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dumbseee · 9 months

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united in grief.

f1 au/fic: in which, you’re jules bianchi’s little sister. you’re the same age as charles and grew up with him, when jules passed away your world completely fell apart, and you left monaco for paris. eight years after jules’s death you finally decide to comeback to monaco to visit your old friend.

charles leclerc x bianchi!reader.

fc: madison beer.

warnings: mention of jules bianchi, grief, angst, fluff.

note: happy eighth heavenly birthday, jules, we will always love and remember you, champion 🤍

y/n just posted a story!

caption: missed you monaco 🤍

you really thought about going back for a while, you missed you life in monaco so much. all your friends were here, your family was here, even after jules’s death they stayed, but you couldn’t. every step you took in the luxurious city reminded you of your brother. his presence was everywhere. you were seventeen when you lost jules, he was your whole world, you always wished you were the one in that car. you left monaco for paris because you needed a fresh start in a new city where you could walk without feeling the people’s eyes on you. but a small part of your heart wondered if leaving monaco meant that you were abandoning jules too. he was buried there after all, his soul was now forever in monaco and you were leaving to run away from him.

but your parents reassured you, and told you to fly with your own wings, to find your way, that no matter what jules would be proud of you, and would follow you because he was now your guardian angel. that reassured you a lot since your worst fear was to disappoint him. but your parents were right, jules was an angel when he was still here, and he’s still one up there. so whenever you felt bad, defeated, sad, you knew jules was around you, that gave you the strength to stand up and stay strong. you had to, for your brother. to make him proud.

that’s why you decided to attend today’s race. the monaco grand prix, your brother’s home race. he loved that circuit so much because he knew his friends and family were watching him and cheering for him. you came back without telling anyone, but of course your mother had to tell pascale, so the elderly woman immediately called you to invite you to have lunch with her and lorenzo, her oldest son. you couldn’t say no, because you missed the leclerc, but also because you knew how much you leaving hurt them. you left without saying goodbye, it was too hard for you, so once jules’s funeral was over, you packed your bag and left.

pascale and lorenzo welcomed you with open arms and big smiles, the mother apologised for charles and arthur’s absence but they were busy. charles… you were glad he wasn’t here because you didn’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye. "you should go to the grand prix with us." lorenzo had told you, with his usual warm smile. at first you refused, but after thinking it over you realised that you owned it to charles, you left him behind when he was also mourning. of course it was harder for you since he was your brother, but jules was everything to charles. his second older brother, he was also lorenzo’s best friend. you hated yourself for being such a selfish coward. guilt was eating you alive and lorenzo noticed it. "don’t be too hard on yourself y/n, jules isn’t going to be happy." he smiled and you had to fight back your tears.

so you came with the leclerc to charles’ home race, you knew that your presence would be the only talk in town and on the internet. "oh my god, y/n!" someone yelled from behind you and you smiled when you saw ‘little arthur’ like you called him back then. he ran to you and made you spin in his arms. you laughed and brushed his hair when he finally put you down. "look at you! where is my little boy?" you asked, still laughing. he flexed his muscles and flashed you a cocky smile before pascale came to hit him in the head. "where is charles?" she asked. "getting ready in the garage, he’s really nervous, i think you should go say hi." he told you. you immediately took a step back, you were nervous as hell too, but for different reasons than charles. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if seeing you ruin his race? what if-… "he still talks about you y/n, he misses you so much you have no idea." pascale chimes in, patting your shoulder.

you were in front of charles’ driver room, you knew that he was just behind it. you could hear voices inside which had to be charles and his teammate. you closed you eyes and knocked three times before waiting. a tall and tan man opened the door for you, he smiled at you and you recognised him as carlos sainz. "isa is waiting for me, see you on track charles." he told charles. "it’s nice seeing you here, y/n." you smiled and watched him go. you took a deep breath before walking into the room. your hands were sweaty and you didn’t know where to look. "y/n?" you haven’t heard his voice in nearly a decade, so him calling your name startled you. "h-…" you couldn’t even finish that charles had closed the gap between you, pulling you in his arms. his face was buried in your neck and his arms were hugging you tightly. you were completely frozen, you didn’t expect him to be that affectionate after what you did to him. "charles, i’m so sorry for leaving." tears were now rolling down your cheeks. he broke the hug and immediately wiped your tears.

"sorry for what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. his hands rested on your shoulders, his touch soothing you. "i’m not mad at you for leaving, y/n. i just wished i was here with you to help you through the grieving process." he smiled and you looked at the ground. he was too good to you, you didn’t deserve it. "you lost jules too, i acted like i was the only one grieving, i didn’t realise the impact my brother had on people’s lives." charles gently kissed your forehead and stroked your cheek. "let’s talk about that later, let me enjoy your presence, you don’t know how much i missed you." he hugged you once again, and this time you wrapped your arms around him, savouring the moment. "my lucky charm is back in town." you couldn’t refrain your laugh at his cheesy comment.

"and charles leclerc wins the monaco grand prix for the first time in his career!" the whole stadium cheered for the monegasque meanwhile you couldn’t stop crying. he won. he won in monaco. it was his goal and he did it. pascale hugged you while cheering for her son, lorenzo and arthur ran to their brother. but you stayed in your seat, looking at him jumping everywhere and celebrating with his brothers and carlos. then, when he turned around to face your direction he did something that sent shivers all over your body. he pointed at you, then at his heart, and then at the sky. this was jules’s celebration every time he’d win something and you were there to support him. he honoured jules even when he finally fulfilled his dream. "jules, you are so loved." you muttered to yourself, looking up at the bright sky.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, philippe_bianchi17 and 2 682 789 others.

y/n: coming back in monaco was hard, but i wanted to be here for charlie, i was scared at first because i knew that i handled my brother’s death terribly but in eight years i forgot how kind you were. i finally understood why jules loved you so much. congratulations on winning your first grand prix in monaco! i’m so proud of the man you became charles, i know that my brother is proud of you and will always look after you. je t’aime charlie ♥️

charles_leclerc: this one was for you, and of course jules, i’m so happy to have you back, je t’aime aussi ♥️

fan1: i can’t stop crying wtf

fan2: jules’ death affected everyone, even the people who never even met him, like me, he was such an angel

fan3: your brother is proud of you y/n! don’t be too hard on yourself!

fan4: we love you!

fan5: so happy to see you healthy!

fan6: man, this family suffered too much, i hope they’re happy now

fan7: charles and y/n relationship is so cute omg

fan8: the way he dedicated his win to the bianchi siblings 🥺

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readychilledwine · 2 months

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Pieces of You pt 2

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - panic attack, a well-deserved breakdown, negative thoughts, death of partners, sickness

A/N - 👀

Series Masterlist

You hadn't gotten used to waking up with Rhysand beside you. The High Lord had shown up the day after visiting Nyx for the first time, pulling a few bags from his pocket world, and moved in. That was 2 weeks ago

He had started in the guest room. Opting to move Nyx's bassinet in there, he slowly realized caring for Nyx was impossible without you. Nyx was not comforted by his scent the way he was yours yet. He enjoyed the warmth of Rhysand's skin, but that skin wasn't the skin that held him so close those first few critical days. Plus, and most importantly, Rhys could not feed him. The one time they tried the mixed powder substance Madja had made for them, Nyx had a look of betrayal gracing his small face before gagging. He cried until you couldn't emotionally take it anymorez glaring at his clueless father as you sat on the floor and fed him. You were too attached to the heir, and him you. He was your son, and you were the closest thing he knew to a mother.

Rhys had accidentally pulled you close to him during the short nap, arm tight around your waist, head buried in your hair. He had fallen into heavy sleep for the first time since welcoming himself in. It was so heavy that he couldn't hear the soft grunts coming from his son. You tried wiggling from his grasp, almost struggling for breath as his grip grew tighter.

It shouldn't have affected you the way it was. Being held so tightly was like having a knife stabbed into your chest over and over. It felt like ripping and tearing fine hair from your arm. Sharp, dull, aching, soothing. You finally freed yourself and had to back away to breathe, to forcely remind yourself that wasn't your husband, your mate, holding you. He'd never get to do that again. You'd never feel his arms scarred from years at sea and in port wrapped around your waist. You'd never smell the salt air and sunshine that clung to him like second skin again.

You'd never feel that tug again. That warmth spreading through you as he sent his love. Instead, you were empty. You were a shell of a female, walking on borrowed time, on borrowed life.

You had always thought you would fade if he was gone. That you would leave this world when he did, dying of a broken heart, yet here you were, living, breathing, mourning.

You shook your head, wrapping and clipping your hair before moving to Nyx and gently picking him up. You'd keep going for the babies. You would push for the babies.

Feyre told you once the Suriel had asked her to leave the world a better place, and your mate had once told you the world would have been better if everyone loved the way you did. Ensuring Nyx and Morwenna lived, ensuring they were loved, it would fulfill both of those wishes.

You could feel everything later. Lose your mind and heart when Rhys took the babies out for the day. You needed to be strong now, though. Be the anchor all three of them needed you to be.

You kissed his forehead softly, going to take him out of the room to eat when the soft scent of the sea hit you.

And you didn't know, but Rhys had pulled your pillow closer, welcoming the soft scent of pear that lingered there despite your absence.

Rhys kneeled before you, stroking your face as tears fell.

Wen was refusing to eat, sleeping heavily, and not herself. He had called for Madja, trying to calm you as you cradled her closely. He wanted to take her, to hold her the way you were. He had grown attached to his Little Mor ao quickly, welcoming her so warmly into his heart that it pained him to see you two like this. He saw Little Mor as his daughter. He loved her the same way he loved Nyx, his little ones.

Relief flooded him as Azriel walked Madja in. Old hands coming to linger over the small girl. “You need to breathe, y/n,” the healer knew the breakdown you were having was about much more than your daughter. It was a matter of time before this happened. “Rhys, will you take y/n away while I look over our sweet Morwenna?”

Azriel reached, holding eye contact with you as he took your daughter. Azriel knew a dangerous animal when he saw it. A mother panicking over the health of her baby as a male she had only recently met took said baby was dangerous, deadly even if provoked.

He knew what was happening to you as the sobs became uncontrollable. Wrecking through your body as your mind played the worst-case scenario over and over again.

The house seemed to creak and groan under the weight of your power flaring, making him grateful Cassian and Elain had taken Nyx for a walk when everyone realized Morwenna may have been sick. And making him wonder how the hell you had gone undetected for so long. He craddled Little Mor close to him, backing away before setting down for Madja to examine.

“Take her to another room, Rhysand. I cannot focus with her magic choking everything out.”

Rhys picked you up, carrying you back into your shared bedroom before setting you on the ground. “Breathe,” he whispered softly. His hands were resting on your upper arms, empathy lacing his features as he watched an all too similar moment of weakness.

“If she dies I don't know what I'll do. She's all I have left.”

“She will not die-”

“She's my everything. She's why I get up. Why I'm doing this. She's my world.”

“She will be fine-”

“I can't lose her. I can't. It'll be too much.”

Rhys watched as your mask cracked. As everything fell apart. He heard your mental shields crumbling as you were. He had this impression you had moved on quickly, that you were not as broken as he was, but he was clearly wrong.

You kept going for Little Mor.

You kept going for Nyx.

You stayed for him.

You fought the dying of that light inside you, one he had already allowed to extinguish for them. You were selflessly fighting darkness for them.

He held your face in his eyes wide and searching as the panic attack began.

He did the only thing he knew for moments like this. Something Feyre had done countless times for him when his mind took over, poisoning him and his thoughts.

Rhys crashed his lips onto yours, shocked at how well you two fit, at how you were like that last piece of stained glass being added into a tight spot due to miscalculation and poor design.

Rhys relaxed fully into the kiss, a hand going to your hair as the other stayed on your cheek.

And, as if the Fates were mocking him again, he felt a small kindling inside of him restart.

A content Rhys, the curtain gently blowing in the breeze, the texted soft grey wall behind the High lord, his black cotton shirt, your hands on his chest.

The feeling of soft lips pressed in yours, that buttery fabric as you gripped it, his muscles moving in his arms as he pulled you closer, his hands. His warm, gentle hands.

Birds chirping, soft muffled whispers from another room, your heartbeat, or maybe that was Rhysand's .

Citrus and sea salt.

Expensive whiskey.

Your eyes closed, mind completely shut off to anything but the first sign of affection you had in weeks, and you leaned into him, kissing him back until you were both breathless.

He pulled away then, watching as your eyes mixed with emotion, looking up at him in shock, in adoration.

“Feyre used to kiss me when I would begin to get lost in my thoughts they way you were,” his hands lingered in those positions, thumb stroking your cheek. “It always helped me shut my brain off.”

You nodded, still leaned into him closely, mind lost to everything but that odd feeling of warmth settling into your chest. “Can-”

“Yes,” he answered before you could even ask, and he kissed you again.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tayswhp @eve175 @azrielsmate3 @aria-chikage

Rhys taglist:

@tothestarsandwhateverend @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avajustreads

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @la-petite-lapin @juniperberriesaries @anuttellaa @luvmoo @mirandasidefics @soph1644 @hungryforbatboys @awkardnerd @bruxa0007 @eerievixen @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @ghostlyrose2 @amygdtjhddzvb @marvelouslovely-barnes

If your username is in bold, tumblr is not allowing me to tag you. Hopefully it will fix here soon, though!

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand acotar #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #widower!rhysxreader #rhys x widowed!reader

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crownedcupcake17 · 3 months

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Grabs you by the arms

Did you know? Did you know Hector, with his handsome face and brow clutched his son? Did you know that he removed his great helm to press kisses to the boys crown? Did you know Hector told his lovely Andromache, go to your handmaidens and do your weaving, leave all men to their fate at the call of the war, me especially? Did you know she mourned him as he walked the great streets of troy for his fate was sung long ago, to die for the city he so loved? Did you know he gazed into the eyes of his foe, godlike Achilles, and asked only for his body to be returned to his high father Priam to be buried? Did you know he faced the best of the Greeks bravely even when he swore his skin would serve as feed for his dogs? Did you?? Did yo-

#hector of troy #andromache of troy #the iliad #greek myth #achilles #scamandrius #astyanax #tagamemnon #I’m doing a Greek lit class for my classics minor rn #as you can see #it’s driving me a bit insane #god I fucking love Hector

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shanastoryteller · 4 months

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Happy Christmas Shana! May I ask for some Merlin and Arthur? Maybe the time travel Ygraine one, or something else entirely 🎁🎄🎅🏻

Queen Ygraine is cursed to die during childbirth and the baby is stolen from his very crib that same night.

Uther rages. The grief and the fury of losing them both leave him a broken man and a broken king. The grounds of Camelot turn to mud with all the blood he's spilled and the air turns grey and harsh from the burnings. He sends knights to every corner of his kingdom, but his son remains missing, not even a body to be found.

Tristan and Agravaine de Bois send letters, blaming Uther for their sister and nephew's death and proclaiming they are subjects of Uther's no more. It's a blip in torrent of grief - Uther can't even pretend to mourn the loss of his brothers in law in the face of that of his wife and son.

"I still think we should have killed him," Tristan says, watching the servants pack up the contents of their manor with a scowl.

"He would have killed you and then I'd be stuck doing this alone," Agravaine replies, a blond, blue eyed infant in his arms. "So our revenge will have to wait."

"Alone?" Nimueh scoffs. "Thanks. Is this not revenge enough?"

Tristan softens, reaching out to brush the back of his index finger against Arthur's chubby cheek. "He's not revenge. He's our nephew."

Agravaine briefly tightens his hold on the babe before relaxing. "Where are we going? I suppose Mercia is the obvious choice."

"That old man won't be able to help gloating to Uther and we don't want him giving us a second glance," Tristan says. "Cendred's kingdom is a better choice, I think. That's our where our grandfather's castle is anyway."

The two of them plus a sorceress should be more than compelling enough additions to his court for Cendred to relinquish it back to them. Or at least turn a blind eye when they take it back themselves.

Merlin is fourteen and standing by his mother's side, keeping his head down and not moving or thinking or looking or anything as the lords come to collect taxes.

No matter what they say, no matter what they do, he's not to move.

There's cries of pain from the smith as one of the lords kicks him down, shouting at him for how little they have. He's the most educated man in the village, he's the one that keeps track. He's the one that warns them how short they are.

They are especially short this year.

There's the sound of sword being unsheathed and Merlin resists the urge to bury his head in his mother's shoulder. He's not suppsosed to move.

"Oh, for goddess's sake," a new, young voice says. He doesn't sound that much older than Merlin. "This is a waste of time. If you cut off his head, will gold coins fall out?"

"We're here to collect taxes!" he insists.

The young lord scoffs. "And if we were sent to squeeze blood from a stone, how long would you spend with your hands pressing into bedrock? Look at them!"

"We can't just let them get away with it," he argues. "If you're father hears about this-"

"He'll hear about it because I'll tell him myself," he says, annoyed. "We could take everything they have and we'll still lose money when they starve to death and we have to send people to bury the bodies or risk disease settling in. The wages for those soldiers will cost far more than everything this little village has to offer."

"They're on our land, they pay the tax!"

The young lord's voice goes hard. "I think you'll see that they're on my father's land and it's ultimately his responsibility to collect taxes for the king. Which means this is decision, not yours."

"Yes, and he decided that-"

"Well I'm deciding differently and he can yell at me about it then!" he snaps. "Put your sword away before I draw mine."

There's a tense, heavy silence. Then there's the sound of a sword going back in its sheathe and, "Yes, Lord de Bois."

Lord de Bois sighs and then raises his voice so his voice carries travels to everyone standing there, to the whole village standing there and waiting. "I'll return within the week. If there's any sort of bookkeeping you have, gather it for me."

"Y-yes, my lord," the blacksmith stutters.

There's the sound of footsteps then hooves.

He lifts his head and only sees the back of the young Lord de Bois's blond head.

Merlin wonders if when he returns, he'll be allowed to look.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #merlin

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queenariesofnarnia · 2 months

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finally found you

gif not mine!

tech x f! reader

wc: 910

warnings: faked death and hidden pregnancy, that should be it.

takes place after s2 e13

tech x f!reader

~after the sea surge~

Every citizen on Pabu was safe. Among those citizens was you and your twins. You helped out the best you could while carrying them. You heard Phee returned so you were looking for her while assisting everyone. You heard your name being called, turning to see Phee.

“I’ve been looking for you all night sugar” She says grabbing your face before kissing the twins on their heads. “Give me one and come meet my friends” she grabs your daughter Selene from you. As you walk with her chatting. Selene babbled along. You look up to see a face you’d never expect to see again.

“Tiny is that you? or am I going crazy?” Wrecker asks leaning down to hug you tightly. You had to stop him, so he didn’t crush Apollo.

“I would love a hug Wreck, but little guy back here isn’t ready for one of your hugs” you say showing him your son who was sleeping on your shoulder.

“You have a kid?!” He asked shocked. You point to Selene in Phee’s hands.

“I have two. It’s why I left actually” you admit sheepishly. He hollers for Hunter and Tech. Hunter immediately recognizes you as does Tech.

“Sarad? There’s no way, you’re supposed to be dead” Hunter gets ready to scold you lovingly before noticing Apollo. Phee hands Selene back to you, telling you she’s going to help Shep.

“Surprise” You say cradling Selene close to you.

“You have kids?” Tech asks raising his brows. Selene’s wild curls were the same color as Tech’s hair. Apollo’s curls matched your hair. Hunter quickly figured it out just waiting for his brother to figure it out.

“Yeah, I do. Well, it was lovely seeing you boys, but I must get going” You started to walk away until you heard your name again. Turning to see Omega. You hand Selene to Hunter quickly before pulling the blonde girl into your arms.

“I have missed you so much” her eyes begin to tear up. “I was so worried when you stopped showing up to the lab. Especially after the last time” She said before burying your face in your shirt.

“I have missed you too. Please meet Selene and Apollo” you say gesturing to your twins. As you let her go from the hug, her hand remained in yours. “Would you like to hold one of them?” you ask, and she nods. You let her grab Apollo who was now showing his brown eyes off to the world. Hunter seemed to be enjoying holding Selene as she giggles toying with his hair. Tech pulled you away for a moment, making sure you could still see the twins.

“How old are they?” he asked, not wanting his voice to betray him.

“They’ll be two next week” you answer not looking at him. His gloved hands reach for yours giving them a squeeze. It was what he used to do to get your attention.

“Is there a reason you did not tell me?” his voice cracking. Emotions were hard for him, this was the moment that he let them win.

“You were a soldier Tech. The Kaminoans would have taken them from me. Nala Se and Omega protected me by getting me off Kamino. I couldn’t say goodbye, I couldn’t let anyone know who the father was. You were not going to get decommissioned because of me.” you answer him finally meeting his eyes. “Master Plo was able to help me leave the order we told the council I was killed in action to make it easy” you added on.

“We mourned you. We hated ourselves because you ‘died’ in action without us by your side” he was expressing his anger, and you weren’t going to stop him. He deserved this moment. “You went through your pregnancy and motherhood alone during the last two years. I appreciate that you chose to consider my feelings. I would have done whatever to be there for you” he finished.

“I’m sorry Tech. I didn’t want to hurt you or the others. I sorry that I made this choice without talking to you. I’m not asking you to forgive me, at least let me introduce you to them properly. You can decide if you want to stay after” your voice was desperate. You had no right to ask him to do anything, but it would make you feel better if he met them properly.

“I would love nothing more” He took your hand leading you through the crowd back to his brothers and sister.

“Tech this is Apollo” you grab your son from Wrecker handing him to Tech. “And this is Selene” Omega hands her to you. The smile on Tech’s face made your heart swell. The way he held Apollo with care made you smile. He wrapped his free arm around you pulling you into his side.

“Dada” Apollo babbled touching Tech’s face. The others watched in awe as their normally logical brother melt into a puddle.

“Dada” Selene mimics her brother reaching for Tech also.

“Looks like were staying on Pabu” Hunter says cracking a smile.

“I have enough room in my home” you tell them. Omega’s arms went around your waist talking about her excitement that they get to stay. You place a kiss on Tech’s cheek causing him to get flustered.

“I believe I deserve a real kiss.” Tech says leaning down kissing your lips like it was the first time all over again.

#tech x reader #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch #tbb tech #wrecker x reader #tbb hunter x reader

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rivetingrosie4 · 26 days

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What a Life (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 2)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for 2 of the edits above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Just a scene in which Arthur and reader enjoy secluded family life with their very young son. Arthur is a cute and loving dad and is adored by reader.

Tags: fluff without plot, family fluff, romantic fluff, domestic setting, parenthood

Word count: 2,660

In the cool shadow of the cabin, thrown long by the late morning sun, you sit with your little son, watching him play in the sandbox. The mourning dove’s rounded, plaintive hoots are parried by the sharp, tinkling warbles of goldfinches in the nearby pine branches, and the fragrances of crisp mist and thick sod linger in the mountain air.

You watch the faint glimmer of day paint the crests of Gabriel’s cupid’s bow with light, his plump lips resting between his two rotund cheeks as he concentrates on the toys before him. The wispy feathers of his splayed lashes bow and rise with each blink. His beautiful, shimmering eyes inspect each toy, each color, each shape. Out of all the blocks, large puzzle pieces, rings, balls, and animal toys half-buried in the sand, he has landed on one. You watch the bulbous pads and segments of each tiny, clumsy finger curl to a strong, stable grasp around the edge of the object of his aim—a large block with an Appaloosa sketched and painted lovingly on the side.

“Just like your daddy,” you whisper to yourself.

Dipping your fingers into the sand and feeling its chill envelop your skin, you look up with a smile to gaze in the direction of the stables. In the distance, you catch sight of Arthur hauling a huge saddle and its accompanying tack, a moment before he disappears through the door and into the shaded interior.

You recall the quiet rustling of his rising this morning when he’d been up before the sun, as he often is. And the way he’d kept from waking the baby in his room, intentionally leaving you to reap the reward of your son’s customary gleeful smile, his bounce in his crib, and his lifting of his arms for you.

You turn back to your eleven-month-old with a burgeoning smirk. “Wanna come help Mama make some sourdough?”

“Yeah,” he immediately chirps, recognizing nothing but the lilt of a question in your voice. But he doesn’t look up at you, still captured by the blocks and puzzle pieces.

You stand and take a few steps away to prompt him. “Well let’s go!” you call.

He braces himself on the sand with his palms, a moment later lifting his tush into the air. When he straightens, his brows knot, and his lips dangle from between his cheeks as he gazes down confoundedly at the discomfort of sand stuck to his flesh.

You snort a laugh as you cover the sandbox behind him. “Just go like this, Gabe Baby.”

You show him your flattened hands and slowly brush them together.

His brows don’t budge as he looks back and forth from your hands to his own, unable to fully brush them.

“Like this,” you whisper, gently taking his wrists and swiftly brushing his palms back and forth over each other.

When the sand is removed, he toddles to follow you up towards the cabin, and you carry him when you reach the oak staircase to the back door.

As you turn onto the wraparound porch, you notice Arthur now hefting a huge bale of hay by its cords into the stable, his black leather hat shading most of his face in the distance. But you like to imagine he wears a subconscious smile, now enjoying a life of simplicity, filled with nature and horses and art and family and love, tucked away from the gnarled heartache that gang life had left in its wake.

“Sandy baby,” you mumble when you arrive inside and close the back door behind you.

You promptly remove both your shoes and strip Gabriel to his diaper, tossing his sandy clothes into the hamper.

“Are you dry?” you ask vainly as he starts to toddle away. “Wait, are you dry?” You deftly hook a finger down his back and into his diaper before he can fully get away.

Peering into his diaper, you find no present. You carefully squeeze his bottom to discover no liquid deposit.

When you release him, he immediately darts down the hall. You follow and walk into the kitchen, beckoning him to join you. When he does and you bend to pick him up, he whines to be allowed to remain standing on his own.

“Well how’re you gonna see from down there?” you lightly ask.

When he shakes his head, you half-frown. It was just a couple weeks ago that eleven-month-old Gabriel began walking. Since then, he’s always wriggling out of your arms and dashing across rooms, seemingly already excited to be as independent as he can be.

At first, it stung. With the love and special intimacy of mother and son—and with even the chemistry and well-being of your bodies both dependent on the other—the two of you had been closer than peas in a pod, glued at the hip for so long. It’s always been and still is a precious bond to you, though its daily aspects continue to gradually change. And it was hard to so suddenly feel a little unneeded. But Arthur has helped you find a comfort in the balance of realizing that your feelings are only natural, and that you’ve been raising a wonderful and healthy little boy, with this change as just another bit of proof.

As well as the fact that Gabriel still likes to cherry-pick when he’s carried and when he walks on his own. You suspect that like any human, his adamant desire for independence doesn’t do one thing to hinder his deep enjoyment and fierce need of being held.

So you turn and begin pulling ingredients and dishes from the cupboard, at last going to the fridge to retrieve your sourdough starter. You begin mixing ingredients in your big bowl atop the counter, when you hear a whimper and feel a few hard tugs at your palazzos. And you smirk.

You glance down to find him with arms outstretched and upheld for you, bouncing on his tiptoes with longing. You stoop and lift him to you, hugging him to your hip and pressing a few kisses soundly to his smooth cheek.

Describing each action aloud to him, you finish mixing, dust the countertop with copious amounts of flour, and turn the bowl with your free hand to dump the dough.

“Now we knead,” you almost sing, in hushed tones.

Perched on your hip, his plump little arm drapes with familiarity and utmost contentedness over the back of your shoulder. He watches your every gesture with a mixture of restful curiosity and heightened interest.

You push the dough away and pull it towards you again and again, tucking the edges underneath as you do, to form a smooth, rounded surface on top.

“You wanna feel it? You wanna knead?” you ask.

Leaning forward, you let him reach and press his tiny hand into the supple surface of the cool dough.

“Gentle,” you say, showing him the way you keep your fingers outstretched and softly brush and pat the surface of the dough with the pads of your fingertips. “No squeezing.”

The two of you watch his little fingers delve into the pliant mass of dough, leaving a mark of small craters. When they begin to slowly bounce back, you watch his face instead of the dough.

He releases a single cooed sigh of delight as he looks at you with a bright smile, which you heartily return.

How you love, you love, you love him.

You sprinkle the dough with flour and rest it in a basket for its turn to prove. After fetching a dough you’d left proving hours before, you carefully score it with one long slice for expansion, and several small strokes for a quaint wheat kernel design on the other side.

“Mama.” Gabriel pats your sternum and rests a couple fingers past his lips.

“You hungry?” you ask.

When he nods, you brush a hand down the slope of the back of his head and kiss his temple. You add as you set him to his feet, “Let me get this in the oven, then I’ll feed you.”

After setting the parchment-papered sourdough in its cast iron dutch oven and pouring a bain marie past the paper, you place the whole thing in the oven and set a timer. You glance at the oven window with a small smile, eager to see the crispy crust on your extra-sour boule. Since you first noticed its resemblance to Gabriel’s tummy, you’ve made a tradition of kissing the top of the boule, then indelicately turning Gabriel sideways in your arms and blowing a raspberry on his bare belly, making him cackle hysterically. These days, he’s even begun giggling when you turn him in your arms and before you ever kiss his belly, already tickled by the anticipation alone.

With Gabriel in tow, you walk to the couch in the living room. Gabriel rests both arms over the seat cushion and tries to lift one leg up over the edge, but you reach your hands under his arms and pull him into your lap.

Just before you unhook your bra from its strap to nurse, the two of you hear the back door open.

Gabriel’s eyes widen, and a grin begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “Da,” he says.

He wiggles down off the couch, and as he toddles down the hall, you listen to his bare little feet patting quietly along the hardwood floor. You smile to yourself at the precious sound, so deeply dear to you.

As you hear Arthur’s rustling, jingling presence in the doorway and the naturally firm, heavy footfalls of his work boots, you imagine him resting his black hat on the wall as his small son comes around the corner in only his diaper, bared rounded belly and all.

When you hear the playful growl and the resultant squeal and cackle, your grin splits wider.

“You’re in your nethers, baby boah!”

You can detect the pinch of a smile in Arthur’s voice and the breath of laughter with the last couple words.

More little pads of bare feet as Gabriel comes running back around the corner and down the hall. He hesitates as he toddles, turning back to ensure Arthur’s tailing, eager to play this game with his father.

Still, when Arthur leans around the corner and pulls an exaggeratedly silly face with an outright grunt, Gabriel’s little body gives a tiny jump. His squeal and adorable laughter ring out into the air. He clumsily darts into the kitchen.

When his father follows with a few long strides and the sturdy clops of his boots, he brings with him the musty scents of alfalfa hay and tanned rawhide, of trail dust and undiluted sunshine. And the two subsequently begin an elaborate game of peek-a-boo, back and forth around the island. You can’t help but laugh along at the purest sound of undiluted joy—the beauty and innocence of your own child so easily tickled and contented by life and love—as you turn on the couch and watch the pair. No matter how many times Arthur jumps out to stop him with a silly face and a low hoot or growl, Gabriel instantly screams and squeals, his body utterly racked with tightly coiled cackles.

Arthur wheezes and snickers every time.

“Oh my God, listen to him!” you laugh.

It’s always another several seconds before Gabriel totally recovers and manages to catch his breath, his laughter smoothing with each heave of air.

With the next turn of their game, Arthur lingers behind the island when Gabriel rounds it, not jumping out even when his son takes reticent steps forward, looking for him. Arthur continues to linger, even quietly backing up to hide himself, watching his son for the right moment to strike.

Finally Arthur leaps out, and Gabriel jumps with the highest squeal and loudest cackles you’ve heard yet.

You and Arthur both burst with your own laughter at his reaction.

When your son’s breathing finally evens, you call, “Gabriel, I thought you were hungry?”

“Oh, were you about to eat, son?” Arthur asks in his deep timbre. “You hungry?”

Gabriel nods and pats a hand to his belly above the rim of his diaper.

“Well, better go see Mama,” Arthur quietly grunts as he picks his son up by the underarms and sets him on his hip out of habit. Arthur lifts him over the couch back and sets him down into your lap, then remains behind the couch himself, watching over your shoulder.

After cushioning your back and adjusting him in your arms, you reach beneath your tee, unhook the front of your bra, and gently bring Gabriel to your breast to nurse. He latches on immediately, very well accustomed to your routine. A certain profound peace washes over you as you watch him. His lips flange around you as he suckles; his quiet breaths through his nose briefly pause each time he swallows; and his plump little arm rests wistfully over your chest.

Many people may look away, abashed and discomfited, unable to fit something at once both so innocent and intimate into their world. But it’s always made perfect sense to you. And maybe motherhood was a dream too quaint, one not rebellious or modern enough, seemingly not daring or adventurous enough. But it was your dream.

When Gabriel spots Arthur’s face over your shoulder, he pulls away from your breast with a growingly wry grin, clearly expecting to continue the game from moments ago. Droplets of your milk spill between you and his mouth as he voices a syllable and lifts his arm, attempting to goad Arthur into another silly face.

Arthur silently complies with cross-eyes and a sideways tongue.

Gabriel promptly giggles, and the two of you smile and chuckle at the sound.

“Don’t while he’s nursing, he’ll choke,” you lightly say.

After softly cooing and corralling Gabriel back to his feeding, you continue watching him with a contented smile. You brush your hand down over the back of his head, into the growing downy hair that curls funnily at the base of his neck. As he closes his eyes, you brush the backs of your curled fingers down over his temple, and gently trail your fingertips across the velvet flower-petal skin of his plump baby cheek.

You hear the long, relaxed sound of Arthur’s husky breath over your shoulder, a sound you know very well, especially these days.

“What a life, huh?” he quietly says.

He means to facetiously point out Gabriel’s current lot—nursing at his mother’s breast with his father at the ready to make him smile and laugh. That is, a life full of love and joy, well taken care of, and absent of a care in the world. Just as he should be for now.

It doesn’t take you a few moments, and you’re turning to look into Arthur’s cerulean-sage eyes. A knowingness resides in your gaze. Because you yourself, as well as your husband, have been given all you’d so deeply and totally longed for—and longed, a word too weak—more than you could’ve ever imagined you’d actually live to get.

“Yeah,” you quietly, pensively respond. “What a life.”

The love of your life holds your gaze, and understands.

Your love and gratefulness are immeasurable and uncontainable, filling you and stretching past the bounds of your body and being, like fragmented granules of glittering dust floating from a burst star.

Strangely enough, even with all the joy and contentment and peace, the words and the shared gaze are not without a mingling of loss and ache.

They are not gone entirely. But you both have someone now, to join you in weathering them.

You are not alone.

Arthur leans to you, and you share a few kisses, soft as breath. You turn and close your eyes a moment as he rests his forehead to your temple. And you both gaze down at your son with contented smiles.

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goodnightmemes · 2 months

Text

THE WALKING DEAD SEASON ONE SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all. ❜

❛ Make sure you got a round in the chamber and your safety off. ❜

❛ Son of a bitch shot me. You believe that? ❜

❛ Look, I ask and you answer. It's common courtesy, right? ❜

❛ Get away from the windows. ❜

❛ Conserve your ammo. Goes faster than you think. Especially at target practice. ❜

❛ There are others. It's not just us. ❜

❛ Folks got no idea what they're getting into. ❜

❛ We are surviving here. We are day to day. ❜

❛ Listen, whoever you are, I don't mind telling you I'm a little concerned in here. ❜

❛ Have you been listening? You're running out of time. ❜

❛ Yeah, whatever. Yeehaw. You're still a dumbass. ❜

❛ You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving! You know the key to surviving? Sneaking in and out, tiptoeing. Not shooting up the streets like it's the O.K. Corral. ❜

❛ You were chasing a hallucination, imagining things. It happens. ❜

❛ Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun! Only common sense. ❜

❛ We survive this by pulling together, not apart. ❜

❛ If bad ideas were an Olympic event, this would take the gold. ❜

❛ You can't leave me. You can't leave me here. Not like this. ❜

❛ At least somebody's having a good day. ❜

❛ Words can be meager things. Sometimes they fall short. ❜

❛ Nothing bit you? Nothing scratched you? ❜

❛ So that's it, huh? You're just gonna walk off? Just to hell with everybody else? ❜

❛ You're putting every single one of us at risk. Just know that. ❜

❛ The world ended. Didn't you get the memo? ❜

❛ Toughest asshole I ever met. Feed him a hammer, he'd crap out nails. ❜

❛ They're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. ❜

❛ Even I think it's a bad idea and I don't even like you much. ❜

❛ There ain't nothing gonna stop him from getting back here to you, I promise you that. ❜

❛ One wrong move, you get an arrow in the ass. Just so you know. ❜

❛ You come back locked and loaded, we'll see which side spills more blood. ❜

❛ Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table. ❜

❛ What life I have I owe to him. ❜

❛ I don't think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation. ❜

❛ You're the dumbest son of a bitch I ever met. We walked in there ready to kill every last one of you. ❜

❛ The people we've encountered since things fell apart, the worst kind… plunderers, the kind that take by force. ❜

❛ Guess the world changed. ❜

❛ The people here, they all look to me now. I don't even know why. ❜

❛ Hell with them people. Wouldn't piss on them if their heads were on fire. ❜

❛ Unless I've misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. At least hit a speed bump for a good long while. ❜

❛ Time…it's important to keep track, isn't it? The days at least. Don't you think? ❜

❛ Do not enter the city. It belongs to the dead now. ❜

❛ I know how the safety works. ❜

❛ We start down that road, where do we draw the line? ❜

❛ Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem! ❜

❛ We don't kill the living. ❜

❛ I'm sorry for not ever being there. I always thought there'd be more time. I'm here now. ❜

❛ These people need to know who the hell's in charge here, what the rules are. ❜

❛ There are no rules. ❜

❛ We need time to mourn and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do. ❜

❛ I won't leave again. I promise you that. Not for anything. ❜

❛ You save a grave for me? ❜

❛ It's not about what you want. That sound you hear, that's God laughing while you make plans. ❜

❛ We can't stay here. We both know that. ❜

❛ The most important thing here is we need to stay together. ❜

❛ You go on your own, you won't have anyone to watch your back. ❜

❛ Leave me here. I'm done. Just leave me. ❜

❛ The fever… You've been delirious more often than not. ❜

❛ We can't be here, this close to the city after dark. ❜

❛ You got stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed. ❜

❛ You know, it's over. There's nothing left. ❜

❛ You don't know what it's like out there. You may think you do, but you don't. ❜

❛ We don't have to be afraid anymore. We're safe here. ❜

❛ I lost somebody too. I know how devastating it is. ❜

❛ What's wrong with him? Seriously, is he nuts, medicated, what? ❜

❛ I did the best I could in the time that I had. I hope you'd be proud of that. ❜

❛ We always think there's gonna be more time. ❜

❛ You should've left well enough alone. It would've been so much easier. ❜

❛ I had to keep hope alive, didn't I? ❜

❛ There is no hope. There never was. ❜

❛ What part of "everything is gone" do you not understand? ❜

❛ There's your chance. Take it. ❜

#rp meme #sentence starter meme #sentence starters #rp prompt #rp memes #inbox meme #roleplay prompts #sentence meme #roleplay meme #rp sentence meme #*tv #*twd

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

Note

comforting jj after big john's death

Warnings: mention of death, grief

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The death of Big John affected the whole lot of you.

Once again, John B. had lost his father — for good, this time. He was officially an orphan, just like Sarah. The latter didn’t get to know Big John much, but she still shed a few tears for him through her own heartbreak of losing her father.

Pope was crying in silence beside Kiara and Cleo, who were both saddened.

Beside you, JJ was holding back his emotions. To his eyes, Big John was a parental figure — a much better one than his father. He taught him and John B. how to fish and how to work a boat. He even called him son sometimes. Watching the life leave his eyes was tough for him.

It hurts like nothing has ever hurt before.

You put your arm around JJ’s shoulders, feeling his shuddered breaths as he struggled not to break down. Men don’t cry, Luke always told him. Crying is for the pussies. Although JJ tried to not let his father’s words get to him, they were engraved so deeply inside his mind that it was difficult to stop hearing his voice in the back of his head.

Bringing the body back to Kildare would’ve been too much of a hassle, so you buried Big John under a tree. JJ made him a personalized tombstone with Pope's help while you, Cleo and Kie looked for flowers. Words were exchanged in his name, a sort of improvised eulogy, as everyone was reunited, mourning the loss of Big John Routledge.

It wasn’t until you were back on the private jet and everyone was profoundly asleep from exhaustion that JJ finally slipped a tear.

You were a light sleeper, so you heard him and silently wrapped your arms around him. He went willingly into your embrace, content for the time being to fall apart into the chest of the person he loved the most.

You whispered sweet words as you tried to comfort his grief-soaked heart, running gentle fingers through his blond hair, a blend of ’I know it hurts’ and ’It’s okay to cry’.

It was unknown how long he cried for. You didn't care. You would hold him for as long as he needed you to.

‘’I feel so fucking selfish for crying,’’ JJ said after a long silence. His hands were clutching your shirt and soiled with blood — Big John’s blood. He had tried to wash it off in the water earlier, but wasn't very effective. ‘’He wasn't my dad.‘’

‘’It doesn't make your grief less valid, J. You're allowed to cry and be sad over his death.‘’

JJ sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘’What am I gonna do when we get back? My house is getting taken by the bank, the chateau burned down; I have nothing.‘’ He laughed with a shake of his head. ‘’My life is a fucking disaster.‘’

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx @sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny

#jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank x y/n #outer banks #outer banks imagine

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apompkwrites · 1 year

Text

the mourning kingscholar || leona kingscholar

masterlist characters: no canon, nuru, jabali, jabori (OCs) genre: angst contains: death, more weird magic lore, everyone is sad, injuries, brief mention of gore, suicidal ideation(?) summary: the guardian is dead. and as mwezi miji moves on, a new institution appears. notes: time skip! time skip! well, it's like halfway in but oh well. anyway this marks the end of the mwezi miji arc! it doesn't mean we're done with it, just that we'll be changing scenery for a bit :) also changed up the parts linked so it's easier for me to edit :D parts: [og post] | [previous] | [next]

the funeral was silent. the remaining members of the guard opted for that, offering up their presence but that was about it. but even the lack of comfort was appreciated by the four standing closest to the makeshift grave.

it felt wrong to bury atiena in the outskirts, seeing as how she had essentially made mwezi miji the home it is today. so, the guard opted to bury nothing, leaving behind a marking made of two nearby sticks and twine that allowed people to mourn before the village mourned together.

or maybe their reason was to give nuru some way to mourn before being pushed into the limelight.

the boy hadn't stopped shaking, even when you pulled him up from the ground, away from atiena's body. in fact, he seemed to tremble more the moment he buried his face in your neck. maybe the increased shaking was also because you were trembling all the same.

even now, the two of you, well four if you counted the twins, continued to tremble, your sobs wracking your body and mixing with the rain that had rolled in a few minutes ago.

it was so cold.

in hindsight, you were thankful that the remaining members of the guard stood back. they didn't have to hear nuru's pained gasps and cries, preserving the image of atiena's legacy being passed on to her strong-willed son.

but to you and the twins, you saw nuru for who he really was in that moment.

a boy, no older than 14 years old, had just lost his mother in one of the cruelest ways possible. in your arms, curled up and leaking snot and tears, was a boy who had been reduced to a baby crying for his mother that would never return, no matter how much he prayed to the gods.

jabori, much like nuru, had been crying in jabali's arms right behind you and nuru. jabali, on the other hand, stood tall, tears still falling down his cheeks, but his expression as cold as ice. you knew the moment he was in the comforts of his room, he would break down.

atiena truly had been a mother and a caretaker to everyone, but especially to you four.

it took nuru a few more minutes to pull himself together. he managed to do it, but remnants of his breakdown were still evident on his face. when you pulled him up from the ground, you wiped away some lingering tears with your thumbs, muttering comfort under your breath as his wings naturally folded around you.

he took one last look at you, his eyes still glassy and red, before taking a deep breath and letting his wings relax behind him. he scooped the mask and jacket that had been stripped from atiena, holding them both close to his chest. he took another deep breath, one to hold himself together, and stood tall, mimicking the same stance his mother had taken time and time again.

"it's time to go home," he ordered, pointing at a few guard members before pointing back down at atiena's body, which had been laying under a tree to avoid the rain. "careful with the escorting of the body. any scratch that comes to he-- it... will be responsible for desecrating an honored body."

"...yes, sir!" the guards echoed in response, hurrying over to hoist atiena's body up.

there was no surprise that the guard quickly adapted to the new "leader" with no hesitation. it was expected that he would take up the title as the next guardian, but it was bittersweet knowing that that time had come too soon.

"(name). jabali. jabori," nuru turned back to the three of you, his eyes downcast as he began replacing his old fur cloak with his mother's. "i trust you three will stay by my side."

"... of course," you nodded, earning a twitch of a smile from nuru. the twins muttered affirmations behind you, still quiet from the brief funeral.

"we'll get back at the dens," nuru promised, looking down at the mask as if speaking to it. "they won't get away with what they've done."

the moment the new guard stepped foot in mwezi miji, the villagers gathered together as if they had already known something bad had happened. the second their eyes landed on atiena's body, still preserved as if she had only been sleeping, the village erupted into a flurry of cries and screams.

the elders, the ones who knew atiena since she had arrived, silently cried for the young woman who singlehandedly defended the village all those years ago.

the children, the ones who had looked up to atiena since they were born, wailed and sobbed openly as if they had truly lost their parents.

you hated walking through the village with atiena's body only a few feet away. it felt wrong.

you truly thought that atiena was invincible. it turned out she was to everything and everyone except her own magic.

when her body was laid on a blanket offered up by the elders, it seemed as if the gods themselves had damned her the moment she died. her body, which already lost its wings until only the bones remained, began to turn black. it looked as if the shadows she had fought in were now consuming her, swallowing her whole to drag her down to the darkest depths.

"m..." nuru seemed to say something but he bit his tongue, holding back any cry he had building up inside. and you knew exactly why.

one look around and you could tell the villagers were horrified. nuru must have noticed that fact too.

"stand back!" was what he managed to say, pushing a few children behind him. atiena's body only seemed to endure the sensation for a few minutes, but in those minutes, nuru had an urge that he couldn't bury.

he rushed forward in a second, his hands clasped around what remained of atiena's arm. and in that moment, the shadows that were consuming her latched onto nuru.

"shit!" you were the next to move, pulling nuru away from atiena's body. he thrashed around in your arms crying out that he needed to do something. you didn't care that he was crying now or that he was practically begging for you to let him go, nor did you care about the fact that the black substance had begun burning your skin alongside his. all you cared about was making sure nuru was as far from the body as he could be.

he let out an ear-piercing shriek when he managed to claw at his face, the black substance burning his eye away until all that remained was a solid black line down his face and his eye seemed to permanently glaze over.

"nuru!" you called out to him, kicking at his flailing legs. "listen to me!"

"ma!" he cried out to atiena once more, his hands now clawing at the sand underneath him. "let me go! ma!"

"she's gone, nuru!" jabali was quick to join you in restraining nuru, grabbing at his shoulders and pushing him into the ground. "c'mon, man! get a hold of yourself!"

"ma! ma!"

that was the last time you saw nuru. well, that version of nuru, anyway. the little boy you had grown up with was gone once he managed to calm down that day.

he had to grow up that day and you did too. the future of mwezi miji had been dropped into your hands the moment atiena died. the moment nuru was made the next guardian was when you and the twins had to catch up to his maturity.

no longer would you have long nights and short mornings because nuru was too energetic to sleep and too tired to wake up. no longer would the twins be at your door to wake you two up, complaining about how nuru, the son of the beloved guardian, was the worst at being on time for patrol.

no longer would you get to be children at the young age of 14 years old. well, now you all were 16, so time had really forced you to grow up.

one look at your closest companions was enough to tell you just how quick time had caught up to you all.

nuru still had his fluffy hair, just like it was when you first met him. the feathers that were stuck in his hair all those years ago were now neatly groomed instead of all over the place. his little fur cloak was now more akin to a shawl, connected in the middle by a string. his wings grew just like his mother's, spanning out wider than you had ever thought they would. his scar from the final moments that nuru was, well nuru, seemed to grow alongside him. his eye, however, was now fully missing. he told you it was because of whatever atiena's magic was had finally eaten away at it.

but you knew full well that he had gouged it out himself.

the twins still retained most of their features, unlike nuru who seemed to outright change himself entirely. they still had the freckles dusting their face and their cream-tipped locks curling around their face. the main difference was that they had garnered more scars and muscle as the days went on. mostly jabali, as expected of the more rambunctious twin.

and then there was you. gods, did you even resemble your brothers anymore? your hands were now dyed black, almost rivaling the shadows that burned at atiena's body that day. it didn't hurt for the most part, luckily. it only tingled every now and then or even just the occasional stabbing pain as if a spear had been driven through it.

but, for the most part, it was bearable.

"you two are on patrol now," you instructed the two new guards, motioning over to two older guards standing a few feet away. "go relieve them from their post. they're responsible for checking in with jabori to report any findings."

"of course," the two guards nodded, hurriedly walking towards their new post. the night was quiet, the same as it always was. the dens seemed to fully retreat after their leader had vanished that night, much to your relief and anger.

you were more so relieved because nuru didn't have a chance to enact revenge. you knew that, given that chance, he would kill someone and probably die trying.

you couldn't stand the thought of that.

you were fine with dying yourself if it meant nuru would live. besides, that would be the best outcome, right? nuru was the guardian now, so he had to be here to take care of mwezi miji. the twins were also more valuable than you with jabali providing physical protection and jabori providing intelligence.

what did you offer? you were just some no-good runaway royal that happened to find refuge in the village.

yeah, the best outcome would be for you to--

"(name)!" one of the guards you had just sent to patrol called, hurriedly waving to you.

"what is it?" when you reached their post, you were greeted with a black carriage. you stood there for a moment before muttering, "oh... right."

"what if it's the dens again?" one of the guards whimpered, prompting you to shake your head.

"no, no, it's not the dens," you reassured, waving the guard off. "go get nuru and the twins."

you could have sworn you agreed to not enroll.

"the hell is this, nuru?!" jabali voiced what you were thinking, granted with less tact than you would have asked. jabali held up the letter, still crinkled from being crumpled up into a ball. "why the hell did you accept the enrollment?!"

"jabali--"

"nuru, as much as we trust your judgment, why are we leaving?" you added, earning a nod from jabori. "i mean, we need to be here to take care of mwezi miji. who's gonna take our place for the entire four years we'd be out?"

"(name), jabali," nuru called to the two of you, his hands folded neatly in front of him. "i would not have accepted the enrollment for us if i didn't have a plan."

"what'll happen if we leave and the dens come back? what if we're not here to take care of everyone?" jabori asked cautiously.

"i scouted the dens before i made this decision," nuru explained, stretching out his wings. "they seemed to have dwindled since we last fought. i doubt they'd be back. and even if they did, i have an agreement with the headmaster that we will leave as soon as possible in order to protect everyone."

"why didn't you consult us?!"

"because i knew you would all disagree." a somber smile made its way onto his face. the expression was rare, but there were moments where nuru, the real one, seemed to come back. "there is a reason why i would like to go to night raven college."

"and why's that?"

"it is known for housing and cultivating young mages. if we were to go..." nuru's eyes drifted over to the bird mask sitting on the table. "...we might find an answer."

"nuru..."

"so please," he pressed his forehead against his hands, "come with me. i can't... i can't do this alone."

you and the twins all shared a glance. the only sound that accompanied you was the distant neighing of the black horses pulling the carriage outside.

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queerprayers · 7 months

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update <3

I've been procrastinating this (as if that could make it all less real), but so many people have sent prayers and well wishes that I wouldn't feel right not letting you know how grateful I am for your words and also letting you know this: My beloved grandfather died last week.

I honor the faithful service he gave to countless churches and communities, the children he helped raise, the grandchildren he sang to, the children he baptized, the couples (including my parents) he married, the people he buried, the music and faith that never left him even when so much of him did.

I will pass on the last thing he ever said to me, in July, after a busy and joyful weekend celebrating his fiftieth wedding anniversary, as he got in bed for his nap, taking seconds in between words to think: "It's not all hard. Not all the time." This is so hard. But it's also part of loving someone: promising to mourn them when the time comes. Promising to keep going. Love is hard, but it's not all hard. Not all the time.

His funeral will be Catholic, but he used to be a Lutheran, and he presided over many funerals from the worship book I still use, so here are some words I've been saying from there:

O God of grace and glory, we remember before you today our brother. We thank you for giving him to us to know and to love as a companion in our pilgrimage on earth. In your boundless compassion, console us who mourn. Give us your aid, so we may see in death the gate to eternal life, that we may continue our course on earth in confidence until, by your call, we are reunited with those who have gone before us; through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light.

The generations rise and pass away before you. You are the strength of those who labor; you are the rest of the blessed dead. We rejoice in the company of your saints. We remember all who have lived in faith, all who have peacefully died, and especially those most dear to us who rest in you. Give us in time our portion with those who have trusted in you and have striven to do your holy will. To your name, with the Church on earth and the Church in heaven, we ascribe all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

O death, where is thy sting? O grave, thy victory? The strife is o'er, the battle done. Love will come again like wheat arising green. The Lord bless and keep him. The Lord make his face to shine upon him and be gracious to him. The Lord look upon him with favor and grant him peace.

I'm not a Catholic, and was never really taught to pray for souls, but I think I get it a bit now. He was, though, and if that's something you do, I'm sure he would have welcomed that. (And if you know any good saints to throw in the mix, go for it.) My grandmother could also use your prayers.

Thank you for reading this, and holding for a moment the love I have for him. It's heavy right now, and easier to carry with others' prayers beside me. I am praying beside you as well, especially with the many people who have sent me asks that have gone unanswered for ages now. And God holds all of us, more than we could ever imagine. I don't claim to understand death, but I am in the palm of the universe's hand, and my granddad is too, reunited with all that left him in his sickness, and united with a God who knows death intimately. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, love to love.

<3 Johanna

#death mention

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sunnysideprincess · 5 months

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Last few days have been wild lol, had a cystectomy, finally met my cousin's husband and now people are asking me to get married and have a baby before "it's too late", so I wrote this instead of punching them

no actual cheating happens here

Steve Rogers is a respectable married man. But he's called in by Virginia Potts, told Tiberus Stone's husband needs a bodyguard and it's fine, he's fine. He can take the heat of a family known to sell weapons to death and destruction. Except the husband is Tony fucking Stark, a man who is so obviously trapped. A trophy for Tiberus like his mother was to his father. And while Stone gets to sleep around, Tony's kept on a chokehold by his own father, uncle and husband. He's a writhing chrysalis trying to evolve, trying to break free. And Steve is helplessly in love with those furious doe eyes looking at him with all the rage as he stops him from trying to sneak away. Again and again. But he is also in love with his husband for seven years. So there's nothing to be found here.

"It's for your own safety," he tries to tell Tony. But the man won't listen. He throws a punch, two. Accuses him for being his husband's spy. Steve assures him he's not. He tells him Miss Potts picked him. And that pulls Tony up short. Leeches the anger out and leaves sharp confusion instead.

"Pepper sent you?" And Steve is a respectable married man. But if those eyes don't stop looking at him with all the curious wonder of a predator, he doesn't know what would happen. All he knows is that he'll end up long buried.

There's a change. Where Tony's rage and struggle pulled Steve in like a depraved blackhole, his gentleness and wit tethers something inside Steve. Keeps him coming back. Tony is a genius. But he's not a psychopath like Stone, not a greedy bastard like Stane, not a businessman like his father. He has hopes and dreams that could save the world. He sees a future that's bright and green. And Steve is a respectable married man headed for ruin.

Steve tells Bucky he would be late. He tells him he's got priorities and his husband says nothing, just nods and kisses his cheek.

He should have known.

He finds Bucky beside James Rhodes, doned up in his Soldier regalia.

"I'm assigning Barnes to Tony's guard."

"We have Rogers."

"Well we've also got Ten Rings coming after him."

There's that. Even Howard Stark doesn't want his son dead. And though there's an ugly scowl on Stane's face he doesn't like, Steve is more worried about deciphering Bucky's blank stare and the gentle flex of his metal limb.

Things go differently this time around. Tony meets Bucky not with fury, but a gentle curiousity. Like he's trying to peek through the icy winds of a storm. He picks and prods at him like a cat sniffing a new scratch post. Asks about the arm. About the metal. About the joints. And the connectors. But never about how he lost the weighted piece of flesh in the first place.

Steve is torn between pulling them apart and asking Bucky to say something.

But Bucky has his back to him. And Tony's eyes are sharp as ever.

"You're lucky my Rhodeybear warned me about you. Or you would gotten the same treatment as him."

Steve can put it on paper. He won't even have to look to know Bucky's interest at that. He always loves it when someone shoves at Steve's immovable strength.

"I punched him. Twice," Tony explains, and like an automated machine Steve defends himself.

"It didn't hurt."

Bucky snorts, shakes his head and throws him a look which tucks the message home. We'll talk later.

"You came back all bruised like a peach."

"Oh," Tony breathes and then blushes. "Well, that's an image."

"I want him," he mourns to Bucky on the sparring mat. Once Bucky has beaten him senseless, gotten the rage of betrayal out of his system. Once Steve learns that he is a respectable married man. But he can learn to be not. "I want him for both of us."

It takes time. Bucky is wary. Skittish around this other guy.

There is Stane and his obvious displeasure. There is Ten Rings and their looming threat. There is Tony himself, pulling away, haunted by a sad, guilty shadow.

"I'm married. And so are you." There is that and more under. There is Stone and his pride. Bruises marking Tony's skin. There is rage boiling up inside Steve, checked by a cold press of Bucky's hand over his neck.

There is too much. And too little.

But when Bucky falls, Steve isn't there. He is trapped behind the rubble after someone blew up the building. He is trapped and worried about the old lady with him, calling for her son and her daughter, bleeding from her torso.

He isn't there. Yet when he gets home, Bucky is there with his fury and rage, his eyes dark and lips warm as he lunges at Steve.

"He's a fucking idiot," he snarls and Steve grins. "He's gonna get himself killed!"

After, Bucky tells him the story.

"He just fucking jumped in after the kid. Wearing a goddamn tom ford suit like it's armor. Ten Rings wanted him alive so of course they stopped shooting. Only saving grace is that I was there. Picked them off one by one."

"And now?"

"Fuck you, Rogers."

"You already did."

"Shut up. We gotta genius to save."

Now, Steve and Bucky are both respectable married men. But they are also known to be a little bit rotten on the inside.

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wangxianficrecs · 4 months

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When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by acertainrogue

When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场

by acertainrogue

T, 39k, Wangxian

Summary: He lay there buried under rabbit ears of wires, warmed by a thin blanket, breathing, breathing, never truly still, but never animated, either. “A-Xian,” Jiang-gugu said with a forced smile. “Your son and husband are here to see you. And your nephew too. He will be coming very soon.” A-Yuan ran up to Baba and held his hand. -- Sizhui grows up in a changing world, but his comatose father can't change with it. His family is determined to give him the love and forgiveness they didn't give Wei Ying. Kay's comments: So, this is definitely the kind of story that keeps you hooked and forces you to finish it in one sitting and even then, it'll still keep you awake for nights. It's just so good and so painful. Phew, so many knives! But, there's a happy ending, so you can definitely look forward to that! It's also actually set in real-world modern China, which is too rare for my liking in the English-writing fanfic community and I really appreciate all that went into this story and am also so grateful for the author for writing a whole thread over on Twitter explaining the cultural nuances one might have missed. As for the story, it's mostly Lan Wangji suffering and raising A-Yuan for thirteen years while Wei Wuxian is a coma. Cue: The Covid19 pandemic and the collapse of the health system and what that means for someone who's been in a coma for thirteen years. Excerpt: He lay there buried under rabbit ears of wires, warmed by a thin blanket, breathing, breathing, never truly still, but never animated, either. “A-Xian,” Jiang-gugu said with a forced smile. “Your son and husband are here to see you. And your nephew too. He will be coming very soon.” A-Yuan ran up to Baba and held his hand. Baba must have slept with Father when he was still awake. A-Yuan did remember being cradled in a cloud that was Father and Baba both, remembered being held between them in bed. There was a time when he had not known how to sleep otherwise. Baba had been cool, cool like the springs of silver dollar water, warm just enough so lotuses could grow. Tem-per-ate, he learned in school for his vocabulary section. But now, Baba was just cold. “Baba,” he squeaked, peaking over the side of the bed, tall enough that he did not have to tiptoe or have Jiang-gugu carry him anymore. “It’s me. It’s A-Yuan. Did you know I’m getting a cousin soon?” He fished in his pocket and found the dried grass butterfly Father had bought him on the roadside, from a man who peddled swallows with tails cut into forks and a green penguin waddling into life. “This can be your cousin too,” he told Baba importantly, nestling that gentle flutter of wing grass into Baba’s cold palm, so he could hold something when A-Yuan, Father, and even Jiang-gugu weren’t around. That was what Jingyi was to A-Yuan when he was at school, away from Father. Everyone needed a cousin, a companion, like the one that was about to be born. When he turned around, Jiang-gugu was crying.

pov lan sizhui, modern setting, modern no powers, pandemics, coma, hospitals, hospitalization, angst with a happy ending, comatose wei wuxian, implied/referenced homophobia, jiang family dynamics, good parent lan wangji, grief/mourning, covid19

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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angeldreamsoffanfic · 1 year

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Elizabeth Marie Munson née Hart was buried on the 2nd Sunday of May back in 1977, back when Eddie had only been eleven. It had been hard, not that death was ever an… easy thing mind you.

She’d been buried in Hawkins, as stated in the will that’d she’d put together (no matter if it had been written on hospital napkins or not it was followed just the same). Eddie’s custody had been a bit more complicated, as Al Munson had put up a bit of a fight in regards to Elizabeth’s wishes. She was adamant that Eddie go to Wayne, while Al didn’t care about what happened to him… as long as it went against what Elizabeth had wanted.

But no matter, because Eddie knew that Elizabeth loved him as much (if not more somehow) than Wayne did. And Eddie loved Wayne, honestly and wholeheartedly he did. But there was something missing from his life, and that was his mama.

Which, Eddie knows distantly, is what makes the day today as difficult to swallow as it does.

Because not only is it the day of his mama’s death but it’s also Mother’s Day.

And he can’t exactly fault anyone in his life for not being able to understand how he feels today. He really can’t bring himself to, even as he sits right in front of his mama’s gravestone- knees to his chest like he’s a little kid again. The rest of his odd found family has their parents, and so they just… they don’t fully understand what Eddie’s going through.

Not really anyway.

He knows they mean well, really he does. But no matter, because it’s hard and he already has a lot on his mind as it stands.

Eddie pauses and draws in a shaking breath, eyes wet and glossy with yet to shed tears, as he keeps his chin on his knees even as he hears a car door slam shut. It’s followed by several other ones, and Eddie doesn’t look behind him as he hears slowly measured footsteps behind him. He doesn’t turn, but he does speak.

“You don’t have to be here, Harrington.”

“Not Harrington, son.” It’s Hopper’s voice that makes Eddie finally turn, and he’s greeted to the sight of the older man- holding a bouquet of pink tulips wrapped in cellophane. Hopper’s in one of his nice shirts, one of the ones that Eddie knows that Joyce forced him in.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie manages to croak out, and the corner of Hopper’s lip twitches slightly- before he gestures with his head back to the parking lot.

“If you think you’re alone today, kiddo, you really got another thing coming.”

Eddie turns his head slightly to look past Hopper, and he can’t help the choked gasp that manages to make its way out of his throat. The entire group is there, all the way from The Party down to even the Corroded Coffin boys. Everyone in their crisp Sunday best (or as close to it anyway) with bright bouquets of pink tulips held between their hands.

Eddie turns again to look at Hopper, and can’t get out any words as he watches as Hopper is joined by Steve Harrington. Eddie has never quite been able to figure out Steve (no matter how much he tries), but he never…

“Hey ma’am,” Steve isn’t even looking at Eddie though, instead focused quite intently on the area behind Eddie… and oh.

Oh.

“I’ve had the pleasure of being one of your son’s friends this past year,” Steve carefully speaks as he moves closer until he’s next to Eddie, before he sits down- not minding getting dirt and grass on his pants. “And we all missed this last year but we figured… well we couldn’t let him come down here and mourn you alone.”

“Stevie-” Eddie tries, and Steve says nothing as he reaches a blind hand out- before he entwines his fingers with Eddie’s. Eddie sniffles again, even as Steve presses the tulips as close to the grave as he can.

“Your son matters to so many people, Ms. Hart, I mean that genuinely and honestly.” Steve keeps going, as if Eddie had said nothing. Eddie tries to keep the tears at bay, holding onto Steve’s hand as if it’s a lifeline. “And I didn’t know how to really show that… but I figured this might help a bit.”

Eddie is confused for just a split second, before he hears Jim Hopper clear his throat- before he then speaks.

“Ma’am, I know that your son has made a safety net for my daughter in the times where I couldn’t. I know that she loves him, truly, and for that I’m a bit more than grateful towards you.” Hopper then clears his throat, before he carefully steps around them- and sets his bouquet of tulips right next to the ones that Steve had put down.

Hopper curls a hand around Steve’s shoulder and bends to whisper something into his ear, and Eddie focuses on blinking back his tears as the man turns and walks away.

It’s silent for a minute, before it continues again.

“Hi Ms. Hart, Eddie’s told me a load about you and he was my first friend here in Hawkins and I just want to let you know we… we haven’t forgot about you.” Gareth’s voice is next, and Eddie lets out another sniffle as he sets a bouquet down. He doesn’t leave though, and instead sits right next to Eddie- taking the hand that Steve isn’t holding.

“Hi ma’am, Eddie hasn’t told me much about you… but I think you’d like the man he turned out to be, and from one mom to another? I’m keeping an eye on him for you.” Joyce. Another bouquet.

“He’s like really cool and taught us so much about this game we play, Dungeons and Dragons and I’m not sure if you knew what that was but it’s like this role playing-” Dustin. Another bouquet.

“He’s like my brother-” Jeff. Another bouquet.

“He’s like my son-” Wayne. Another bouquet. And a firm hand on a shoulder that never leaves.

“You’re someone he talks about whenever I need him to and that means a lot-” Max. Another set of flowers. A kiss against the top of Eddie’s head.

“He’s a good kid and you had to have been like an amazing mom for him to turn out the way he did because let me tell you-” Robin. Another bouquet.

“My dad says I’m allowed to choose my family and I chose Eddie, and from what he’s told me… you were a good mama.” Eleven sniffles softly as she presses her flowers into the ever-growing pile at the base of the gravestone. Eddie reaches out a touches the back of her leg- and it’s enough for the girl to launch herself into Eddie’s arms.

They stay like that. No one questions it.

“From his stories you sound really interesting and I think my mom and-” Mike. Another bouquet.

“Hello ma’am-” Lucas. Another bouquet.

“He’s kind of a nerd but-” Erica. Another bouquet.

“He’s a really good friend, Ms. Hart. Like there’s not a lot of them out in the world, and Eddie’s a good one.” Freak. Another bouquet.

“You and Wayne raised him right and I hope that wherever you are-” Nancy. Another bouquet.

“From what he’s-” Jonathan. Another bouquet.

“Ms. Dudette he’s so-” Argyle. Another bouquet.

“He’s one of my brothers. And that’s all there is to it, and I’m so sad we couldn’t meet and I couldn’t tell you this in person-” Will. Another bouquet.

In the end, Elizabeth Marie Munson née Hart has nineteen bouquets of pink tulips surrounding her grave. In the end, she and her son are completely and wholly surrounded by people that may not have known her— but they love her just the same.

Eddie Munson smiles, and clears his throat as he begins to speak, pulling the attention of his family to him.

“So the reasons why mama liked pink tulips is-”

The sun slowly begins to set as the ragtag group settles in to listen to Eddie’s story, all scrunched in as close as they can.

And for once in his life?

Eddie Munson hates the 2nd Sunday of May just a little bit less.

sacrifice to the readmore gods. mother’s day is really hard for me sometimes, so enjoy this word vomit of a ficlet i produced in about an hour. <3

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