imagine #yandere drabble #yandere blurb #suggestive

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always-coffee · 3 months

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We're all stories in the end.

**clears throat** I've told this story elsewhere (tw: cancer, death), but I'm going to tell it again, for reasons. My mom was responsible for my love of reading and books. She took me to the library. She pretty much never said no when I asked for a book at the bookstore. She loved reading.

At some point, she just stopped reading. I don't know why. I don't know if she was too busy or too stressed or what. But when she was diagnosed with terminal cancer, she was very active--until she wasn't. She was not good at sitting still, ever. And then, she had to.

She felt like hell, and she was bored. So, one day, she asked me for a book--something I loved that I thought she might like. I pulled @neil-gaiman's Neverwhere off my shelf and handed it to her. I told her that it was my favorite Neil book (don't make me pick a fav now, haha).

She absolutely tore through that book, utterly delighted. She loved it. Reading it reignited her love of reading in a way I was, and still am, immensely grateful for. We spent the last year of her life swapping books back in forth. Reading made that year better for her. And me.

So, if you ever wonder if your stories matter, if the book/short stories/poems you are writing make a difference? Remember this. Because they absolutely do, in ways you can know and ways that you can't. Keep writing. The world needs your brilliant bit of weird.

#stories #writing #stories matter #personal #books #books matter #neil gaiman #neverwhere #we're all stories in the end #art #make good art #ported over from bluesky #bluesky is fun #come join us

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surrogate-fawn · 3 months

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The Purple Butterfly

((Drabble/Short story based on the backstory of a rp with @mittysins of Fawn's second surrogacy.))

{This drabble is Part 3 in a series of drabbles based on the story Mitty and I co-authored. This story will not make sense without reading the ones that come before it.}

[ Part 1 - The First Goodbye ]

[ Part 2 - Quartz and Sea Glass ]

[ Part 3 - Here! ]

Author's Note: A real-world initiative is mentioned in this story called The Purple Butterfly Project.

TW: Miscarriage, infertility, mentions of cancer, mentions of past abuse, pregnancy complications, past stillbirth/infant loss, grief and heavy emotional trauma.

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Living with the Tariqs, I got to experience what it was like to be around a baby after it was born -- and every pounding headache that came with it.

Suri was a little spitfire as soon as she hit the atmosphere, and if she was unhappy the whole house would know it. The farmhouse wasn't all that big, and the guest room where I slept ended up sharing a wall with the nursery. So, you can bet I got woken up each time her parents did.

Those first couple nights, I would lay there in bed until Ray or Tess could stumble their way down the hall and quiet things down. Yeah, I wasn't very useful. I didn't have much of a choice, though. It was a miracle I could walk myself to the bathroom with how sore I was after Suri squirmed her way out of me.

It wasn't just soreness from the waist-down, either.

Being around a constantly crying newborn had an . . . unexpected effect on my body. After the birth of my son, aside from a little bit of colostrum, I had never produced breastmilk. I guess hearing Suri cry to be fed every few hours triggered something, because I suddenly had a full milk supply with nowhere to go.

Luckily, the Tariqs had a home remedy for everything. A couple of wet washcloths over upturned bowls in the freezer made some conveniently-shaped ice packs. Without those puppies, it felt like my breasts were filled with molten lead. So, my hands were occupied most of the day.

I felt guilty, watching either Ray or Tess get up from the couch to tend to their daughter while I was able to sit there with my hands on my boobs and continue watching TV.

I wasn't Suri's parent, but the fact I was the one who got her there made me feel like I had to help out.

Once I started to recover, that's exactly what I did. On a night when Suri refused to stop crying, I got up and poked my head through the cracked nursery door.

Tess was there, looking exhausted and defeated as she held Suri on her shoulder. That baby had been screaming in her ear for at least half an hour. She jumped when she turned and saw me in the doorway.

"Hi, Tess," I said with a sympathetic smile.

"Hey, doll," Tess sighed, continuing to bounce Suri up and down while she paced the room. She spoke a little louder than she needed to, likely 'cause she couldn't hear herself think. "I'm sorry she woke 'ya. I got no idea what 'ta do."

She sounded like she'd given up. This was how she was spending her night, and she'd resigned herself to it.

I thought about waking Ray, but his paternity leave ended in the morning. He had to be up in a few hours for his civil engineering job. Even with what little I knew about salary work, I knew eight weeks of unpaid leave for a brand-new baby was bullshit. Ray would've taken the full twelve weeks, but the city was jumping down his throat about finishing the blueprints for an overpass project on-time. Tess was about to be left alone with a two-month-old for the sake of ten fewer minutes of traffic. That wasn't fair.

"Tess, lemmie take her for a while," I said, walking into the room. "You need a break."

"It's fine," Tess insisted. "She'll calm down . . . eventually."

I held out my arms. "Tess. Give 'er."

The purple bags under Tess's eyes made her look twice her age, and her pale yellow hair was a rat's nest hanging down her back. She was at her wit's end. "Okay."

Suri weighed almost nothing as I settled her against my shoulder. It still amazed me how small babies were. They seemed so much smaller when you actually got to hold them.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked Suri. My ear started to ring as she wailed into it, her cries high-pitched and distressed. I started patting her back like I'd seen her parents do. "What's wrong, baby girl? What's got you so upset?"

Tess collapsed into the glider in the corner of the nursery, her hands rubbing circles into her temples. "I've changed her. I've fed her. I've prayed over her. I've got no idea what my own baby needs!"

"Well, I've got no idea, either," I shrugged, my toes digging into the soft sherpa rug by the crib. I continued patting Suri's back. Her feet were pressing against my chest, as if she were trying to pull herself upright.

"But I'm supposed 'ta know!" Tess whimpered. She ran her fingers through the knots in her hair. "I'm her mama! Mamas are supposed 'ta know what 'ta do, but I can't even calm her down!"

"You're not a bad mama, Tess," I said, offering her a smile -- despite the continued screaming in my ear. "Trust me, I know what a-."

The screaming was cut short with a small 'gurk', and I froze when a wet glob of spit-up slithered down my back.

". . . think I figured it out . . ." I said, my smile now pinched.

Suri grumbled, and I carefully held her out in front of me. Her face was still red, but her expression was pure baby bliss -- milky spittle on her chin and all.

"Did you have a tummy ache, baby girl?" I asked. "Is that what was wrong?"

Tess shot up from the glider, sending it bumping into the wall. "Oh, Fawn, I am so sorry!" she said, taking her daughter out of my hands. She took the burp cloth off her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering it was there, and handed it to me. "Here, clean 'yaself up."

"S'alright," I chuckled, cringing as I wiped up the gobby mess. "I've got other shirts. At least I got her to stop crying."

Tess looked down at the baby in the crook of her arm, and then back up at me. "Wanna try a hand at gettin' her 'ta sleep?"

Long story short, that's how I found my new job as the Tariq's live-in babysitter.

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

I wasn't expecting to do surrogacy again, at least not for a long while. The Tariqs were paying me a decent wage for domestic work and were kind enough to not charge me rent -- so long as I was saving a certain amount of the money each week. The last post I ever made on the surrogate agency's forums was an announcement celebrating Suri's successful home birth. After that, I let my profile go dark.

Not only did hiring me allow the Tariqs to keep their promise of helping me on my feet, it also gave them an extra set of hands around the house while Ray was at work. Tess and I worked out a system where I would work on smaller tasks while she took care of the most pressing matters. If she was feeding Suri, I was cleaning the kitchen. If she was cooking dinner, I was changing a diaper. If she had to do yardwork, I was keeping Suri entertained.

I learned to prepare formula, wash bottles, change diapers, and play peek-a-boo like a pro in no time.

Bath time was always a tag-team effort, though. Suri was a splasher, and her favorite bath toy was a rubber turtle called "Squirta Turta", so we usually ended up as soaked as she was.

When Suri was being weaned off formula, we made homemade baby food with the vegetables in the garden. Turns out, placenta makes a great fertilizer. I wondered if Mom had ever used it in her flower beds -- she'd had five of them to work with by the time all of us kids were born. I wished I could ask her. I wished I could ask her about a lot of things. I also wished Suri could eat her mashed squash without trying to wear the bowl as a hat, but I didn't get that wish, either.

This was my life for two wonderfully chaos-filled years, and I was mostly content with it.

Mostly.

I wanted to go to college. That was always my plan for after high school, but . . . plans had obviously changed. My grades hadn't been anything to brag about, so I knew from the start I'd have to pay my own way through. I had two years' worth of savings, but I didn't want to dip into it, yet. That money was meant to be the down payment on a house someday. What would be the point of spending all my money on school if I'd be right back to square one afterward? That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to get my degree and start my life over -- I'd been waiting long enough.

After sitting down with Ray and breaking down the costs of school, I realized I barely had enough to pay for one term. There were some small scholarships I could apply for here and there, but I wasn't about to rely on winning them. There were hundreds of smarter students out there vying for the same pile of money. What chance did I have?

I mulled it over for several days without saying a word to anyone, but eventually I made up my mind. When I did, Tess was the first person I told:

"I'm gonna get pregnant again."

I announced it out of the blue as I was helping Tess with the after-dinner dishes. She was at the kitchen sink, washing. I was at the counter, drying.

The steel wool in her hand scraped to a halt. "Pardon?"

I hunched my shoulders a bit as I toweled off a plate. "I'm gonna find another couple that needs to 'rent a room'. It'll be able to pay for my degree. In full. All four years."

Tess continued washing, but she didn't acknowledge what I'd said at all.

"So . . . what do you think?" I prodded, setting stacks of dishes in the cabinet.

Tess grimaced into the soapy water, concentrating way too much on the pan she was scrubbing. "Shug, I dunno," she said. "Do 'ya really wanna do that 'ta 'yaself so soon?"

"Whatd'ya mean 'so soon'?" I scoffed. "Suri's up toddling around the house. Isn't that when most moms get pregnant again?"

"'Ya ain't a mom, yet, Fawn," Tess said, her tone lovingly blunt -- the tone that can only be learned by disciplining a toddler.

I flinched a little, but I crossed my arms over my chest to hide it. All she'd done was state a fact, but it still bit.

"I'd like to be," I mumbled. I gazed out the kitchen window and saw Ray out in the backyard with Suri. He was blowing bubbles, and she was reaching up to grab them with high-pitched screams of laughter. She chased them as they swooped lower to the ground, and then stomped on them with her tiny flip-flops when they touched the grass. "Someday."

"I know, doll. That's why I'm concerned." Tess set the pan on the drying rack. "Pregnancies are risky. Wouldn't 'ya rather have as few of 'em as possible?"

"I've had two and they went just fine," I said with a shrug. "I'm young, Tess! Isn't now the best time to use what I got? I can charge more, now that I've got experience. No student debt and money left over to save for a house! Trade nine months in exchange for the rest of my life? How could I pass that up?!"

Tess didn't say anything for a long time, she just dunked a chili pot in the dishwater and started scrubbing. I stood there in uncomfortable silence until she said:

"School can wait, 'ya know."

"No, it can't!" I protested.

"Ray and I can pay what 'ya need for classes when we start tryin' again," Tess said. "What on Earth's the point?"

"Point is," I huffed, leaning my hip against the counter, arms still crossed over my chest, "I'm almost twenty-four and I've got nothin' to show for it!"

"Fawn, 'ya gotta think about-."

"I'll still be able to help you guys out, Tess," I added. "Don't worry about that."

"It's not us I'm worryin' about," was her deadpan response.

It was frustrating as hell, but I wasn't too angry at her. I knew why she wasn't a fan of the idea.

The three of us had recently discussed growing their family in the future. The Tariqs wanted to wait until Suri was a little more independent before welcoming a second baby, so that plan was at least two more years out.

Following that conversation, we'd decided not to return to the surrogate agency we used the first time. The agency was helpful with the fine print and legal stuff, but the Tariqs had not been too thrilled to learn that a desperate, homeless, childless young woman had been allowed to become a surrogate of theirs.

"I can do it independently," I said, pleading my case. "I know how to be careful."

Tess turned to lock eyes with me. "Fawn . . . I just need 'ta know you're doin' it for the right reasons. I don't like the idea of 'ya going through all that for nothing but a stack'a cash."

"It's not just for money" I insisted. "I wouldn't go through it again for anyone, not even you guys, if I didn't find it meaningful."

Tess didn't seem any more at ease with my promises. "I just don't want 'ya health 'ta suffer. If 'ya do this, you're choosin' 'ta put 'ya body through a lot in such a short time."

I didn't argue. She was right. "I know."

Tess turned back to the sink, sighing while she rinsed out the pot. My toes curled inside my shoes.

"I want to help another couple while I still have the chance," I said, trying to justify my decision -- partially to myself. I could sense how strong Tess's disapproval was, and it was giving me serious second thoughts. "If I can't be a parent right now, I want to make it possible for other people to be parents. It makes the wait feel . . . less long."

Tess dried her hands on her long bohemian skirt and turned to gently hold my shoulders. "Doll, it's 'ya own choice. Ray and I can't stop 'ya from doin' whatever it is 'ya wanna do."

I nodded, my eyes cast down. I didn't need their permission, nor had I been asking for it, but some support would've been -- .

"Just know that we'll be here 'ta help 'ya," Tess continued. "Anything 'ya need, just ask. If you're gonna do this, I want 'ya as healthy and happy as possible."

I nodded again, this time with a smile on my face. "I'd appreciate that."

Tess wrapped me in a hug. "But please, shug," she added, patting my back, "don't put 'yaself through too much."

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

"Easy there, doll. I've got'cha."

Tess held my curls back as I wretched into a blue emesis bag. I'd started growing my hair out in the months it took for this surrogacy to be arranged. I hadn't been thinking ahead.

I'd thought I was in the clear after I had to have Tess pull over on the highway so I could vomit up breakfast, but the antiseptic smell of the hospital kicked up my nausea again. I'd made it through the halls, but by the time I'd sat on the exam table my stomach had enough.

I choked on thick saliva and spit a mouthful of colorless bile into the bag. "Okay . . . okay, I'm good now," I spluttered as I lifted my head. I cinched the bag and handed it to the technician without looking them in the eye. "Sorry."

"Don't be," the tech laughed, "morning sickness is par for the course in here. I'll be right back, just make yourself comfortable." They dragged the privacy curtain closed behind them as they left the room.

Tess wet a paper towel in the hand sink for me. My skin was clammy and cold even before I wiped the towel across my face -- so I wasn't left feeling any better. My hands had a tremor so deep inside the tendons it registered as numbness. I raked my front teeth over my tongue to scrape away the acidic taste.

I hadn't really needed that blood test. I'd known the IVF had worked when I woke up clinging for dear life against the Earth's rotation. My head hadn't stopped spinning since, and it was two damn weeks later. The doctor overseeing my IVF had sent me in for a six-week ultrasound -- which was earlier than I'd ever had one done before -- because my hormone levels were "suspiciously high" this time around. Whatever that meant.

I'd been pumped full of fertility drugs like a chicken with GMOs for a solid four months by that point. No shit my hormones were off the charts, especially now that I was pregnant.

"It's never been this bad," I groaned, coughing on the burn in my throat.

"Yeah, that's why the doctor wants 'ya in here," Tess said with a chuckle.

"I hate it," I scowled. "I want the old morning sickness back."

"Each time is different," Tess said. "I had it once or twice before, but when I was pregnant with Ravi it never really went away." Any time Tess mentioned her angel baby, a little bit of the light left her eyes -- and I saw it happen again right there in that ultrasound room.

Tess helped me pull off my jeans and tucked my discarded underwear inside the back pocket for me. I covered my hips with the paper blanket just before the tech came back into the room.

"Looks like we're ready to start!" they chirped, taking their seat between me and the rolling ultrasound cart.

"Hang on a sec," I said, pulling up the FaceTime app on my phone. "The parents really wanna see the first ultrasound."

"Ah," the tech said with an understanding nod, "is this a surrogate situation?"

"My second time," I said with a proud grin. I pointed at Tess, who was folding my pants over the back of a chair. "I carried her baby first. Most amazing thing I've ever done."

Tess beamed at me. She was smiling, but the shadows on her face were a bit deeper than normal.

"Really now!" The tech exclaimed, keeping their peppy tone as they typed my info into the computer. "It's rare I see surrogate mothers as young as you. Bless your heart!"

"She's a trooper, that's for damn sure," Tess said, "but, God love 'er, she's been so sick."

"I'm sure your care provider can prescribe something for that at your follow-up ," the tech told me. "It won't feel this bad for much longer, sweetheart."

"It's worth it, though," I said. My phone bubbled with the ringtone of an outgoing video call. "These guys will be amazing dads."

The tech smiled at me. "I have such respect for traditional surrogates. That's a lot of sacrifice."

"Oh, no," I corrected them with a small hand wave. "This isn't traditional. These are the bio parents."

I hadn't willy-nilly accepted the first eager couple I'd found online. I'd put half a year's worth of thought into carrying this pregnancy. The Tariqs always gave me my birthday off, and I'd spent that entire day talking to prospective parents. I wanted to prove to them that I was taking this seriously; if I was doing this just for the money, I wouldn't have cared whose baby I carried. I wanted to vet my options and choose a couple that I well and truly felt honored in helping -- and the Gillespies were exactly that.

My phone screen flashed with a mixture of bright pixels before the video came into focus. An odd pair of men sat beside each other in what appeared to be either a kitchen or a dining room -- perhaps it served as both, they lived in a small condo. One was a tall, tanned athlete with a dark stubbly beard and a sculpted figure rippling beneath his loose-fitting tank top. That was Silas. The other was a willowy, ramen-haired man with thick blue octagon frames on his glasses and the quote, "It's only a passing thing, this shadow" from The Two Towers tattooed on his forearm. That was Owen.

"Hey, guys!" I said, holding my phone up and giving them a wave.

There was a slightly-too-long pause due to lag, but both guys lit up with smiles and greeted me in unison. I saw the tech looking at the screen from the corner of my eye. I could see the math trying to play out in their head.

"You don't mind if we record this, right?" Silas asked. They must've been watching from a tablet, because he reached his finger under the camera and swiped a few times as if he were checking a separate app. As he lifted his arm, a crescent of silvery scar tissue became visible from under his shirt.

I saw the tech look back to their computer with a subtle nod of their head. God love 'em, they must've been too nervous to ask.

"Go ahead! It's a special occasion," I said. "I'm gonna hand you over to Tess. We're about to start."

"Yay, Tess!" Owen said with a clap of excitement. He waved as I passed my phone over. "Hi, Tess! Where's Ray?"

"Hi, boys," Tess said with a soft grin. She adjusted herself to be closer to my side. "Ray's workin' from home today so he can watch our 'lil darlin'."

Of course the Tariqs had wanted to meet my new clients. They said it was because they wanted to vouch for me as a caring and capable surrogate; but I think it was mostly to judge the couple for themselves. The Gillespies had both Tess and Ray's number as my emergency contacts, which came in handy when they needed help with some legal paperwork.

Silas and Owen were my age, both of them twenty-four. They'd poured all their savings into the process of hiring a surrogate and had none left over for a lawyer. At the Tariq's behest, all three of us had stayed up late on a call to talk the Gillespies through the steps of writing a surrogacy contract. Silas and Owen seemed to hold a lot of respect for the Tariqs after that.

While Tess had the camera on her, I reclined on the table and put my feet in the stirrups. The paper blanket gave plenty of privacy -- which was good, because I didn't want my clients to see the long plastic wand the tech was prepping while it was in there doin' its thing. I'd never had a transvaginal ultrasound before, but apparently it was the only way to get a view of the Gillespies' baby so early.

I couldn't help but tense as I felt the rounded tip of the wand slip inside me like butter, aided by the warm jelly I was used to having on my belly. I could feel the blood flooding my face as the curved device slid under my public bone and pressed against a part of my anatomy that hadn't been reached in years -- though not for lack of trying, I had short fingers.

"Relax a little more, please," the tech said.

"Sorry . . . not used to this."

Don't judge me. I was living with my employers. The idea of one of them finding an adult toy in my room -- or worse, their daughter finding it -- made me shrivel.

I felt a subtle buzz inside my tissues when the device turned on. I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Okay, let's have a look at that baby," the tech said as they began angling the wand.

Tess flipped the phone around so the dads could see the action. I saw Owen grip his husband's bicep and pull him closer. The room was silent for a moment while the technician moved the wand around my pelvis.

"Can we listen to the heartbeat?" Owen asked, hugging Silas's arm.

"Not yet," the tech said, eyes glued to the screen. "Their little heart is only a few cells big right now. It's too quiet to pick up, but we'll hear it in a few weeks."

Owen and Silas shared a grin. I could see their story written on their faces and in the way they looked at each other. They'd been dating since high school, the odd-ball pairing of bookworm and athlete. After graduation, a preemptive doctor's appointment before Silas started testosterone saved his life:

Cervical cancer, stage two. The doctors had no choice but to take everything, but Silas chose to freeze a few of his eggs before the surgery. He'd gotten into non-competitive bodybuilding to deal with the effects of chemo, and it'd been his favorite hobby since. Luckily, Silas had been cancer-free for years -- Owen had gotten his first and only tattoo in celebration.

Now that they were newlyweds, the Gillespies were choosing to start their family right away -- knowing the frozen eggs wouldn't last forever. We'd lost a lot of hope when most of the eggs didn't thaw right, meaning we only had one shot at this. The Gillespies were more than open to adoption, but . . . having a baby together was something they'd hoped for since before Silas's diagnosis.

I'd known I wanted to step up to the plate as soon as I heard their story. I was proud to be helping such a sweet pair of guys have their much-wanted family. When I saw the way they looked at each other in that moment -- the excitement and love of a dream finally coming true -- I secretly hoped doing this for them would grant me some sort of karmatic favor.

I hoped one day I'd share that same ecstatic smile with someone, for the same happy reason.

The tech hadn't said anything for a while. They kept moving the wand from side-to-side between my hips and squinting at the screen. They took several images, judging by how often they hit the same loud button on their keyboard. They hadn't even turned the screen around, yet. I couldn't wrap my head around the baby being so hard to find -- not with the ultrasound wand jammed so far up.

"Are they hiding from 'ya?" I asked with a joking lilt. Something was starting to sink inside my chest.

"No, I see them," the tech said. They squinted harder at the screen. "Just taking their picture for the doctor."

"That's a lot of pictures," Silas commented from my phone speaker.

"Well, I . . . just want to make sure," the tech said. Their keyboard clacked as they took another image.

It felt like I'd swallowed lead. "Sure of what?"

The tech finally tilted the screen so the rest of the room could see it. In the grey-and-white fuzz on the monitor, a round dark void was highlighted in a bright yellow square. Resting in the void was a blurry white bean with a small flutter in the curve of its shape.

"So, here's the gestational sac," the tech said, outlining the yellow square with their cursor. They circled the cursor over the fluttering movement. "That's baby's nice strong heartbeat right there."

"Silas, oh my god!" I heard Owen cry. "Look! We made that!"

The tech turned the wand slightly and the image on the screen rolled to the left. The same black void and white bean slid into view, except now it was upside-down. The tech once again circled their cursor around the flutter. "And this is another nice strong heartbeat."

"They have two hearts?!" I gasped in panic. I realized how stupid I sounded after it was too late. "Or is it . . . ?"

The tech flicked the wand from side-to-side, and each time they did a little black void with a bean remained on the screen. It took a few back-and-forths for me to realize those weren't two different angles of the same image.

"Holy shit . . ." I wheezed. My hand covered my throat, as if that would loosen the strangling tightness that was setting in. "Holy shit . . ."

“What? What’s wrong?” I heard Silas ask, his voice glitched and laggy.

“Boys, can ‘ya see?” Tess asked, holding my phone closer to the screen. “Can ‘ya see that?”

I wanted to turn my head and see the parents’ reaction, but I could not move my eyes from the ultrasound. The Gillespies were quiet for a minute as the tech continued to swivel the image from side-to-side.

“How many embryos did you transfer?” the tech asked.

“There were only two that made it,” Silas answered. I could sense the moment reality washed over him. “Wait . . . wait, are they both there?!”

“Yep,” Tess said. I have no idea what emotion was in her tone, but it had a glaze of forced excitement. “They both took root.”

“I can’t quite get an image of both of them,” the tech said. “I’m trying, but it looks like they’re on opposite walls of the uterus. That flipped one is way up there, too. They’re hanging onto the roof like a bat.”

“A bat bean,” Owen said. His voice was flat, like the quip was a reflex.

“So . . . twins, right?” Silas asked. “We’re having twins?”

“Congratulations!” the tech chirped.

My pulse was pounding under my hand. That lump of lead was sitting hard in my guts, right alongside those two tiny beans. Two. Two beans. Holy shit. Two.

Tess turned the phone towards me and I saw the moon-eyed shock on the Gillespies’ faces. “Fawn, honey?” Tess prodded. “Wanna say something? What’dya think?”

“I . . .” My saliva felt thick and hot in my mouth. My tongue fell numb and it nearly flopped down my throat as I shot up on the table, my legs still up in the stirrups. “I think I’m gonna be sick!”

Tess jumped for a trash can. She aimed the camera at her face while I loudly wretched in the background of my clients’ first family video.

“This explains a lot,” Tess told the fathers with a sheepish grin. “Two times the baby, two times the morning sickness.”

The Gillespeies were quiet for a while, an awkward pause with only the sounds of my suffering to fill the void.

“We’re having twins, Owen,” Silas finally said, just as I was pulling my face from the trash.

“Yeah . . . wow,” Owen’s voice answered.

I heard a subtle thumping from their end, like one of them was bouncing their leg. The tempo was frantic.

“What’s wrong, Owen?” Tess asked. She held the phone to be more level with her face.

All I heard was a harsh sniffle.

“C’mere, you big softie,” I heard Silas say.

“Don’t cry, honeybun,” Tess said. “It's a blessing!"

“I’m happy!” Owen insisted over the phone. “I’m so happy!” His voice was muffled, like he was hiding his face in his husband’s shoulder. “This is . . . whew! This is overwhelming!”

“No kidding,” Silas said with a laugh.

“No fucking kidding,” I said with my head in the trash.

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

It took a few days for the shock to wear off. The anti-nausea pills cleared my head so I felt less like I was walking in a fever dream. Once that edge was taken off, it made reality slip in a little smoother. I was pregnant with twins. There were two little jellybeans inside me that would be two full-sized babies in eight months. That was fine. Yeah, that was fine. That had to be fine. If it wasn’t fine, I was going to start losing my mind! So, it was fine.

I mailed the printouts of the ultrasounds to the parents. They had the digital pictures I took, but those physical copies were what really mattered to them. The three of us had never met in person. They lived hundreds of miles away, in Michigan. They wouldn’t be flying down to Tennessee until it was nearing my due date, so any physical memento of their babies I could send to them was much appreciated.

I wanted the Gillespies to feel included in my pregnancy as much as possible, even if they couldn’t be with me in-person. Each week I’d take a picture of myself turned sideways in the bathroom mirror and sent it to them. I basically sent them the same picture four times in a row. There was nothing much to show except for the tummy flab I’d collected my first two times around the block. By week ten, though, I could feel that familiar little lump starting to form below my navel. I had slightly too much of a pooch for there to be any trace of a bump, though.

Almost three months in, I was surprised by how normal my pregnancy was – aside from the intense bouts of nausea I relied on my medicine for. I’d thought having twins inside me would up the difficulty level, but up to that point my life had changed very little. I still got up every day to housekeep and nanny for my allotted shift, and I did so with the same ease I did before. The only change was how much of an eye Tess kept on me. It was very annoying.

“Fawn, no!” Tess trotted up beside me and took hold of my hips. “‘Ya don’t need ‘ta be up there.”

“Stop it!” I gasped as the stack of plates in my hand jittered. “Don’t grab me like that if you don’t want me to fall!”

Tess gently pulled me down from the stepstool I’d been using to reach the cabinet. “I can take care of those,” she said, taking the stack of dishes.

“Jesus, you’d think these were your babies,” I muttered.

“It’s easy now, doll, but you’re not far off from those little ‘uns hittin’ a growth spurt.” Tess climbed the stepstool and I rolled my eyes behind her back at the oh-so-dangerous foot and a half of height she stood above. “I can go ahead and take over the chores ‘ya need help with.”

I shrugged, lifting my hands and then letting them slap down onto my thighs. “Alright. Want me to take over Suri while you handle the dishes?”

“Yes, and I’ll be wiping down the countertops and stove with bleach. So, I don’t want either of ‘ya in here until I say so.”

“Right. Grabbing snacks.”

Arms full of Cheerios, applesauce pouches and beef jerky, I joined Surinder in the living room. She was watching one of her preschooler shows on TV from inside her pop-up play tent. Her toys were strewn all over the floor – the living room had become her territory and she marked it with Duplo blocks and miniature plastic food.

I bent over to start picking up and I grunted when the ligaments around my waist pulled tight. Tess was right about the babies, I hadn’t gotten round ligament pain so early before.

It wasn’t long before Suri crawled out of her tent and patted my leg to get my attention. “Fa! Fa!” she called my name until I turned around and acknowledged her.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Go! . . . Go potty!”

“You gotta go potty? Okay, let’s go-oh!” I winced as I stooped to pick her up, my hands flying to my sides. There was that ligament pain again. I rubbed my hands into my lower belly, trying to work out the tension in my stretching muscles. “Let’s walk to the potty.”

I kept feeling that growing pain. I got a charlie horse in my back as I was helping Suri in the bathroom. That nerve-deep pain flared up in a ring around my hips as I sat down for dinner, but a slight adjustment in my posture made it nothing more than an annoyance. I went to bed that night safe in the knowledge I would wake up to another day of normalcy.

I woke up to my alarm, bright and early as always. I woke up to that ring of pain around my hips as I stretched out under the covers. I woke up to the sensation of wet fabric, something sticky plastered against the curve of my rear and up my lower back. I woke up to blood, both crusty brown and damp red, on my pajamas and sheets.

I woke up wanting to scream. Instead, I tip-toed past Suri’s nursery and padded down the hall to her parents’ room. I knocked once before opening the door. I was like a child needing to be comforted from a nightmare, appearing in the Tariq’s doorway and softly whispering their names until they stirred.

“Ray? Tess?” I leaned a little harder against the doorframe as I watched their silhouettes sit up in bed. “Can one of you drive me?”

Tess yawned. “Where, doll?”

“The ER.”

With the yank of a chain, Ray’s bedside lamp clicked to life. I didn’t need to scream. Tess did it for me.

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

Ray held my hand while we waited in the emergency room. I’d cleaned up and changed clothes – Ray had lent me a pair of his sweatpants, just in case I bled through my pad. All that remained of my pregnancy was sealed in a sandwich box on my lap. Tess suggested I take the large clump of blood and tissue I’d found in my underwear with me for the doctor to look at, but I hated holding that box knowing someone’s lost dream was inside.

Tess hadn’t come to the hospital with us. She stayed at the house until her parents arrived to take Suri for the day and then met us in the waiting room. I sat between them, resting my head on Tess’s shoulder while both of them wrapped an arm around me. We waited like that for over an hour.

Most of that day is a scrambled signal in my memory. There was a lot of waiting. A lot of fluorescent lights and white-beige walls. We watched TV together in the room they put me in, but I don’t remember what we watched. Only one memory of that ER visit is clear:

A nurse came in and confirmed what we already knew. They’d found the stringy prototype of a placenta in the tissue I’d passed, along with one of the gestational sacs. That was concerning, though. One. They’d only found one of the twins. There was a possibility I needed surgery, so they had to go in and see what was left. The Tariqs weren’t allowed to follow me as I was wheeled down to radiology.

The ultrasound room was dark and warm, the only light coming from the idle monitor of the computer. It was easy to close my eyes and drift into a trance as the tech smeared gel over my lower belly. I’d been scheduled for my next ultrasound in two weeks. I didn’t think I could handle seeing how empty I was.

“Did everything clear?” I asked, resting my hands over my sternum. Even if I didn’t want to see it, I still wanted to know if they were gonna have to scrape me out.

“I can’t say for certain until the doctor has a chance to look at these,” the tech said. “I’m just here to take pictures.”

I wished this was the same tech from my first ultrasound. I could’ve used their friendliness.

“I stopped cramping a while ago,” I said, “so hopefully it’s over.”

The tech rolled the wand up from my groin and I felt it press on the solid lump in the front of my hips. They were pressing hard – trying to get a good image, I assume – but eased off as they moved the wand just below my navel.

“Ope, no. Wait,” the tech said, “there’s the other one. Gosh, that one is way up there.”

Bat Bean. That’s what the Gillespies and I had been calling Baby B. We’d been calling Baby A “Jellybean”. I wondered what their real names would’ve been. My throat closed up and I had to stop wondering.

“Oh . . . my . . .” the tech said, nearly in a whisper. Then, much louder: “Well, hello there, little guy!”

“What?” I asked, opening one eye in hesitation.

I saw their face in the light of the monitor, saw the crescent moon of a smile below their reflective glasses. “It’s kicking!”

“What?!”

My neck arched and suddenly I was staring at the high-def image of a grey gummy bear on the screen. Nubby limbs twitched as the oval-shaped body curled and uncurled, swimming around its bubble of fluid like a tiny fish. The bulbous head turned and I watched in utter amazement as Baby B’s whole body flipped over in a summersault.

The tech hit a key and a steady whop-whopa-whop-whopa played as a line of white peaks and valleys appeared below the image. “And we have a heartbeat!” they announced, all monotone gone from their demeanor.

I must’ve been in a state of shock, because my memory after that moment is almost entirely blank. I have a vague recollection of signing some paperwork and a surgeon standing over my bed, listing off possible side effects. I remember a needle going into my arm, and then my memory is a void.

My memory restarts at the point I woke up in the recovery ward. Please understand that before this point, I had never had any kind of knock-out juice. I’d never had surgery before. So, please don’t make fun of me when I admit that I woke up crying. My vision was blurry, my head was in a vice, my anti-nausea medication had worn off, and it felt like I had a cactus in my vagina.

I saw a silhouette at my bedside, a woman’s silhouette with a ponytail of dirty-blonde hair. For a second, I thought my mom had forgiven me – I thought that someone, somehow, had reached her. I thought she cared enough to be worried about me. I reached out to her, craving to feel her hold me again. I felt horrible. I wanted my Mama to make it all better.

“M-om?” I mewled, my mouth slow and dry.

I touched the woman’s arm, causing her to turn towards me. She wasn’t my mom – just a nurse who styled her hair the same way. “No, sorry. I’m not Mom,” she said softly. “She’s probably waiting for you outside.”

I knew she wasn’t. I felt more tears trail down my neck.

“Just lay back and try to wake up a little more,” the nurse told me, “then we’ll let your family come back and see you.”

I dipped in and out of a fugue state, gradually returning to reality as the drugs wore off. Although I couldn’t remember much before surgery, I was inately aware that my cervix had been sewn shut. There was no telling what had caused me to lose Baby A, but Baby B was still considered at-risk. Sealing the exit shut was the best bet to keep ‘em in there. The fact I was still pregnant at all after so much blood loss and cramping was miraculous. Just to be safe, they hooked my IV up to something that would stop my uterus from contracting.

When I was awake enough to feel hungry and ask for food, the Tariqs were allowed to come sit with me in my cubicle of curtains. Tess sat on the side of my bed while Ray tried to nap in his chair. It’d been nearly twelve hours since we arrived at the hospital and we were all exhausted. I barely had the energy to lift spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup to my mouth. After I’d gotten some broth and crackers down my throat, and Tess and I had run out of small talk, Tess leaned in and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered into my ear. “I know what you’re feelin’, and it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

They weren’t empty words – far from it. Tess had been where I was time, after time, after time. Only, for her, it was worse – those lost children were her own. Then . . . there had been Ravi. I didn’t want to imagine how his loss had felt. Well . . . perhaps I could make a light comparison, but I at least knew my son was alive and well somewhere. I wrapped my arms around Tess in return, blinking back tears.

“No, Tess,” I said, my face covered by her long flaxen hair. It smelled like her mint shampoo. “I’m sorry you went through this so many times.”

Tess held me tighter.

“Have you told them?” I asked.

“No. We wanted ‘ta hear what the doctor said first,” Tess said. “Everything’s lookin’ okay with the baby right now, but he wants ‘ya on bedrest.”

“Can you . . . please call them for me? I don’t want to hear them . . .”

“I will,” Tess said, patting my back. “I’ll go outside and let them know.”

“If they ask which one it was . . .” I sniffled and choked back a small sob. “. . . tell them we lost Jellybean.”

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

I continued to send the Gillespies bumpdates every week. I never missed a single one. I continued mailing them printouts of their baby’s ultrasounds. We never talked or chatted about what happened, nor did we discuss medical updates about Bat Bean. For those, the Gillespies waited for either Ray or Tess to contact them. I didn’t want them to associate me – the woman carrying their one and only child – with talk of heartbreak and loss. I wanted Silas and Owen to be excited when they saw an email from me, not dread clicking on it. Ray and Tess stepped up to be the bearers of heavy news for us. My doctor had me going in for ultrasounds every two weeks, which meant a lot of baby pictures from me and a lot of medical updates from the Tariqs.

My stomach remained flat for quite a while, with just the slightest bump in my lower belly for weeks. But one morning, around fifteen weeks in, I swear I woke up looking like I’d swallowed a cantaloupe. I guess the baby had finally hit that growth spurt Tess had predicted.

His name was Milo Bennet Gillespie. Silas and Owen named him shortly after we discovered he was going to be a boy. Owen was a fan of classic books who worked at Barnes & Noble, so I had no doubt he was the one to choose the middle name. Sometimes we playfully referred to Milo as “Bat Bean”, but that nickname faded out in favor of his real name. I worried over him – a lot. I bought a home doppler online so I could check if his heart was beating. Whenever I noticed he hadn’t moved for a while, I would pull up my shirt and rub the doppler on my bump until I heard the whoosh of his pulse. The doctors kept saying everything was looking good with him, but I worried.

I was essentially given leave of my housekeeper duties until Milo was done cooking. The doctor wanted me off my feet, so I spent most of my days on the couch watching cartoons with Suri. She was observant enough to ask about my big belly in her two-word-sentence manner. Unsure how to explain the situation, I told her there was a small person living in my stomach and that his name was Milo. I even took her tiny hand and let her feel where Milo was wiggling around. She didn’t like that very much, it freaked her out and she ran to her mother. I didn’t want her to get excited for a baby that wouldn’t be coming home with me. That wouldn’t be fair to her . . . or to me.

It wasn’t the best experience, being pregnant without the baby’s parents there. When I was growing Suri, her parents were there with me at every doctor’s visit. They took me on day trips just for fun and to make sure I had enough to eat. They were able to put their hands on my belly to feel their daughter kick, and put their lips close to my skin so she could hear their voices. Milo didn’t have that. His daddies were hundreds of miles away. They’d never felt him squirm around, only I had. He’d never heard their voices close-up, just over the phone . . . maybe. The clearest voice he’d ever heard was mine . . . and my voice wasn’t going to follow him home.

Although I had the Tariqs there to support me and love me, I felt alone in my pregnancy. Milo was just a little visitor in the household – we had no toys or bedding or bottles for him, all of that was with his fathers. After he was born, no one would mention him – his future didn’t involve us at all. I was the closest thing to a mother Milo would ever have . . . and I wasn’t going to be a part of his life.

It was an experience I’d had before, with the last baby boy I’d held under my heart.

It took a toll. It really took a toll.

Before I knew it, I’d blown up big as a barn. I no longer had a lap when I sat down, my belly nearly reaching my knees. Milo was a big boy – the doctor estimated he was around nine pounds – and he was squishing all the fluid in my body into my lower half. My legs were hot and heavy and my feet were too swollen for my shoes, so I shuffled between the bathroom, kitchen and couch in flip-flops. God, I hated being on my feet. I spent my days either dicking around on my laptop – using my belly as a desk – or watching TV while sprawled out on the couch.

Surinder got really upset with me one day, when I refused to play tag with her. Ray and Tess were very mindful of how much Suri “bothered” me, but I never considered it bothersome. I loved Suri, she was practically my niece. I was sure to let her know that I wanted to play with her, but my “belly buddy” was making me too tired. I made up for it with lots of hugs and kisses, and I promised that once I was feeling better we’d play tag as much as she wanted.

As soon as I hit thirty-seven weeks, I was on high alert. I’d warned my doctor that I delivered before my due date at least once before, but he wanted to keep Milo in there until he was full-term. So, he refused to remove my stitches. As miserable as I was, I agreed. I wanted Milo to bulk up as much as he could, even if it added to my discomfort. If I could give Silas and Owen a perfect, healthy baby . . . maybe it would make up for what happened.

My body had failed one of their babies – and so help me God I was gonna force it to nurture the other! I was determined! I would make it to forty weeks!

Yet, I would not.

I pulled myself off the couch one afternoon to grab a snack and my knees almost folded. I leaned against the arm of the couch as a deep downward motion slid over my organs. My lungs were slowly relieved of their crushing burden and they eagerly filled to their maximum. I lifted the weight of my belly with one desperate hand because I had a blaring instinct about what was happening.

“Milo, don’t you dare!” I muttered under my breath.

Like a Duplo block clicking into place, Milo’s head slipped into my hips. My belly visibly dropped, I felt it shift to hit heavier in my hand. Almost immediately, I felt the baby’s heft sitting directly on my sutured cervix. I groaned and pressed my thighs together. The pain throbbed between my legs, sharper than I’d ever felt.

“Hey, Ray?” I called, knowing he was upstairs in his office.

“Yeah?” his distant voice rumbled through the ceiling.

“Can you bring me my phone?” I called. “I need to call the doctor.”

A few minutes later, Ray thumped down the creaky stairs with my cellphone. He paused when he saw me leaning over the back of the sofa, kneeling with my thighs apart. “You okay?” he asked, handing me my phone.

“I need to call the doctor and tell him I need my stitches out, like . . . tomorrow,” I said, unlocking the screen. “Milo’s in my hips, he’s not gonna wait another two weeks.”

Ray rubbed my lower back, scratching his goatee in thought. “Is he going to wait until tomorrow? You’ve been having cramps, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re irregular as hell,” I said, putting the phone up to my ear. “I’ll be in labor soon, but not that soon.”

I was wrong. I was so wrong. I was so horribly wrong.

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

“Silas? Hi. Yeah, it’s Ray.”

“Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

“We have a situation. Fawn’s having contractions and you boys need to get on a plane right now.” Ray ground his knuckles into my back while I wailed face-down on my bed.

I gripped a bag of frozen peach slices in a towel between my thighs. My arms hugged all my pillows to my chest beneath me, and I buried my head between them to yell my way through this latest contraction. My belly was squeezed into a perfect sphere, peeking out from under my shirt as it hung down to my mattress. The contractions were actually pretty mild, all things considered. They didn’t hurt that bad at all.

However! My body was forcing Milo down hard against my cervix. That pain was far, far worse than the contractions. His head was grinding against a closed exit, but the sheer force was spreading that exit open anyway. The baby was a battering ram and my cervix was a fortress door, splitting apart around its locks and bars with every slam.

“Fuck, I want these stitches out!” I cried into my pillows. “I want them out!”

“Yeah . . . yeah, you can get a refund on the tickets you already bought,” Ray continued on the phone, and on my back. “I’ll book a room for you, don’t worry about that. Just focus on getting here. Bring an overnight bag for each of you and some basics for the baby. I’ll pick you up from the airport, don’t bother with an Uber.”

Tess walked into the room, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hair thrown into a messy bun. “Everything’s in the car,” she said. Her hand squeezed my shoulder until my posture relaxed and I lifted my head from the pillows. “You ready to go have a baby, ‘shug?”

I nodded. Tess helped me to my feet and I waddled down to the car doubled over and holding my belly up. Even without a contraction, the pry and pull on the strings holding my cervix closed was constant. My seam was literally about to pop. I had to recline the passenger seat as far as it could go so I could somewhat lie on my side. My contractions were regular, but very far apart; so, thank god, I didn’t have to deal with any while cramped in the car.

My chest tightened when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. I knew I’d be having the baby here. I’d prepared for it, but thinking about it was so different from doing it. Because of the complications with this pregnancy, I had no choice but to deliver in the same maternity ward I’d walked into years ago. I . . . didn’t like thinking about what I went through in that ward.

Tess came around to my door to help haul me out, but I didn’t move. I stayed on my side, staring at the clouds hovering above the cars – they were painted with the summer sunset.

“‘Ya want me ‘ta get a wheelchair?” Tess asked, leaning on the open car door.

“Yeah,” I sighed, resting my cheek on my hand. “Tess, I don’t wanna go in there. I wanna do this at home.”

Tess looked over her shoulder, scanning the hundreds of windows looming ten stories over us. “Me neither,” she said, then turned and hustled toward the hospital entrance.

At eleven-thirty that night, I found myself sitting on a birthing ball in a stagnant delivery room. The only light was the yellow wall lamp mounted over my bed – anything brighter and my head would pound. A monitor belt was pulled snug around my belly, leashing me to a gaggle of machines beside the bed. An IV bag of pitocin hung from a hooked pole beside me, the tubes trailing down to a needle taped in place on the back of my hand.

I bounced on the ball, my hands braced on Tess’s knees while she sat on the side of the bed in front of me. I felt my torso squeeze and held my breath. The monitor beeped, registering a contraction.

“Blow the pain out,” Tess crooned, ghosting her fingertips up and down my arms.

I grabbed her knees and rotated my hips on the ball. A small “Ack!” bubbled up from my throat before I sucked air in through my nose and forced it out through pursed lips. I blew hard until my lungs went flat, then filled them again and continued the process. Salty water leaked from my shut eyelids and slid in thick droplets down my neck and back. I blew so I wouldn’t scream. I knew I could scream, but I didn’t want to come unglued only a few hours into active labor. Hell, my water hadn’t even broken yet.

I could still be in control of myself, even if this birth was not going according to plan.

I was hoping labor would be smoother after the stitches were out, but they’d only caused more complications. I’d dilated quickly regardless of the sutures, already three centimeters open when the doctor snipped the strings. He’d gotten to me too late, though. The stitches had ripped small tears in my cervix as Milo’s head pulled them apart. The swelling was immense – within minutes I was sealed shut again and my labor stalled. Hence, the pitocin.

The pitocin hijacked my body, forcing it to crush inward on itself like a soda can in a hydraulic press – at a strength and speed beyond what felt natural. I had never felt labor this intensely! I would desperately cling to any self-control I had in that beige nightmare of a room.

“Mmmmh,” I hummed through my nose, my hip swivel morphing back into a bounce as the contraction eased.

“Good job,” Tess grinned at me. “You’re doin’ so good, Fawn.”

I moaned and leaned back, bracing my hands on my hips as I rode that birthing ball like a rodeo star. “Have they landed yet?”

“Doll, they ain’t on the plane yet,” Tess said. “The only direct flight they could book on such short notice leaves at one-fifteen. Ray’ll call us when they take off and when they land.”

“God,” I huffed, my chin falling onto my chest. “They gotta be here. They can’t miss this!”

“Everyone’s doin’ their best and that’s the only thing they can,” Tess said. “It’s only an hour flight. They’ll be here in time, don’tcha worry.”

My hair had grown past my shoulders during my pregnancy, and it was suffocating me. I lifted my auburn curls off my flushed neck to cool down. Tess watched me for a moment before pulling the elastic band from her hair. A cascade of blonde fell down her back, sun-bleached highlights vibrant even in the low light. Without a word she came ‘round and gathered my frizz into her hands. A few flicks of the wrist and she had my hair up in a damp, poofy bun.

Tess kneaded the back of my neck for a while. I rested against her, letting her work my muscles like dough. Milo kicked, causing a dull ‘thump’ on the doppler.

“Fawn,” Tess broke the silence, “there’s nothin’ wrong with askin’ for pain relief.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Doll, I can tell it’s hurtin’ like hell. You’re hooked up ‘ta stuff that could rocket a foal out’a ‘ya.”

“I’m. Fine.”

“Just ‘cause ‘ya managed before doesn’t mean-.”

“I don’t wanna be stuck in that bed!” I cried. “I don’t wanna lay there like a lame horse ‘til they strap me up in stirrups! I’m NOT doing that again!”

I pulled away, using the bed’s railing to lift myself to my feet. My hand wrapped around to support my lower spine, exposed by the untied loops of my hospital gown. Tess picked up the absorbent pad on the birthing ball, folding it over to hide the bright spot of blood where I’d been sitting. I saw it, but it didn’t scare me – I knew it was from all the swelling. She retrieved the pink water cup from the table and let me drink from its straw.

“I had my baby here, too,” she finally spoke. She sat back down on the bed and smoothed her hand over the starchy sheets. “The beds feel the same.”

“Ravi was born here?” I rocked myself from foot-to-foot, holding onto the railing to keep steady. “I didn’t know that.”

“Four years ago as of January,” Tess said with a nod. “I was in here a few months before ‘ya, ‘shug. Who knows? Maybe they had us in the same room.”

God. Had it been four years already? I had a four-year-old somewhere out there and he had never seen my face. What toys did he like to play with? Did he watch the same preschooler shows that Suri and I watched together? What were his favorite foods? I wanted to know all of that. I wanted to know him! I wanted to know the sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the texture of his hair . . . or his name.

A scar somewhere in my chest ripped open and I swear I could feel a black void pouring over my ribs like paint. I held my breath. Tears dripped from the tip of my nose and onto my belly. I was in so much pain, but not from labor. My soul was bleeding – the wound as raw as the day it was carved.

In my mind's eye, I saw myself reaching for my son as the doctor held him up. I saw my arms cradling his little naked body against my chest while he took his first breaths. I saw my lips pressing kisses into his bald, wrinkly scalp while my eyes cried phantom tears onto his skin.

None of that had happened at all – but it should have! I should have been given the chance to say goodbye – to look into his eyes and tell him how much I would always love him, even if he couldn’t see me. No, not even that. He should have stayed my baby! I should have gotten pregnant by a different man – a good man. I should have been on the pill instead of relying on his father’s cheap, oversized condoms that were probably expired. I should have fucked up my life less. I should have made a thousand better choices, so he could have stayed my baby!

I screamed along with the frantic beeping of the monitor, but all physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional. I’d cried through my heartbreak once before, but being back in that damn ward, in an identical room, brought all my grief pouring back out. Tears and liquid snot flowed down my face as I white-knuckled the bed’s railing to keep me upright. I gulped full lungs of air, only to wail and scream and sob until they were empty.

I think Tess knew my tears were from deeper down than they seemed. She leaned close and gently took hold of my contracting sides. Her palms rubbed large, soothing circles into my hardened womb. Her sympathetic eyes never left my face.

“Good girl,” she crooned. My eyes were blurry with salt water, but I thought the skin around her eyes looked red. “Scream it all out.”

“I want my baby, Tess!” I cried. “I . . .” my shoulders jerked with a sob, my diaphragm spasming from lack of air. “I n-never got to ho-hold him!” Another hiccup. “H-He’s going to think I . . . think I didn’t w-want him! But I . . . I wanted h-him so much!”

“Hushhh,” Tess shushed me. She wiped my face with the scratchy hospital blanket. “Hush now, doll. Calm ‘yaself down and get some air in.”

“Okay,” I nodded, still choking on sobs and panting for breath. “Okay . . . okay . . .” The awareness of the contraction began creeping into my brain. “Ohh . . . ohh . . . oh, shit!”

Blinded with tears, I threw my arm out to grab onto Tess. I balled her shirt collar in my hand and restarted my “blow the pain out” technique.

Tess continued massaging the sides of my belly, waiting to speak until she felt my muscles start to uncoil. “Are ‘ya sure you don’t want somethin’? I can call the nurse.”

I sniffled and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Able to see again, I realized I hadn’t been wrong. Tess had been crying. My hand released her shirt, and my arm snaked around her shoulders to pull her into a hug.

“Tess . . . I just want you.”

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

Three-thirty in the morning. We hadn’t heard anything from Ray, and even less from the Gillespies.

A nurse had been in to check me twice in the last hour. Milo was still in his comfy water balloon and that seemed to be cushioning him from the extra-strength contractions. I nearly started crying again when they told me his heart rate was fine and I could continue to labor on my own. With how damaged my cervix was – and how many liters of pitocin they’d given me – I’d been terrified of an emergency C-section.

By then I’d lost the use of my legs, but I refused to stay on the bed for more than a few minutes – usually just long enough to pull my knees back and let a nurse stick her fingers inside me. With the help of an orderly who’d come to swap out my IV bag, Tess had taken the mattress off the bed so I could have something soft to lie down on without feeling trapped.

I’d taken to half-lying on the floor with my arms and upper body resting on the birth ball. I couldn’t keep myself quiet during contractions any longer. Making low, rumbling noises like a cow in a ball gag was a must. It was how I was surviving. Between those moments, I was just tired. It was a relief that I couldn’t feel my cervix anymore, but that was likely because it had effaced. My eyes were heavy and full of grit, but the sixty-something seconds I had between contractions didn’t allow me to sleep.

At that point, I was beyond the mental capacity to worry about Silas and Owen. Milo and Tess were the only other people who existed in the world as transition’s brutal hand crushed me in its fist.

In hindsight, I think that’s why I didn’t panic when the pressure set in.

Tess was kneeling on pillows on the other side of the birthing ball, humming a lullaby to relax me between contractions. Her tune tapered to a halt when I shifted my hips, one leg pulling up to my side. “What’cha need, ‘shug?”

“I feel him.” I stated it like a bland fact.

My eyes were closed, but I felt Tess’s hand touch my shoulder. We’d already decided what we’d do if this happened before the Gillespies arrived.

“Alright, doll. It’s alright,” she crooned. “Lemmie come around.”

I heard the soft ‘pap pap pap’ of Tess’s socks traveling in an arch around me on the faux wood floor. Her weight settled on the mattress by my feet.

“Promise I won’t touch,” she said. “I’m just eyes.”

I grunted and rolled my leg outward to open my hips. Oh, I knew that pressure so well by that point. I knew better than to doubt my body. More pitocin mixed with my blood, drip-by-drip, through the needle in my hand. I wasn’t sure if someone should’ve removed it by then, but whatever. I was gonna use it to my advantage.

The monitor around my belly beeped. I pressed my toes down and pushed before I truly felt the pain. Milo kicked the doppler again, like he realized he was finally being evicted. After a solid ten seconds, I relaxed with a nasally whine.

“He’s coming, Tess.”

“I know, doll.” Tess gently nudged my foot to a more grounded position. “Soon as I see ‘im, I’ll call a nurse. Ain’t no one gonna put ‘ya in that bed, I’ll make sure’a that.”

I scooted up more into a half-squat, one arm draped over the ball and the other wrapping around my knee. Chin-to-chest, I used the rest of the contraction to bear down against the familiar sensation of a baby sliding down my passage. I took frequent breaths between my efforts so I wouldn’t get dizzy, panting a small “Uh . . . Uh . . . Uh” with each exhale.

I didn’t need to throw my all into pushing, the contractions were doing most of the work. Maybe that pitocin was a blessing in disguise – I don’t know if I had the energy to make progress without it. Five pushes in, and I felt my inner walls stretch around the baby. My quiet whines and grunts escalated into growls as the pain grew sharper, and I flowered open wider.

“Damn, he’s huge!” I moaned as I eased off my most recent push. Forget “Bat Bean”, the fucking Chicago Bean was coming out of me!

“Remember, you’re pushin’ out the sac, too,” Tess said.

I hugged my hiked-up leg closer to my side, teeth gnashing in my skull as my face turned purple with effort. “Ugh!” I released a small bark of pain during a brief pause, then spent the rest of the push with a low growl in my chest.

My labia brushed the crease of my thigh, the skin bowing out and preparing to stretch. I felt the inner structure of my clit get crushed as the mass of the baby pressed its way down. It was something I’d felt before in the past during childbirth – but never to the extent that it fired electric shocks of nerve pain down both legs. My toes curled as a ghostly, stabbing pain assaulted the arches of my feet.

I relaxed against the ball with a loud huff of air. “Tess, rub the bottoms of my feet,” I begged, my head falling back against inflated rubber. Thank god she did it without question, I was too embarrassed to explain.

Two contractions later, I was mid-push when a gout of hot water splashed onto the mattress. My focus was broken by the release of pressure, and I leaned forward to peer over my belly. A saw an expanding area of wet sheets between my thighs, darkening the color of the mattress as more amniotic fluid drained from me.

“He’s makin’ his way out, doll!” Tess grabbed the blanket and bunched it up around my rear to soak up some of the mess. “You’re openin’ up!”

“Ahh!” The arm holding my knee in place flew down to pry open my leg, fingers pulling at the skin where my thigh met my groin. My body pushed for me and my perineum thinned out and spread over the head as it dropped past my tailbone.

“Fuck, Tess!” I whined, vocal chords straining. “Fuck, he’s hurting me!”

“Take it slow,” Tess said, patting my thigh. “Let it stretch.”

I arched back against the ball as my lips bulged outward with the size of Milo’s head. The arm draped over the ball was numb, but it was the only thing keeping me upright. The room reverberated with a roar I didn’t realize was mine as I felt that all-too-familiar fire blaze to life. My entire world shrank down to that inferno between my legs. The only thought in my head was to push down into it. My fingertips migrated beneath me, pressing against the hellfire in my perineum as the flesh pulled dangerously tight. I was aware Tess got up from the floor, but I was blind and deaf to the world.

The ringing in my ears muffled the sound of the door bursting open. My eyes flew open in surprise as a gloved hand gently nudged my fingers aside and cupped my perineum. A scrubbed nurse knelt in front of me, a mask covering her face from the nose-down – but even then, her eyes smiled at me.

“Good job, Fawn!” the nurse praised me. “Baby’s crowning. You’re nearly done!”

I flinched when someone else took my leg and hiked it up to my side. It was Tess. I finally understood she must’ve run and got help. I thought I heard a cell phone ringing, but no one else reacted to it. I accepted the fact I was hallucinating.

I threw my arm around Tess’s waist, unaware my fingers were coated in blood, and held tight as I pushed again. I gasped deep and screamed as I felt myself make quick progress once the top of his head breached the air.

“Don’t stop, doll. He’s comin’,” Tess said, her lips brushing my scalp.

Sweat stung my eyes, so I kept them squeezed shut. My whole body trembled, my nerves going haywire as Milo surged forward with a massive, unstoppable push. I felt the little bump of his nose traveling through the pouch of my perineum. The nurse palmed the crown of his head, trying to let me stretch easily over his brow.

A loud slam caused everyone to jump, and the bright light of the hallway sent a migraine through my skull. The nurse turned to scold the two men scrambling into the room, but Tess saved the day:

“They’re the parents!” she cried. “They’re stayin’!”

I couldn’t pay attention to anything going on around me. With a roar of effort, I bore down until I heard the wet little ‘shlip’ of Milo’s head pushing free into the nurse’s hand.

“Owen! Silas! Here, now!” Tess ordered.

I heard two more bodies thump to the ground beside the floor bed.

“We’re so sorry, Fawn!” I heard a familiar voice yell – a voice that belonged to a man I’d only ever heard through the static of a screen.

“Later, Owen!” Tess snapped. “Focus on your baby right now! Do not miss this!”

I didn’t care about anything – I knew this baby was on his way out right then and there! Nothing else in my mind or body would function until he’d made his journey earth-side! I clung to Tess, who pressed my leg back wider as Milo’s thick shoulders started to press out of me.

“Push, doll. Push on ‘im hard,” she encouraged me softly, her voice like warm honey.

The nurse began pulling down on the baby, forcing his shoulder to pry my public bone out of place to come through. I don’t quite know what the sound I made was, but it didn’t sound human. The nurse pulled upward, and . . .

“And we have a baby!” the nurse cheered as Milo’s body gushed out onto the mattress. A small trickle of leftover fluid followed his feet.

“Holy shit.“ My whole body relaxed as soon as that relief came.

My eyelids slid open when I heard that little guy make the sweetest newborn cries I’d ever heard. For a big baby, he had a small voice. Thin, blonde baby down was plastered to his scalp, and even while he was all squished and blotchy I could tell he looked like Owen.

“Oh, look how sweet!” the nurse sing-songed while she toweled Milo dry. “Isn’t he a perfect little man?”

A second nurse mysteriously appeared in the background. I peeked around Tess and saw the extra nurse fanning Silas with a laminated paper while he sat slumped against the wall, looking dazed. Owen kept looking at his husband over his shoulder, but his attention was constantly pulled back to his son.

“Oh . . . hey, guys.” I sleepily waved to the fathers. “When did you get here?”

Owen glanced back at Silas, who was rubbing his forehead and seemed to be coming around. “Just in time.”

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

I flipped through the pictures in my phone while I rode home with Tess. Milo and I had stayed in the hospital for a few days for observation. I’d needed a few internal stitches (wow, real shocker there) and they just wanted to keep an eye on Milo because of his troublesome gestation. At first, there was a little bit of concern because of how lethargic he was – but his bloodwork was fine, so I guess he was just a sleepy lad. He wasn’t awake in any of the pictures the Gillespies and I had taken.

There were countless photos of Milo being snuggled by all of us. Ray and Suri had popped in to see me the morning after I gave birth – mostly for Suri’s sake, she’d woken up crying over not being able to find me at home. I had a picture from that morning of Tess holding Milo in the room’s armchair while Ray held Suri up so she could see what my “belly buddy” looked like. Suri somehow looked confused, disgusted and amazed all at once. My favorite picture was the one Tess had taken of me and the family together. I was sitting up in bed and holding Milo while Silas and Owen sat on either side of me. All of us – except Milo, who was asleep with a binky in his mouth – were smiling wide at the camera.

One of the first pictures in my album was of Milo swaddled like a burrito a few hours after he was born, fast asleep in the baby cot beside my bed. His name, weight and time of birth were written on a card taped above his head. Beside that card was the paper cutout of a purple butterfly.

In Silas’s first picture with his miracle baby, he was pale as death but still smiling. He’d needed to sit down for a while after passing out, but he’d held his little boy nearly every minute in that chair. He’d held Milo while they performed his medical tests, only allowing the nurses to take him away for his first bath. In the picture I’d taken after that, Silas was gazing at Milo with all the love in his eyes that a father could give – and Milo was wrapped in a fresh blanket with an embroidered purple butterfly on the corner. The Gillespies had brought that blanket with them.

At first I’d thought the purple butterfly cutout was just a decoration choice the hospital had made; but when Milo’s first gift from his parents had the same image, I’d asked why it was showing up so often. Turns out, that hospital had adopted The Purple Butterfly Project – an initiative that offered support for patients who had lost a child in a set of multiples. The cutout on Milo’s cot was meant to celebrate the life of his “flown-away” twin, as well as make staff members and visitors aware that he was the wingless half of a pair. It took on the burden of explanation, so Silas and Owen could bond with their son without worry.

My phone buzzed with a new message from my clients. It was a selfie Owen had taken of himself and Silas at the airport, with Milo snug in a sling around Silas’s chest. The picture came with the message: “Thank you for blessing us so deeply! We hope the joy you’ve given us will be repaid – with interest! Milo is going to be showered with love every day of his life. You’re more than welcome to keep in touch with our family, Fawn. We’re happy to let you watch Milo grow up with us. Love, Owen and Silas.”

I locked my phone and sat it face-down in my lap. “Hey, Tess?” I asked, watching the road unfurl beyond the windshield as we traveled the rural roads. “When will it be my turn?”

Tess glanced at me. “For what?”

“Being happy,” I deadpanned. “I’ve made three different families happy. You and Ray, the Gillespies . . . and my son’s parents. I just wanna know when my turn is.”

The rest of the car ride passed in total silence. When we parked in front of the farmhouse, Tess turned to look at me while she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Doll, there’s somethin’ I want ‘ya ‘ta see.”

Going upstairs was a herculean task with how stiff and full-body sore I was, but Tess held my hand and walked with me step-by-step. She brought me into the master bedroom and sat me down on her side of the bed. Tess opened her bedside drawer and pulled out a wooden box that was roughly the size of a checkerboard. She plopped down beside me and stared at the box in her lap for a moment before saying:

“I haven’t opened this since we brought it home. I couldn’t. But . . . I think now’s the time.”

I watched as Tess lifted the lid of the box, revealing a carefully folded fleece blanket with pastel stars printed on it.

“What is it?” I asked.

Tess lovingly took the small blanket in her hands and began unfolding it. Beneath the layers of fabric was a blue crystalline teddy bear sculpture holding a silver heart between its paws. Tess picked up the bear and held it in her palm – that’s how small it was.

“This is Ravi,” she said.

Once light hit the silver heart at a different angle, I saw the engraving on it: “Ravi Idris Tariq”, with a single date underneath. Tess turned the bear over in her hands so I could see the second engraving on its back: “I carried you every second of your life.”

“I wrapped ‘im in his blanket,” Tess said, her thumb stroking the bear urn’s head. “It made it feel more like I was puttin’ him down ‘ta sleep instead’a . . . y’know.”

I was too stunned to speak.

Tess set the baby blanket in the box and – tiny urn still in-hand – got up and walked to her closet. A quick rummage, and she returned with a different fleece blanket. This one was pastel rainbow colored and was covered in white stars, an inverse of the other.

“These came as a set,” Tess said. “We donated everythin’ he never got to use, except for this. This one’s special.” She rubbed the blanket on her cheek. “I prayed over this one. I asked Mother Gaia ‘ta allow my baby’s spirit ‘ta be linked to this earthly object, so that I could hold it and it would be the same as holdin’ him.”

Tess re-joined me on the side of the bed, clutching Ravi’s urn to her heart while she cuddled and kissed the rainbow blanket. “I still miss ‘im. I miss ‘im a lot,” she said. “Having this connection to him helps.”

After a minute, Tess set both blankets and the urn inside the wooden box. Then, she took my hands into her own.

“Neither of us got ‘ta hold our little boys,” she said. “Mine was already in the arms of Mother Gaia, and yours was in the arms of his mama before you had the chance. That’s what’cha told us, right?”

I nodded, silent and enraptured. Tess smiled at me.

“Well, when you’re feelin’ more ‘yaself, I’ll teach ‘ya how to use my sewin’ machine,” she said, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “You’ll pick out the fabric and you’ll make a baby blanket. That’ll be his baby blanket, ain’t no one else’s. I’ll ask Mother Gaia ‘ta bless it for ‘ya. When you feel all that love buildin’ up with nowhere to go, hold it. Hold your baby. He’ll be able to feel it, no matter where he is.”

I returned her smile, but my throat was almost too tight for me to speak. “I’d like that.”

We made a small shrine for Ravi’s urn on the mantle that night. Ray and Tess had Suri help set it up, explaining the existence of her elder brother to her in a way she would understand:

“Mama had a baby in her belly just like Fawn did,” Ray said, lifting Suri up so she could drop a few cut flowers from the garden beside the tiny blue bear. “That was before you were born. You were just a twinkle in Mama’s eye back then.”

“Where the baby?” Suri asked as her father plopped her back down.

“This is the baby,” Tess said, tapping on the silver heart between the bear’s paws. “He had ‘ta go back ‘ta Mother Gaia while he was still in my belly. This is where his body sleeps.”

I lit a few jarred candles and placed them on the mantle. From my back pocket, I pulled out the laminated purple butterfly cutout that had been taped to Milo’ cot at the hospital. I placed it upright against the mantle wall, so that two purple wings appeared to be sprouting from Ravi’s bear.

It wasn’t my turn to be happy, yet. I had a long way to go before I could start making my own dreams come true. Maybe school could wait a while. Maybe the money I’d earned throughout my surrogacy could be put to better use.

Maybe I was sick of staying on the path my own stupid choices had led me down. Maybe it was time I started making the choices I’d wished I’d made earlier.

I was tired of living in the shadow of grief Alexander had cast over my life. I’d lost everything because of him . . .

. . . but I was ready to start taking it back.

~ END ~

#Fawn Drabbles #birth kink #labor kink #mittysins #RP Drabble

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specialbrewbutterbeer · 2 years

Text

Unorthodox (Pt. 1). (Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Kazansky!Reader)(+ a bit of Ice and Mav)

Word Count: 6760

TW: Mentions of throat cancer and death (no one dies in this, it's broadly fluff), alcohol consumption, swearing, implied marriage of convenience (See AN)

AN: I know this wasn't requested- and you're all still waiting on Recall pt2 but I'm just trying to perfect that before I post it, but meanwhile have a Bob fic! There was a gap in the market for it so I went for it since I had the inspo. I also decided to lean into the IceMav stuff in the background of this fic- Implying a marriage of convenience between Ice and Sarah- though I like to think he's just bi and it's a bit more than that, a person can love two people- similarly I didn't want to get rid of Mav and Penny's relationship. It's basically up to you what you think their relationship is. I also decided to whack some music in that I totally didn't steal from the 'sky dancing 🤘' playlist on Spotify :)

Enjoy! (Requests are open, I'm slowly working through them, and feedback and replies are really needed! I wanna know what you guys think of what I write!)

REQUESTS (OPEN)

MASTERLIST

----------------

"Hey Papa-" (Y/n) spoke with a smile on her face, dropping her handbag off of her shoulder and onto the floor in the hall. She kicked off her sandals and approached her father, who had waited and watched her come inside from the door of her study. She was always glad to see him.

"Baby girl-" He croaked and held out an arm, into the crook of which she gladly tucked herself before she wrapped her father in her own arms. She'd always been a Daddy's girl, he'd probably only ever been really mad at her once, and to be fair- she was glad he had been and she knew he'd been right about it.

She walked with him into his study, she could feel how thin he was these days, and the fact that he'd spoken any words to her was a miracle - though no matter how much it hurt, he always tried to speak to his children.

(Y/n) Kazansky was the eldest of her siblings, and was a carbon copy of her Dad - cocky and sure at times but broadly responsible, intelligent, a quick and critical thinker, good at putting up the barricades when she needed to work, pretending like she was cold- but exactly like her father, she melted into a warm, squishy and soft person the remainder of the time. Especially for family and friends.

She had gone away to college across the country when she was 18, but despite being excited about it, ended up hating everything about it. She couldn't put her finger on what it was but she just didn't enjoy a second of it, her only solace was coming home on break.

To her total surprise, her Dad had sat her down when she'd come home at the end of her first year and told her to drop out. She had been the nost scared of telling him that she was miserable at college- but he'd seen it. He knew people, his own daughter especially, well; she had been so clearly not herself and was getting nothing positive from her experience that he couldn't bare it anymore. So she did, she came home and sobbed when she walked back in the front door with all her stuff. She felt like a failure, now she was a college drop out- and again it was her Dad who fixed everything for her, told her that life wasn't worth living she didn't love what she did everyday, if her work was a burden then she'd be torturing herself, and they were privileged enough that she didn't have to do that.

So she found a job she actually enjoyed and worked hard at it, with all the same drive that had made her Dad so successful. Now she was head of her team and most importantly, happy.

She never regretted staying living at home. She was in her late twenties now, but the house was big enough that it had never felt cramped with them all staying. She especially didn't now that the famous Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky was sick. He'd been sick before, on and off. The throat cancer started as treatable, and just came back every couple years more and more aggressively.

Being at home meant spending as much time as she could making memories with her Dad, helping look after her younger siblings whilst their Mom took their Dad to hospital appointments, and making sure that her siblings would be able to remember their Dad as well and as fondly as she would. Now they knew where it was all heading.

(Y/n) sat down across from her Dad as he lowered himself into his chair and coughed.

"How you feeling Papa?" She asked, leaning her head on her hands on the desk and looking up at him adoringly like she had done since she was a kid.

He just nodded and smiled and she gave him a look of 'I know you're not telling me the truth'. He laughed, as much as he could laugh, and typed on his computer monitor.

'I'm feeling fine. Don't worry about me, Sweetheart.'

"You say that like it's easy Papa." She read and looked back to him.

'What about you?' He typed, moving swiftly off of the topic of himself because he justifiably didn't enjoy it.

"I'm alright." She smiled. Normally she'd go into plenty of detail but today she just didn't feel like it.

'and work?' He typed again.

"Work's fine. My boss is putting me up for an industry award next month." She nodded and smiled softly as he Father broke into a much bigger smile.

'I'm proud of you, Baby girl.' He once again typed out.

"I know Papa. You never let me forget it for one second." She smiled and her Dad leant forward just a little and stroked her hair softly. She'd never really be grown up in his eyes.

After a while, her Father looked at the clock.

'Your brother needs help with his homework. Can you help him out?' Ice typed out.

"Trying to get rid of me?" She laughed.

'It's work stuff' He typed and smiled. She knew him too well.

"You'll never give it a rest, will you Papa?" He shook his head. Still smiling.

'Love it nearly as much as I love you, Sweetheart.'

"No use buttering me up now, I'll still get you back for making me help with Math." She laughed and stood. She leant down and kissed her Dad's cheek before heading out to find her brother. "Love you too Papa."

After quite a long argument with her brother about algebraic equations and how he didn't wanna do them- (Y/n) decided to give up. She didn't often give up, but her brother was stubborn and would rather text his girlfriend than study. To be fair, he was usually better at studying but considering the circumstances in the family, which (y/n) knew he wasn't coping great with, she just cut him some slack.

She wandered out through the house, a little aimlessly, looking for her Mom to ask if she needed any help with cooking dinner or anything else. She heard the study door open, and peeked around the corner.

"Pete?" She asked, watching him emerge from the doorway and rushing to him.

He looked around and saw her, a smile growing on his face.

"(Y/n)" He smiled. "How are you?"

"I'm good- What about you? Papa, you never told me Uncle Pete was in town?" She spoke, looking to her Dad who was stood in the doorway. He gave a look of 'really? You're a sap'.

"Well, here I am." He smiled and held his arms open for a hug which she gladly indulged in. "I'm good kid, just came to talk to your old man."

"Oh, you're work stuff?" She put 'work stuff ' in air quotes and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah - I'm back at Top Gun, if you can believe that." Mav spoke with a gentle smile and a sigh.

"Really?" She was slightly taken aback but Mav nodded. "Wow- I wouldn't have guessed that." She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"It's where I'm headed now, if your Dad's done with me?" Mav grinned and looked back at Ice.

"Show him the door" Her Dad spoke croakily, in as much of a faux menacing tone as he could manage, and winked at his daughter. He still had a stupid fatherly sense of humour.

The two men hugged a lingering goodbye and Kazansky retreated, with a nonchalant wave, to his desk, watching the pair through the door with a smile. She'll be looked after even without him there. She'll always have a Dad, even if her Papa ain't there. He was glad about that.

(Y/n) hooked her arm through that of the man she had always known as family, who was her Godfather in fact, and they started toward the door. He'd always been there, at her Dad's side. He was a constant presence in the house, if not at the table for dinner and sat in her Dad's office, in the garden chasing (y/n) and her siblings with a garden hose (and her Dad) when they were little, crashing in their spare room and appearing in the morning for breakfast like the drifter he sometimes was, seeming to swap exclusively between the Bradshaw's and them, then it was hearing his voice on the phone drifting out through the house as her Dad put him on speaker and cooked for his kids or attempted to put shoes on his youngest who didn't want to cooperate (Ice would put the kid on the phone to Mav, then somehow he'd always convince them to do as their Dad asked), the pictures in scrapbooks, the pictures on the wall- their Top Gun class picture, his and her Dad's photo on the deck after their first flight together on Ice's desk next to that years Christmas picture, and ones of his kids and wife.

"How you doing? With your Dad?" Mav asked, looking down at the young woman.

"Oh- You know, looking after Mom, preparing for everything." She nodded.

"You know you can call me anytime if you need anything." He spoke sincerely.

"I know Pete." She nodded and patted his arm with a content smile. They were quiet for a moment. "You're an instructor again I guess?"

"Uh- yeah." Mav nodded.

"I'm told that went well the last time?" She teased with a laugh.

"Very." He grinned.

"You'll be sprinkling some unorthodox methods in your lesson plans, I've no doubt." (Y/n) laughed, thinking back on the stories she'd been told.

"Yeah-" Pete nodded admittantly. "You been down to the base recently?"

"Not for a while- Papa doesn't like me going there without him to chaperone; not since I took a leaf out of your books and got engaged to a pilot. Still the only time I've ever seen the guy really mad with me." She grinned. Pete just laughed.

"You demoted the guy to just an ex-fiance? That's cold (y/n)."

"Hey, we didn't even divorce! It was annulled! The guy doesn't get that privilege, Papa was right, he was an ass." She rolled her eyes as they reached the door and stood at it.

"Yeah- alright, makes sense." Pete shook his head with a smile. "Glad you and your Dad still share that high self esteem."

"I knew I was a prize to be won- You of all people know how a young pilot likes an Admiral's daughter. Shame I didn't know that my Dad was telling the truth when he gave me strict orders not to go out with pilots." She laughed and Pete could only agree. "Talking of that- You seen your Miss Benjamin again yet? She's living around here again you know."

"Well- actually, yeah." He spoke like he was still surprised about it.

"It go well?" (Y/n) grinned, immediately knowing that Pete Maverick Mitchell wasn't so stunned by any ol' lady.

"Something like that." He nodded with a slightly absent smile.

"Ooh- well, if any woman would be able to tame you, it'd be her." (Y/n) laughed as she teased the elder man.

"Yeah- Well; what about you kiddo?" He stopped and looked at her expectantly.

"What do you mean what about me?" She scoffed as if it weren't an obvious question.

"You've not got any fancy man? There's no one for me and your Dad to chase off?" Pete raised an eyebrow and gave a teasing smirk.

"No! I don't exactly get out much anymore, and even when I do I only find these dumb hotshot pilots who are younger than me and treat me like some piece of meat to ogle- not relationship material." (Y/n) spoke very matter of fact and ended with a little twitch of her nose.

"Good- that's the talk your Dad wants to hear." Pete nodded crossing his arms and leaning back on the door frame.

"I said not relationship material, not that-" Her eyes lit up and she grinned.

"Stop there! I've heard enough." Pete laughed and put a hand up. "Never should have told you what your Dad and I got up to back in the day..." (Y/n) rolled her eyes and grinned still. "Glad you're having fun, kid." Pete winked at her and gave her a playful nudge.

"Alrighty- well I guess you've gotta head off?" She sighed after a moment, sad to see him go. She got along with him very well, he held a place in her heart and he was like family to the Kazanskys.

"Yeah." He nodded with a solemn smile.

"I'll see you soon Pete. Thanks for coming." She nodded as he opened the door and turned to give her a hug.

"Anytime kid." He spoke sadly and softly, embracing her and then turning down tbe path. She stopped a few paces down and turned again- just catching her as she went to shut the front door, having watched him leave. "Hey, (Y/n)?" He called out.

"Yeah?" She looked up at him.

"If you've got time, you wouldn't want to help me out with one of my 'unorthadox methods' would you?" He asked, the idea having occured to him as he'd neared the gate.

"Uncle Pete- How could I ever say no to such a good influence as yourself?" She gave a smile and they shared a look that they'd always shared, since she was small, that meant trouble.

Less than an hour later she was sat on the edge of the decking behind the Hard Deck, looking out to the sea, whilst Penny and Maverick stood in the doorway of the bar, flirting like teenagers.

She leant back on the heels of her palms, letting the slotted wood dig in and reveled in the heat of the low sun. People normally expected her to stay home, what with how her Dad was doing- but he refused for life to anything but normal. That why he still tried to talk even though it hurt, why he still walked around even though he was nowhere near being the strong built pilot he had once been- instead he was a thin stick of a man, it was why he still worked. Normal people would have retired, travelled the world and completed some sort of bucket list, spent time with family. But he loved it too much- he wanted his family to remember him as the driven, motivated and stubborn old sap that he was- not as sick. So he insisted things just continue. This was how he wanted to enjoy what time he had; doing what he had always loved and what he always would love, with his wife and kids and friends around him.

So when (y/n) had texted her Dad to say she was going out for a bit with Uncle Pete (though she didn't dare elaborate on what they were up to) she received the thumbs up and the usual 'tell me when you're on your way home and stay safe.' text. And Pete got a 'Don't let my kid do anything you or I would do Mav'.

She heard a vehicle pull up in the lot and smiled to herself, pulling her sunglasses from her nose and eyes and perching them on her head.

After a few minutes there was another, and another and she could hear people talking, calling eachother over.

Mav glanced at her and she gave a cheeky smile. He returned one and gave a nod. She loved the stupid shit they got up to.

She stood and pulled her cropped linen shirt back over her shoulders- it was supposed to be a sun cover but she'd long since neglected to use it for that. She wore a sky blue bikini and she knew she looked damn good in it. That was half the fun of what was coming next.

First, she picked up the little portable radio that sat next to her, playing quietly bluetoothed to her phone and playing one of her playlists. She slung it over her shoulder, and then hooked a football, which had been nestled nearby in the sand, waiting for her, under her arm and waltzed on around the corner. She could just see a glimpse of the group clad in khaki uniform.

"Yeah- outside the Hard Deck, that's what he said." She heard a voice. Someone looked up, having noticed the music first, but saw her and looked away quickly- surely assuming it wasn't relevant to their mysterious instructions.

She continued closer, counting 1, 2, 3, 7- 10 and 12. That was all of em, plus Hondo- who she knew well and was keeping his mouth shut about what he knew the exercise was.

Another one glance at her, looked her up and down with a smirk but again turned away.

She looked like any other beach goer, pretty hot, a slightly darker tan on the shoulders and legs and a touch of pink on her nose- even slightly freckled.

"Hey, Boys and Girls-" She spoke, unable to get rid of the smirk on her face. Most of the group turned to her and noted her confident stance and twinkle in her eye. "Looking for Maverick?"

She spotted Bradley Bradshaw, he was tall- and she remembered him from the Top Gun 86' class reunions which she and all the families were dragged to. Plus Mav had brought him round a few times when they were kids, their Father's had been friends after all. All the pilots in that class who knew his Dad well wanted to keep an eye on him. Poor kid was always paraded around those events cos of his Dad, usually stuck to Mav or his Mom like glue. (Y/n) was usually paraded around as the eldest kid of the class first placer- and since he was rising in the ranks as she got older, as the kid of an Admiral. She never knew Bradshaw actually became a pilot- she knew he'd not got into the academy first time round, what with Mav pulling his papers, but didn't know much more. As usual her Dad kept 'work stuff' seperate from home (except Pete, of course, he was everything), so she didn't know he was around at all. She was glad for him, it never sat right that Pete had interfered, even if she could guess why it was that he did.

The one who had glanced at her, 'Hangman' she read from his uniform, went to speak with a bit of a smirk going, but it was Bradshaw ('Rooster'?) who spoke first.

"Yeah-" He looked like he recognised her for a moment, though she didn't expect him to- and he didn't seem to have enough confidence in the recognition to point it out. "You seen him?" He spoke with a hint of suspicion.

"Yep." She grinned and threw the ball toward the group of confused airmen, it was caught in the hands of a spectacled pilot. "He's put me in charge. I'm your referee." She winked and turned. She heard a hearty laugh and some chatter. Instinctively they all just followed.

Mav waved at them from the deck and threw her a whistle, which she caught as she passed by.

"Meet (Y/n). She doesn't bite-" He laughed as he looked at the pilots faces, all slightly confused but slightly amused by equal measure. "She's just got a damn good eye for detail." He grinned.

"Gotta know the rules before you bend em'" (y/n) laughed. "Now- I'm afraid I'm gonna need you guys to strip off and get sweaty- Pronto." She spoke, teasing was half the fun.

Mav watched as suddenly all of his pilots were the most cooperative they'd been the entire week and within about two minutes were split into two sides and running up and down the beach with football in hand.

He hated to admit that the little girl he'd watch grow up could be considered attractive by anyone in that way, but he knew that's how young men saw her. He hoped that it would drive them to put their all into the game- show off a bit. It had worked so far. Plus, he liked that (y/n) was getting out of the house- he'd always encourage her to do stupid shit (not dangerous stupid, but maybe a bit dumb), he had to be the fun one even if she was an adult now.

"Hey- Pete. The sides are uneven." She called up to him.

"Yeah- what about it? Realistic isn't it?" He laughed as she put her hands on her hips.

"Hangman says it's unfair and he's getting pretty moody about it." She raised an eyebrow.

"That's just cos Bagman's loosing-" Pheonix called out.

"I am not loosing! And I am not being moody!" Hangman spoke with with a lightness and laugh in his tone that was unfamiliar. He wasn't being quite so arrogant today- competitive? Yes. But he seemed to have momentarily mellowed. The activity agreed with him.

(Y/n) turned to him and raised an eyebrow, giving a look of 'what did you just say?'.

"Yes, Ma'am." He nodded when he saw it and she just laughed. She'd practiced that one on her brothers before, always commanded respect. She couldn't have been more her father's daughter.

"So, Pete-" She started before Mav put his hands up and shook his head. "You put me in charge old man! I'm telling you to come even the field, so give the lady up there something to look at and play the game!" She laughed and Mav sighed. He couldn't argue it and joined them.

As she watched the pilots play, watching for foul play, she couldn't help but think that they were all so typical of pilots. She liked em, but Hangman was clearly a peg above the rest in his own head, Bradshaw (she didn't know how used to Rooster she was when she thought of him as a sky little blonde kid in her head) seemed to take himself too seriously, they were all powerful personalities. She thought they were attractive, but broadly uninteresting. She wasn't looking for anything like that anyway.

She scanned the field of play, and awarded a point to Coyote as the game began to lapse into fun more than anything serious. It'd already been an hour or two. No one was paying attention to the time.

It didn't help that she kept getting distracted. She wasn't sure why, but her eyes kept drifting and she'd find herself watching one man in particular- for no particular reason- instead of the game.

She liked watching how he watched his colleagues - how his eyes darted about and he seemed to calculate things in an instant before a muscular arm would shoot up into the air and signal for someone to make a move. He had enough faith in his teammates that just once glance back at them was enough before he was moving onto the next step. His face would be deadly serious as he ran, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as they slipped, but break out into a grin as something went well- and fade back into a stern concentration as his mind swirled through the strategy of it all. He wasn't perfect at it; he was playing football- that wasn't was he was trained to do, and he looked delighted at himself everytime he ended up with the ball- and yet knew exactly what he wanted to do with it, where to put himself and who to pass to.

(Y/n) didn't know what about that she seemed drawn to but she kept catching herself. So much for an 'eye for detail'. She had an eye for detail alright- just the wrong damn ones tonight. She could only laugh at herself.

Mav eventually tapped out. She glanced back at him as he sat down, and noticed Simpson walking across the sand, looking as stern as usual.

She approached as he started talking to Mav, and smiled.

"Miss Kazansky-" He nodded.

"Sir." She spoke courteously but stood at an angle that meant she could glance back at the game. Simpson seemed for a moment to not know what to say to her, and he looked like he was about to ask something attempting to be sentimental about her Father. People didn't know how to talk to her these days. But equally he just seemed confused as to the necessity of her presence. "I'm referee." She nodded.

"I see." Simpson spoke slowly. "Who's winning?"

"I think they stopped keeping score a long time ago." Mav laughed, looking up at his boss.

"Yeah..." She agreed, meaning to laugh but instead sounding slightly unsure as she looked back and once again her eye was caught by a young man. That was until another dispute came about- "I still get to hand out points though." She laughed and took a springy jog toward the group.

The teams had dissolved by now, but since (y/n) was still there with a whistle and her thumbs up was needed for points (as meaningless as they were now) the group all threw their hands in the air and ushered her over.

"Hey- (y/n), you see that?" Coyote called, and it was echoed.

"He was over the line!" Pheonix argued- and pointed down at a line that they'd drawn in the sand which now barely existed.

"Now come on- (y/n)? That was clear!" Hangman laughed and looked between her and Bob, who was stood out of breath, the ball in his hands, leaning over. He pushed his glasses up and stood- saying nothing but looking at her expectantly, a smile twitching at the edge of his lips.

In truth she had no idea what was happening. She was watching him- but she was watching him, not what he was doing in terms of the game. She was deciding that she thought he was cute.

She slowed from her jog and walked over. Soon she was close enough that she was looking up at him. She used the opportunity to look him up and down, slowly. Suddenly the group fell silent. They were all hanging on this now.

He was clearly quite muscular - even if he hid that under the baggy t-shirt he wore instead of none like the other guys. His expressions were generally soft, he was pretty especially even when he was sweaty.

"No. He gets the point." She smiled and looked up at him through her eyelashes as she did. He lit up and was quickly swept up by Rooster who half tackled him whilst the entire gang cheered.

She laughed as she watched him get hoisted onto Rooster's shoulders and his colleagues start chanting his name. She walked behind, shaking her head as she thought about how teenage she was being- letting a guy win just cos she thought he was cute.

She looked up at Pete, who was still sat in his fold up chair, the radio playing next to him. He had a twinkle in his eye. Today was his idea of fun. If only he'd had the chance to do something dangerous in a jet she was sure he would have considered it perfect.

She looked past him, to see Penny ushering the group inside- the bar wasn't usually open today, but she would allow the group a couple rounds.

She walked along, slowly, just sorta watching everything as she headed for the bar. Pete stood as the group reached him long before she did. He had that stupid familiar grin on his face.

Rooster put Bob down and the guy was surrounded by his peers quickly, all thumping him heartily on the back and still cheering.

Someone turned and called (y/n) to hurry up, she shook her head with a laugh- which only encouraged the rest of them to call out to her. She just laughed, she didn't want to run, but she was surely on her way.

Pete took up a jog toward her, his own laugh on his lips.

"Pete! Don't you dare!" She realised what he was up to when he was just a few yards away- as the pilots cheered and her eyes widened.

"Maverick!" She yelped.

He knew he was in trouble then. Sarah had banned callsigns in the house- 'Someones Mama worked hard on that name you know- and if you hadn't noticed, we're not in fighter jets. The Navy would never have such nice carpets.'

Before she could stop him, he'd lifted her on his shoulders in a fireman's carry- which prompted more cheers from the pilots as she and Mav just laughed, her sunglasses slipping from her face and onto the sand.

"Just like when you were a little kid." Mav grinned and spoke as he carried her toward the bar, collecting the group as he went.

He finally put her down inside, as the rest headed for the bar. She gave him a playful punch in the arm- to which he just laughed and headed behind the bar to help Penny.

She shook her head and laughed.

"Hey-" She heard from behind her. She turned, but didn't need to, the man the voice belonged go had circled to face her. She didn't even have time to say anything before he seemed very close to her and she realised who it was.

"You dropped these?" He spoke, holding out her sunglasses to her with a little, calm smile.

"Oh-" She felt her cheeks heat up and preyed they weren't flushing pink. "Thanks." She smiled and softly took the glasses from his outstretched hand. She never got flustered, but my my did she feel like a teenager.

"Anytime." Bob nodded and didn't move for a moment, wether or not he knew he was holding the tension, keeping her stunned and not breaking eye contact, was an interesting question. Either way he was doing just that.

Before he could, (y/n) decided to throw caution to the wind. She hadn't felt like this in a long time.

"Can I get you a drink?" She asked quickly and looked to the bar- before she totally melted in front of him.

"Uh- yeah, please." He nodded.

(Y/n) had to move away from him before she froze up, so she moved toward the bar- glancing back to see him follow.

"What can I get ya?" She asked, feeling a little more her smooth and confident self. This was not usually a difficult task.

"Just a coke, thanks." He smiled and nodded as (y/n) leant on the bar.

"You don't drink?" She looked up at him. He shook his head.

"No- never been my thing." He smiled, content and cool in that answer. Clearly pretty secure in himself, not one to be pressured into anything. She liked that. It was kinda hot.

"I like it." She smiled and waited a beat as he met her gaze for a moment. "Cheap date." She spoke that bit unknowingly quietly- still slightly dazed.

She chatted to him for a while, and they joined the others playing pool at one point. God- she really did like him. He was a little quiet, but not exactly shy. He was intelligent and interesting. He was pretty funny too- at least she thought so.

It was a pretty chilled out evening- as Mav and Penny looked on from the bar, sat with their own drinks.

Eventually (y/n) looked up at the clock.

"Wow- how did it get to be that late?" She spoke to herself.

"Time flies when you're having fun, (y/n)." Hangman spoke leaning on his pool cue and winked at her.

She rolled her eyes playfully. She now knew he was just sorta like that- he was definitely flirting but he seemed to flirt with anything with a pulse so she didn't exactly take it personally.

"Well, I still gotta get home-" She spoke, trying to think of how to get there. She'd got here with Mav, he probably he expected he was gonna drop her home too.

"I can give you a ride." Bob spoke, more confidently and keenly than even he had expected to sound. She turned and looked at him. She didn't hesitate to answer- but Bob still followed it up with "If you- want?" He suddenly seemed back to his mildly awkward self. "I haven't been drinking so-"

"Thanks- I'd like that." She cut him off and smiled, finally sensing her confidence coming into it's own like she was used to.

He nodded and smiled, tipping the last of his drink past his lips before standing.

He put his hand out to her as he stood in front of her and she gathered her things, her purse and phone, then the jeans and t-shirt she'd been wearing earlier in the day before she'd changed into the bikini she was wearing.

She looked up and instinctively took it as she stood.

"Thanks." She mumbled, with a twitchy, shy smile.

Bob just gave a soft, warm smile, and again she just couldn't look or she knew she'd never move again. She slid her hand from his and headed to Maverick. Bob stayed still, watching her- and not even processing that the entire rest of his colleagues were watching the entire exchange, totally fascinated.

"Pete-" (y/n) smiled.

"Kid." He nodded.

"Thanks for today." She smiled and gave him a tight hug.

"You're welcome." He smiled as he squeezed her tight. "Give my love to your Mom and Dad- alright?" He asked, and she nodded.

"I'll see you soon, Pete." She spoke. "And you too Penny." She smiled and gave another hug to the woman.

"It was lovely seeing you again darling." She nodded.

"Not too soon, (y/n)." Pete spoke slowly, as yhey shared a knowing look. They knew what next time would be.

She nodded and gave an almost bittersweet smile.

Then she turned back to the group- swapping it for a grin as she saw Bob walking toward her.

"It was great meeting you guys! I hope this mission of yours goes well- fly safe and come home!" She waved as Bob stood by her.

A chorus of goodbyes and mirrored sentiments came up.

Soon they were out the door and heading toward Bob's old beat up pick-up.

"You know who that was don't you?" Hondo spoke as soon as they were definitely out of earshot.

This gained him some confused looks from the pilots.

"(Y/n) Kazansky. Admiral's daughter." He grinned as he spoke smoothly and drank. Knowing he'd unleashed some good information.

"Oh shit-" Rooster spoke, half laughing, half realising he was right when he'd first thought of it and assumed he was wrong.

"And my Goddaughter." Mav called across to add to the conversation.

"My god- Bob doesn't know what he's in for." Hangman laughed.

"If you think I would have let any of the rest of you take her home- You're idiots." Mav laughed.

It was a pretty normal journey, the pair chatted- then a lull came in the conversation. She watched the streets go by through the window and listened to the radio.

"Oh, Bobby-" She smirked and Bob's ears perked up and he immediately felt heat in his cheeks at the nickname. She sighed as she spoke it. "My Daddy always told me to say away from pilots... Such a cruel thing- when you're sat so close to me." She smiled and shook her head before glancing at him. Her eyes drifted from watching his scan the road, to his jaw and lips and neck, to his hands as they turned the wheel.

After a few moments he took his eyes from the road on a quiet street, and glanced right back at her. As her eyes made their way back to his face, she was almost stunned to find his to meet.

Once they did, a smile crept onto his face- one that let on something.

He turned back to the road.

"I don't fly the plane. I'm a WSO, not a pilot." He spoke, his smile remaining.

"I know." She breathed.

Again, there was quiet.

Soon they pulled up outside the addresses she'd given.

He switched off the ignition and looked over at her. He gave a soft smile. She gave a little smirk.

"Get out." She spoke. He looked at her for a half a second then did as told.

He stood beside the truck, holding the door open and looking in. "Now close the door and turn around. I'm gonna get changed." She nodded.

"Yes Ma'am." He spoke under his breath, taking one last very quick look at her in her bikini before once again taking the instruction.

"What a gentleman." He heard her tease, the smile on her lips almost audible.

He chuckled to himself and looked down at his shoes as he waited, his hands clasped behind his back.

Soon he heard the door of his truck open and close again.

"You can look." She spoke as she rounded the front of the truck.

He looked round at her. There she was, blue jeans and white t-shirt. Classic.

He smiled once again. He didn't think he could stop, she was too pretty.

"Thanks for the ride, Bobby." She used the nickname again and stood close.

"Anytime." He spoke breathily, slowly- with a small nod as he leant back on his truck.

She moved her hand up and tucked a small rolled up piece of paper behind his ear.

She smiled and couldn't break the eye contact. He didn't move a muscle.

He looked so pretty in the dusk light. The damp strands of hair that fell across his forehead, how the oversized loose shirt sat over his shoulders, the shine in his eyes and his overall aura of calm. It was magnetic to her.

She finally moved to turn away, and as she faced away from him, he acted on impulse- putting his hand in the back pocket of her jeans and spinning her back around, plunging into a deep and very tender kiss.

She melted into it- though she didn't expect it from him.

His hand stayed in her back pocket, his other rested on her hip, ring finger through her belt loop. She wasn't going anywhere though.

Hers rested on his chest.

Eventually they pulled away. She was flushed pink, he was strangely calm.

He looked at her, and looked up behind her- noticing the Admiral stood at his front door watching with a stern look on his face. Bob gave a sheepish smile.

(Y/n) glanced over her shoulder, and gave a breathy laugh before looking back. Bob looked back to her.

Slowly he let go of her, and she let her fingertips trail on him.

"Call me, Bobby." She smiled as she turned away again and headed for her door.

He nodded and breathed out as he watched her go.

"I surely will..." He spoke to himself.

"He's not a pilot, Papa." She smiled as she walked in the door. "He's real sweet."

Ice closed the door.

"I saw." He spoke slowly, looking unimpressed. "I know my aviators." He told her. He handpicked these guys, he could recite their records like the alphabet by now. He handpicked them to fly missions, not to audition them for son-in-law. Even so- he had to admit, Floyd's record was clean as a whistle. He had commendations and good reviews across the board.

"Bob!" Fanboy spoke as he walked back into the bar. Suddenly he was swamped and surrounded by his peers who were patting him on the back and chattering.

He smiled sorta shyly as they did.

"What'd you do?" Pheonix teased, not expecting anything.

"Kissed her at the door-" He answered- leading to another cheer.

"Man- you know she's Admiral Kazansky's daughter? Right?" Coyote spoke, amazed and with a laugh.

"You didn't?" Bob returned with a little smirk at the corner of his mouth as he looked around.

If they hadn't lost their shit before then- they did as he said that.

"Dude- you've got some balls." Hangman slapped him on the back and laughed. "I mean- that's real crazy stuff."

Mav shook his head at the whole lot of them, taking a drink and smiling. As he did, he saw his phone light up in his jacket pocket, hung on a chair.

I'm assuming you're responsible for what I just saw?

Depends

Floyd.

I wouldn't let our baby girl go home with any old pilot

He's not a pilot

Exactly

You're dangerous

I am

Love you too Ice

--------------------

PART 2 HERE

TAGLIST:

@thespeeder @fangirlinc @inglourious-imagines @gh0strr @idfkwhyimhere4357 @dempy

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unboundprompts · 9 months

Note

Hey, can I get a list of prompts detailing various methods of summoning demons/spirits? I’m in the market for something spooky~

Spirit Summoning Prompts

-> tw for blood and gore

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

The Book:

She held her breath as she flipped through the pages of the book. Dust flew in the air around her, made visible by the single yellow light that sat on the table next to her. She wasn't certain on what exactly she was looking for, but she knew that she would know once she found it.

Page after page of gruesome pictures and paragraphs full of symbols she didn't understand, she began to wonder if instinct would ever kick in.

Then she felt it. Call it an itch, a gut-feeling, or whatever, but she found what she was looking for.

It was a picture-- hand drawn in faded black ink-- of a girl holding a knife. She had it pressed to her palm, her skin sunken in from the pressure of the blade. Blood ran down her arm, trickling off of her elbow and onto the floor. Behind her was a pair of clawed hands resting on her shoulders. She couldn't see who they belonged to, the face of whomever concealed by a dark void.

Above the picture were words that she could not decipher, but a voice that hid at the nape of her neck whispered them into her mind.

She shook away the chill.

Numbly, almost automatically, she brought a blade to her hand.

Blood dripped onto the page of the book, the sound of the splatter so loud in the silent room. She watched it seep through the page, spreading like a cancerous growth. It found the lines of the faded black ink, following it as if it were a mirror.

She saw the eyes of the creature standing behind the girl in the picture.

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The Circle:

This was a bad idea-- no, a terrible idea-- and he pleaded and begged with his roommate to not go through with this. 'Lighten up, man,' he had been told, 'not like anything is actually going to happen.'

That's what every character in the beginning of a horror movie has ever said in the history of ever, but what did he know?

He watched with his arms crossed as his roommate lit the candles that he had arranged in a circle around the room. The flames danced and created shadows on the walls that moved anytime he breathed. He could easily convince himself that they were alive, or that there was already something waiting in the shadows, so he did his best to not think about it. It didn't help, obviously.

His roommate sat down in the center of the circle. "Are there any spirits that want to communicate with us?" He asked in a loud, booming voice.

They both listened. There were no other sounds except for the mechanical whirr of the box fan in the corner of the room.

"Dude, it's not going to work unless you join me."

"Good," he answered. "I don't want it to work."

His roommate hummed. "If you don't join me, I'm going to tell everyone you like Julia."

"Fine, tell them."

A threat like that was not enough to get him to help summon a demon.

"And," his roommate continued, "I'm going to tell them that you have fake conversations with her in the shower where you confess your love for her and it ends with you making out with your hand."

He sat down in the circle.

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The Mirror:

They heard that it was possible to communicate with the dead through a mirror.

How it worked exactly, they weren't sure, but they found themselves standing in front of their bathroom sink with the lights off. It was 3:32am and they were counting down the seconds until it hit 3:33.

They stared at the watch on their wrist, the second hand ticking towards the twelve. It struck. They knocked on the mirror six times.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock.

The air was still. Their voice was trapped in their throat. They stared into the mirror.

"...Mom?" they managed to strangle out. "Are you there?"

Suddenly, they felt very foolish. They slammed their hands down on the edge of the sink out of a mix between embarrassment and anger. Their reflection stared back at them, their features barely noticeable in the dark.

A figure appeared over their left shoulder.

"Mommy isn't here right now."

The mirror shattered.

----------

I had so much fun with this lmao, if you want more send me another ask I'd be happy to do more :)

#writing prompts #ask box prompts #dialogue prompt #horror prompts #creepy prompts #creature prompts #monster prompts #story prompt #prompt list #creative writing #horror writing prompts #horror writing #horror story #horror fiction #ghost prompt

116 notes · View notes

sadhours · 11 months

Text

tw: death, angst, alcoholism, sad. this is just sad im sorry

“I’m sorry, son,” Neil says, his voice softer and kinder than Billy’s ever heard.

He’s numb. He can’t actually believe it. Nothing feels real. Billy can’t be sure he’s actually sitting on the couch, can’t be sure Susan’s hiding in the kitchen, can’t be sure Max is locked away in her room. Can’t fathom that he’s 2,000 miles away from home.

“Her funeral is next Saturday. We can try to make it,” Neil continues, “But if we can’t, your aunt said she would send you some of her ashes.”

Billy’s frozen. The last time he ever saw her replaying in his mind.

Rosemary stood at the door, a suitcase packed by her feet and six year old Billy was curious why she hadn’t packed him one.

“I promise,” she ran her fingers through his hair, “I’ll come get you. I have to leave now but I’ll be back in two days and you can come live with me and Auntie Diane.”

He was sobbing, angry and seething.

“No, Momma,” he blubbered, “Don’t go!”

Rosemary heaved a big sigh. It was now or never. She had to time this right or Neil would catch her leaving.

“Baby,” she cooed, squeezing Billy close to her, “I’m coming back for you. Two days. You can wait for me.”

She kissed his cheeks, five to each one when Billy notices his mom is crying too. He clings onto her shirt so tightly, she has to forcefully pull his fingers away. She squeezes his little fists in her own, eyes trained on his wet, blue ones.

“Two days, baby.”

Rosemary opens the door, runs to Auntie Diane’s car and Billy runs out after her. He’s screaming for her to stop but she doesn’t. Auntie Diane drives away with Rosemary hanging out the window, “Two days!”

Neil finds him on the lawn not ten minutes later, crying hysterically. He picks up his son, carries him inside and sets him on the couch. Neil’s like a tornado afterwards, storming to the master bedroom and between his sobs, Billy can hear drawers slamming. Then Neil’s angry voice.

“That cunt!” he growls, “That worthless fucking whore.”

Billy curls up in a ball on the living room carpet, hiccuping while he stares at a bloody stain on the floor. He remembers how it was made, his mom flinging a plate at his dad. Remembers how it sliced Neil’s hand open when he tried to dodge it. Remembers how he tried to help his mom scrub it the next day, how it wouldn’t lighten and with time, turned into a deep reddish brown. Billy scratches at his arms as he cries, furniture crashing in the master bedroom.

Two days came and went, without Rosemary returning. Summer break. Neil took the week of work to watch Billy. He kept looking out the windows, his face twisted in anger. Billy called his Auntie Diane’s number ten times a day. No answer.

It’s a week later when he finally gets an answer. He’s hiding in the kitchen cabinet. Cries to his momma. Tells her he misses her. She says she’s coming to get him soon.

She never came back. Billy never knew why. Why she couldn’t take him.

“How?” his voice is shaky, unsure of itself. Sounds far away in his ears.

“She had cancer. Liver,” Neil’s voice is gruff again. He thinks about the bottles of vodka she used to hide around the house. Billy’s chest feels like it’s splitting open. He has to get out of this house, as soon as possible.

He stands, pushes passed Neil and for the first time in eleven years, Neil lets him leave without a single question. Billy finds himself at a liquor store, his fingers shake as he grabs the plastic bottle. His eyes scan over the the red accented label. The same label he used to find in the toilet tank when he was a kid.

The quarry is the best place to drink alone. He sits on the dirt in front of his car, cracks open the bottle of Popov and lifts it to the sky.

“To you, momma,” he chokes out.

Billy swallows back the fiery liquid, understands why she loved it so much while it burns down his throat and spreads a comfortable heat in his chest.

“I hated you,” he hopes she can hear him, hopes that somehow she can watch over him. He talked to her a lot, in his head, out loud when he was alone. Now he has a weird sense of comfort, like she’s here now. “For a long time. I never understood why you couldn’t just take me with you. I would’ve rather took care of you than deal with him.”

He chokes out a sob, furiously rubbing his fists against his eyeballs.

“God,” he laughs through the tears, a maniacal laugh, “You fucking bitch! What a fucking joke.”

Another swig of the cheapest vodka known to man. Billy wants to get so drunk, so shitfaced and wrap his Camaro around a tree. Wants to be reunited with his mom. Life’s a sick fucking joke. He’s freshly eighteen. His mom should be alive, should be around. It’s not fucking fair.

“Did you ever try?” he asks, “Did you ever want me? I remember that story you used to tell me, about when I was born. About how I opened my eyes and looked up at you and you said you finally felt whole.”

Billy sobs again, “Did you feel empty when you left? Did you hate yourself for not taking me?”

The clouds move slowly as he gazes up, tries not to think about how possibly he’s just talking to himself and she can’t actually hear him. That she’s just gone and there’s nothing and that’s it. You die and you’re dead and gone, just memories. Billy suddenly clutches at his necklace, brings it to his lips and kisses it.

“I love you,” he blubbers out, “Fuck, I love you.”

“Remember when you would take me surfing?” he hiccups, “Dad made me stop. Haven’t done it since the last time you took me.”

He’s silent for a while, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. It’s all so fucking surreal. He always wondered if it’d be easier if she was dead. But he’s never felt so god damn hopeless in his life.

He lifts the bottle of Popov again, laughing again.

“Got your favorite,” he sniffles, “I get it, a little bit. Why you ran off, why you drank so much. He would’ve killed you. I think I remind him of you. I think that’s why he fucking hates me so much. A reminder of what he lost.”

Billy sighs, takes another plentiful swig and sinks down on his back.

“Wonder why he doesn’t just kill me,” he mumbles, “Maybe he thinks he can just push me to do it my fucking self.”

He’s silent again, can hear the frogs and crickets. The air is cool, brings chills to his spine but that’s something Popov can solve. He tries to take another swig lying down but chokes on it, coughs up the harsh alcohol and sits up to catch his breath. Thinks about if he gets pulled over on the way home, how he’ll reek of vodka. Like his mom used to.

“I’ve thought about it, ya know. After you left, kinda thought it every day,” he rubs his nose with his palm, smearing snot over his skin. “It’s too easy. I don’t know. Maybe I’m fucking stupid, but maybe I can do something with my life. Don’t know what I’m good at, but there’s gotta be something, right? Maybe pottery, like you did. I never tried.”

Another swig of the cheap booze, he’s feeling it. Billy’s drunk. Gets why his mom was so dependent on it. A short term solution for life long pain.

“I think he loved you,” he speaks again, “Susan is a lot like you. She’s got a really fucking annoying kid and she’s not as perfect as you, but he seemed happier. He buys her things a lot.”

He laughs, “Get this. He bought her diamond earrings for Christmas. Got Max a stereo for his room. Guess what he got me? A fucking copy of Penthouse.”

Billy snorts then, “I’m gay, mom. I think he knows it too, that’s why he got me a fucking skin mag.”

When the realization hits that he’s just to come out to his dead mom, Billy breaks out into a fit of laughter. He’s giddy. He’s never told a soul, funny that the one he’s told isn’t on this plane of existence. He slaps his knee, body curling up with the laughs.

“I’m fucking gay!” he screams out into the empty quarry, falling into his back while his giggling subsides and shifts to violent sobs.

He hears the voice before he sees the dark figure standing in front of him.

“Are you okay?”

Steve fucking Harrington. His ill fitting jeans, polo and Member’s Only jacket. Billy’s eyes meet his and then he’s a barrel of laughs again. What are the odds that as he’s coming out to his deceased mom, the boy that’s made these feelings more of a reality comes walking up. God’s a funny son of a bitch if he exists.

It’s the alcohol that fuels Billy’s next move.

Another big, belly laugh, “Am I okay? My fucking mom’s dead!”

Steve’s face falls, “Oh… god, I’m so sorry.”

Billy smiles, cheekily up at the brunette. Remembers smashing a plate over his head. Like mother like son. Billy laughs again, unscrewing the red cap from the plastic bottle.

“Never felt closer to her,” Billy insists, raising the bottle before knocking back another gulp. “The hell are you doing out here, amigo?”

Steve sighs, “Come here to clear my head. You sure you’re okay?”

Billy shoves the bottle towards Steve, “Have some! For my sweet, beautiful mother. She was a fiend for this stuff.”

The brunette sits next to him, takes the bottle and knocks back a swig. His handsome face cringes with it. He hands it back and tilts his head as he looks at Billy.

“I’m really sorry. That sucks.”

Billy giggles, “Haven’t seen her since I was six! Her funeral is next Saturday. Wonder if I should skip it. She didn’t show up when she said she would.” He sighs, looks up at the sky, “Two days, right?”

Steve is silent, lets Billy get out whatever he needs to. Pats his knee reassuringly.

“I fucking miss her, man,” Billy admits, “I… fuck!”

He grabs onto his pack of smokes, pulls one out and lights it, his fingers trembling.

“Yeah… life’s… weird like that, it has to throw everything at you at once,” Steve sighs, “See if you got what it takes.”

“I don’t think I do,” Billy admits, shoving the box of Marlboros against Steve’s chest.

Steve frowns, accepts the cigarette and hands the box back to Billy, “You seem tough enough to handle it.”

Billy breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably and ducking his head between his knees. Steve doesn’t know what to do. This guy beat him blue and bloody a couple months ago. Now he’s crying so hard Steve thinks he might puke. His arms circle around Billy before he can really think about it, clutching onto him. The blonde doesn’t return the embrace, Steve awkwardly rests his cheek on Billy’s shoulder and rubs soothing circles against his back. But after a while, Billy drops his cigarette, turns his body and shoves his face in Steve’s neck while he wraps his arms around his middle. The sobs only seem to get harder the tighter they hug.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Steve mumbles because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Billy’s getting snot and spit all over Steve’s neck but it seems like the guy really needed a hug so Steve just holds him closer.

#harringrove ficlet #billy x steve

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