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a-libra-writes · 4 years

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SFW Alphabet - Arthur Shelby

Hey yall! Im gettin into the swing of writing for Peaky Blinders. If you have any requests for preferences, imagines, alphabets, fics - please send them my way!

(Psst Arthur is my fav, best boi no one can convince me otherwise. Ok alfie is a close second but we arthur squad on this blog)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He's less "affectionate" and more "lovingly clingy". Arthur adores your attention and wants it all the time. He's holding your waist while you cook, having you sit in his lap at the bar or pulling you into his embrace on the couch … and of course kisses are a part of this package. He just feels off when he doesn't get his daily dose of affection from you. While Arthur would understand if you weren't in the mood or busy, he'd (im)patiently wait for you to be available.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As loyal and protective as he is, Arthur isn't always the best influence as a friend. He'll be a bit gentler and try to censor himself with a woman, but once you really get to know him, he's comfortable being himself. While he's initially on guard with strangers, it's easy for him to appreciate someone who is kind and understanding.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

It's pretty obvious that he's the bigger cuddler between the two of you. He can't get enough of the safe and comfortable feeling of your embrace. When he's feeling tired, he'll rest his head in the crook of your neck, and when he's particularly upset he'll want to rest on your chest. The bed is probably the most comfortable place to cuddle, but a settee in front of a warm fire suits you both well, too. His hold is loose unless he's upset - then you might need to ask him to be a little gentler.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He tries not to dwell on it, but Arthur has wanted a family for some time. It's hard to keep those domestic thoughts from knocking when he's spending time with you. As for cooking and cleaning, he's … pretty shit at both. He'll try, but don't expect much. He still likes to hang around the kitchen when you cook to talk with you and hand you things.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d try to be quick and blunt about it, detached - like Tommy always is - but Arthur would struggle to look you in the eye and string the right words together. Afterward he’d have to hit the drink and coke hard to get the awful, swirling emotions out of his gut, and to drown out the way your face fell.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He got attached to you quickly, so it’s not a surprise that he’d start thinking about marrying you just as swiftly - not helped by Tommy and Finn encouraging him to do it already. He knew it was too soon to ask such a thing of you, and the two things urging him toward this decision were complete opposites: On one hand, he loved you already, on the other hand, there was a twisted desire to “keep” you before you could “get away”. The possessive thoughts made him feel guilty, but not enough to try and feel out what you thought of marriage. Of course, he’d always have a voice telling him he didn’t deserve such a thing with you to begin with, but that was often pushed aside by his affection and jealousy.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Arthur tries, he really does. Sometimes he touches you so lightly, it’s like he thinks you’ll break, other times he holds far too tightly and kisses too roughly. There are happy middles, of course, but a lot of it just depends on his state of mind at the time. Sometimes he gets carried away with a positive or negative mood and you have to remind him to not hold so tight.

Emotionally, Arthur tries just as hard to speak to you with nothing but affection, but on days when his head is swarming with awful thoughts, he’ll end up raising his voice or breaking things around the house. You don’t stand for it, of course, and he does eventually come down and apologize. He normally speaks to you like you’re the only, loveliest girl in the world, since that isn’t far from the truth for him.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He loves it when you initiate hugs, and not just when he’s spiraling - just whenever you feel like it, because you love him. The unconditional affection just immediately distracts him from whatever he was doing, and he wants to cling to you and keep you there for longer. Getting a hug from behind or the side is fine, but he’s going to turn around and pull you into a proper one.

He likes totally wrapping you up in his wiry arms, keeping you firmly in place by holding your waist or your back. His body will lean into you, and when you’re alone, he’s probably the one who will start the swaying. When his mood is more turbulent, he pulls you roughly to him and squeezes you tightly, like you’ll float away if he doesn’t keep you here.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Arthur tells himself to hold off on saying such a thing even if he feels it early into your relationship. He doesn’t want to scare you off, because let’s be honest, he’s still surprised you want to see him after every day. But being the emotional man he is, he can’t stop it from tumbling out. It’d probably happen when you two were just spending time together, the sun hit your hair just right, you looked up at him with a sweet smile, touched his arm and … said something totally innocuous, only for him to blurt out those three words over you.

A fun fact he doesn’t remember - one time he was nearly black-out drunk, and while you helped him stumble home, he “confessed” to you several times with varying degrees of success. It was almost cute, although you were positive he wouldn’t remember. You had an idea of his feelings, anyway, it’s not like he’s subtle.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Oh boy.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s nothing against you. He’s just a jealous man, and there is zero logic to it. It’s a pure emotional reaction and he feels it hard. More than once you’ve pulled Arthur away for getting aggressive with a man who was simply making smalltalk. It doesn’t matter how many times you scold him (you’re so beyond comforting this insecurity), it’s like a knee-jerk reaction with him. Much of it comes from his fears of losing you, which you understand … But it doesn’t mean you have to tolerate and allow it. If he even tries to scowl while you’re just chatting with a man, you firmly tell him to knock it off.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are often quick and messy; he likes giving several at once instead of one, long one. If he does it to your neck, you can get quite breathless, especially when he’s holding you and saying something sweet. Arthur likes your lips a lot, he thinks they’re just so soft and even lovelier with your favorite shade of lipstick. Your neck is a close second, but even if you’re bare before him, he’ll keep getting distracted by that smile.

Any kiss you give is a good one, but for the longest time it was the kisses you’d give to his cheek and jaw that would take him off guard and fluster him the most. It was such a basic gesture, but one he hadn’t experienced in … Well, he can’t recall. You’d be stopping by the shop to say hello, or on your way to leave the house, and you never forgot to kiss him hello and goodbye. The gesture was nothing short of intimate to him.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Arthur is initially awkward with kids, but he does what he can. He’s hopeless if you hand him a baby, even if he likes it when they look at him, and he isn’t always sure how to talk to them. He’ll end up talking like he normally does, just a little more censored. If the kids are older, he falls into a natural older brother and even fatherly roll, teaching them things they prooobably shouldn’t know at their age.

With his own children, he’d be far too indulgent, something you tease him about several times. Lord forbid if he has any girls because they will be both spoiled rotten and absolutely overprotected. He’d want to be a much better father than his own was, and would look forward to teaching his son all sorts of things, … and his daughter, if she asked, because he can’t say no to her. Yes, both he and the kids were in for an earful once you found out he was teaching them how to fight and defend themselves.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He’s not a morning person, period, end of sentence. Good luck getting his ass up anytime before ten, and if he’s been drinking or out doing god knows what, make that before noon. Even when he’s up, he’s grumbling and stumbling here and there as he gets ready. You’ll probably have to make sure his tie is straight and he doesn’t forget anything (his sleepy, appreciative smile is very cute).

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

More often than not, he’s coming home drunk off his ass or reeling from something he had to take care of. He gets home at ridiculous hours, and you aren’t about to stay up all night. You wake up briefly when you feel his arm wrap around your waist and pull you close, mumbling sleepily and smelling of alcohol and streets the whole time. If you’re actually up when he’s back, you make a point to point him to the shower, and then it’s nothing but snuggles and maybe something more. Arthur does prefer to get home early, and he really tries, but … well, business is business. He also prefers being sober when you welcome him back and curl up with him.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Once you have his trust and he feels comfortable speaking with you, there’s really nothing stopping Arthur’s floodgates. When you’re curled up on the couch and he’s resting his head against your warm chest, taking in your scent and your heartbeat while you run your fingers down his back, he’ll literally tell you anything. When his dark moods are taking over and you calmly hold him and talk him through it, it’s easy for him to be more honest with you than anyone else in his life. This is doubly so when he’s drunk; although much of that is rambling and saying how much he loves you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Well, you can probably guess how easy it is to set off his temper - the exception is you can’t say and do far more than anyone else can, because he just can’t imagine being legitimately upset with you. This is why you’re the go-to person when he gets set off, even before you two were a couple. The Shelbys dubbed you as their “Arthur handler” before you knew it. The thing is, you could probably “get away” with a lot when it comes to Arthur; he adores you and thinks the best of your intentions.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Arthur is a bit of a mixed bag on this. He’s not great with specific preferences of your’s, like what you prefer for dinner and your taste in books, but he has good intuition for situations that make you upset or happy. As an example, Arthur would be very aware of any phobias you have or trauma you’ve suffered and would make a point to avoid triggering it. If flowers will put you in a better mood, you’ll sure as hell have them in your house when you come home. If Tommy decides something he knows you won’t like, he’ll try to talk to you first and ease you into the idea.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It’s hard for him to pick just one, but a serious moment to consider was also a turning point in your relationship. You’d known the Shelbys for some time and were on well enough terms with them, but you were still surprised when Tommy called for you to look after Arthur for a few days. He’d had a terrible episode - you weren’t given the details - and you spent hours gently soothing and talking to him. He actually opened up to you far more than he had anyone at that point, and it didn’t hit him until later how unafraid and non-judgmental you were. It was in your living room, you had gotten him some tea and were speaking softly while rubbing his back. You didn’t make him feel weak or blamed him for anything. You just listened, and he couldn’t help but compare you to an angel in that moment. He wanted to see you the next day, even if he still wasn’t in a great headspace, just to talk to you and make sure it really happened. You really did comfort and hold a sorry bastard like him.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He was always protective when you were friends, and once you’re together, it’s even moreso. Arthur wouldn’t bring up you learning to use a gun, but if you expressed even a little interest he’d offer to teach you, at least the basics. He’d feel comforted just with a knife strapped somewhere to your leg, anything worked, even if he kept assuring you that you’d never have to use either weapon. You don’t doubt for a second that he’d throw himself in front of a gun for you, and in uncertain times he’s had men posted outside your home.

Arthur wouldn’t expect the same level of protectiveness at all from you. It’s his job to keep you safe, and truthfully, putting yourself in danger for his sake would only make him feel panic and guilt. But you emotionally protecting him, and sticking up for him around others, that would just get him flustered and grateful. He’ll never get tired of hearing you talk about how much you trust and love him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Well, honestly, sometimes he forgets things you were supposed to do together because Tommy kept him out all night, or he got too drunk and passed out at the bar … …. And he knows your anger is justified when that happens. When he actually does remember, he tries to plan things out for your birthday, somewhere nice you two can drive to and really enjoy yourselves.

He actually doesn’t need a reason to buy you things. If it’s pretty and shiny, and something about it just reminds him of you, he’ll buy it without thinking. He likes spoiling you, even if you’re the sort of girl who doesn’t really wear jewelry or fancy clothes, he can’t help it. Flowers and sweets will also be given to you in equal measure, just because.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

You both know he has plenty of them, you don’t even need to ask him if something’s gone wrong because the look of guilt on his face tells you enough. Arthur really does try to be better with you, and he’s leagues better than he was - as Tommy will often tell you - but the pain he picked up from war and his upbringing are just etched too deep, at least, he thinks so. He at least tries to keep you from seeing his worst side, but that just makes him all the more grateful when he comes home a complete mess and you’re there to comfort him.

The drinking is a problem, the cocaine - ooh, you’ve have words about that with John and Michael - the slips of control and anger … It’s a lot, and no one blames you for being tired, least of all Arthur. So when his mind is clear, he tries to be his best for you and show you how much he loves and appreciates you.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

There’s always been other things on his mind other than his appearance; he looks after his personal grooming and wears the same nice clothes as his brothers, but he also tends to get absolutely filthy and bloody from his brawls. At least he knows to wash up before beelining to see you. Arthur does like it when you compliment him, though, and he makes a point to buy any ties and coats you’ve bought him.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He’d absolutely be lost without you, and he knows it. In his darker moods he thinks that the only thing keeping him alive is you. If you left him, or worse - something had happened to you - he’d be in such a dangerous state that Tommy would be seriously worried and would try to intervene. If that means dragging you back and trying to calmly ask you to reconsider being with Arthur, so be it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

You don’t remember how or when you two picked up this habit, but you began to enjoy mindlessly driving around. You’d chat while meandering around Small Heath, and if you saw something interesting, Arthur would pull over and you both would take a look. You’d end up finding interesting parks or tucked away cafes; one time ended up in a bizarre art gallery that the two of you tried very hard not to laugh at. This became a little tradition whenever you’d visit a new place: Drive around and just see what you stumble upon. A silly side effect of this is anytime Polly and Tommy would bring up a restaurant or store on the other side of town, they’d be dumbfounded as to how the hell Arthur knew about it first.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He sleeps like a total log, especially when he’s drunk. He’ll still be holding onto you, since that’s probably how he fell asleep, but his grip is fairly loose and it’s easy for you to wiggle out of it if you’re cramped or too hot. Without you, he doesn’t sleep nearly as well, often waking up in the night and tossing and turning. He forgets how much he likes your comforting presence until he has to sleep without it.

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #sfw alphabet

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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Best Friend Pact- Part 4: But Never Forgot They Are Human

Calum attempts to drink the sadness away one night at a party, but his friend, Neveah, doesn’t let him completely. And in their stalled journey off sobriety, they make a secret pact. Black!OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, birth, death, and death related trauma. Please skip as necessary.

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Three days, Neveah's been home three days. But it feels longer. It's just exhaustion and some worrying messing with her sense of time. Joy's a big help, sparing her an extra hour of sleep here and there when she can. However, her nipples are still sore. Her intestines still feel like they could fall out of her at any point, which at this point, they are. Almost. The doctor called it lochia, a fancy way of saying that her body is still getting rid of leftover tissue and blood from the placenta detaching itself from the uterine wall. Not that she didn't drop nearly all of her uterus in the delivery room. What more could be left?

But what really throws her off, including the fact that even at the slight cry of Ettie her body wants to expel milk, is that both her and Ettie came home in diapers. She thought maybe the discharge would only last a few days, but she was very wrong. Months of tissue cannot be expelled in one week. It's starting to taper off from such a heavy flow, but it's still a pain. Every time Neveah moves positions, she's reminded that her body has taken the hardest hit it's designed to take and keep going. Parts of her are sore that she never knew could be so sore before. It'll be a month before her body gets itself together. While that's not comforting, she can be patient with herself.

Ettie settles down on Calum's bare chest, after feeding and Neveah reclines into the couch, exhaling. That's when she remembers she out to change her own diaper of sorts. "This is embarrassing," she huffs, finally pushing herself up. "My body's crumbling from the inside out."

With his foot, Calum taps her leg before she passes by him completely. "It's gonna be okay."

She smiles. He can see how tired she is. He is too. Even with his parents around, he wants to be there for everything. He has to be, to make even a dent in the guilt for missing so much before. She backtracks, brushing her lips over his forehead, then down his to his cheeks. Her breath ghosts over his lips before she kisses them too. "Thanks. Rest. She'll be up before long."

God, his gut still twists at the feeling of her lips on his. She disappears down the hallway. "My son, what are you doing?" she laughs as Duke trots along beside her. "I'm okay, boy. I'm okay."

Calum runs his fingers over Ettie's back. "Daddy loves you. You know that?" He keeps saying it, the phrase falling over his lips like a prayer. But he truly means it. He loves her so much. It's almost how unreal how fast he fell for his little girl. God, he'd do anything for her, go through any lengths for her. His ladybug, his star guiding him now. A small whine falls from her lips and he wraps his hand gently around her. "I'm right here, baby girl."

The noise quiets at the warm touch. The lower half the sofa dips. His mother sitting at his feet now, phone trained on him. "Don't look at me," she reprimands. "I'm not here."

"What are you doing?"

"A grandmother's duty. Getting all the pictures and videos that I can."

Calum chuckles, directing his gaze back to the sleepy baby. "Nanna's going to have album's full of your baby pictures. Get ready."

Joy pats his knee. "Just remember you're human too, son." A reminder that he has to take care of himself too in order to take care of Ettie. A reminder that he does, in fact, have so much time with his daughter, an entire lifetime. But guilt is a heavy mongrel. He is ruthless on Calum's soul some nights.

Calum hears his phone buzzing against the coffee table. He doesn't have to answer. But Ashton has been calling once a day just for a niece update. They'll introduce Ettie to the rest of the boys within the next week or so. Right now, they're just trying to get any sort of a routine. So Calum usually always answers. Just as he starts to stretch himself out, shimming just ever so slightly, another hand grabs his phone first. Neveah answers, smiling at the screen. "We haven't died yet," she answers.

"How you two holdin' up?" Ashton asks.

She looks to Calum, his eyes slowly closing. She knew he'd never make it too long laying on the couch like that. The sight makes her body warm. She flips the camera around. "We're doing alright. I think Ettie has him down for the count though. He can't even tap out."

"God, she's the cutest thing ever. She rivals Calum now."

"He did make her. The Hood genes are strong. All thanks to Momma Joy."

"I try," Joy laughs.

Another voice floats in from the phone. "She's so precious. You sure we can't see her sooner?" It's Michael's voice. Neveah wishes they could meet Ettie sooner. She would them too. But she needs more time to become human again herself. "I found the cutest little socks the other day. I know she'll lose them in like three seconds, but they've got little ducks on them and I just couldn't not get them."

The boys talk about themselves, Luke huffing in the background about not seeing his niece. But she starts to tune that out the longer she stares at the sight in front of her. Calum's chest rises and falls steadily, hand still placed on Ettie's back. She's a goner. This is her family. Unconventional in some ways for sure. But it's hers. Was this all Calum wanted? Was he just as elated as her? Was this what he needed?

The call ends and she settles into the one person seat next to Calum, gently running her fingernails through his hair. His face is utterly relaxed in his sleep, brows never furrowed, lips never pursed. She finds her phone, snapping a picture of her, Calum, and Ettie. Opening Instagram is a mistake. She already knows the comments are flooded with snarky remarks. Some are sweet and encouraging. Neveah knows if she posts this picture, even as a story, the world is going explode. But this is her family, this is her moment. The quiet moments....World Meet Ettie; Ettie Meet World.

"What if I drop her?" are the first words out of Ashton's mouth two weeks later. He and the rest of the boys finally have the opportunity to come and meet Ettie. They know they won't be staying for long, but it's about time.

Calum shakes his head. "You won't. Promise. I had the same fear."

Ashton holds his arms out, tensing as Calum slides the tiny body fully into his hold. He keeps the head supported, a bright smile taking over his face. He had always seen himself as the first to have kids. But Calum beat him to the punch. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe Ashton needed not to worry about anyone but himself for just a little bit longer. Being a second parent to his siblings was enough the first time. He can have a niece, someone to love, but ultimately does not have to raise. "You're gonna be so spoiled, Ettie," he chuckles, rocking her gently.

"She's got so much hair. I'm jealous!" Luke laughs, ever so gently brushing his fingertips over the top of her head. They talk to Ettie's sleeping figure in soft voices, introducing themselves, stating promises to always be there. Calum knows those words aren't empty either. He knows that they will do their damnedest to be there. He knows they're all human too, they're all bound to make mistakes. But there is no mistake in the effort.

The day is still young but to them, having seen the rising of the sun, it feels like they should be at the end. Calum, as they're paused in the line at the street vendor's stand, wraps his arm around Neveah's shoulders, playfully pushing at her cheeks. She puffs her cheeks out in retaliation, making him exert more effort. His chest rumbles with the soft laugh and drops the poking. "You're no fun," he teases.

"I'm plenty of fun." Her voice is a little soft. He hates the way she sounds. Her dad called earlier and told them not to come by to visit today. Another bad day. They happen so much more frequently. She still went and has been down ever since. He watches her clutch the amethyst gem around her neck. "Something just feels off," she whispers as they shuffle up in line.

"Off how?"

"Not good. I just have a bad feeling about something. It's been just...too many bad days in a row. You know?"

Calum pulls them out of the line, to some benches nearby. He doesn't like the way she's talking, so definite about things truly unknown. Sure death is inevitable, but it doesn't always come in one final sweep. Things can turn around before it goes bad. Calum turns the stroller towards him, keeping one hand on Ettie's tummy, the other resting on Neveah's knee. "Hey, I know it's hard. But you've gotta stay positive. Besides, things were looking up. She might turn around." Two months actually. Two months of her mother doing better. Though recently it has gone on a downward spiral.

She doesn't blink rapidly; there's a distinct lack of a lower lip wobble. She's sad for sure. She knows when she actually hears that her mother is gone. But something sits in her gut like the period of a sentence. It's final, no questioning, no taking it back. Her mother is going to die. Calum notes her silence, the faraway glaze to her eyes. "No, stay with me," he urges, pulling her face to look at him. "She's going to pull through."

"I just know," she whispers. Before her mother had her to fight for, her brother to see graduate. Her only goal this time around was to meet Ettie and that's done now. The only thing her mother would be clinging onto at this point is the pain.

The thought hurts him much more than her. Maybe it's because he's reminded of his mother's own mortality. No one lives forever. It's just a terrible thing to see them go so soon, in such a horrible and painful too. He opens his mouth to speak, to combat her knowing with his own. But there are no words. There is nothing he can tell her. The truth is the truth. He pulls her into his chest, wrapping his arm tight around her shoulders. "I'm here. I'm always here," he whispers into her hair. That is something he can promise, something that is also the truth.

"I love you, Calum." The confession is soft from her lips, but he hears it. He catches onto every syllable. Her breathe tickles his neck a little as she speaks.

"I love you," he returns. There's no hesitation in the phrase. He always thought he'd be terrified to tell that to anyone, to feel this deeply for anyone. But not to her. The truth is so much easier with her. He remembers the house party when he was feeling like everything was taken from him when he felt like he had nothing left. Now he has everything.

The next day, they go back to the hospital. Her mother tries to tell them they should've have wasted the gas. That's she's in the same old shape. But anyone that saw her mother yesterday and then say her today knows the truth is very much different. They don't stay long. Her mother yawns every few seconds, clear that her body is tired. Neveah hugs her mother tight to her body, now the tears are threatening to run down her cheeks. She can see the pain. "Rest, Momma. Let go. Don't hold on for us. Let go for you. I love you. Forever and always."

"Forever and always."

When her phone rings a couple of days later while eating lunch, Neveah doesn't reach for it immediately, busy with a grabby Ettie. Calum reaches across the table, taking the baby. "What do you see, Ladybug? What's got your attention?"

Her phone in one hand, she pauses watching Calum chat away to the baby. She remembers one of their running-on-four-hours-of-sleep-and-Ettie-has-finally-settled-for-a-nap conversations. He mentioned how he finally had something to pour into that poured back into him. That thanks to her and Ettie he didn't always feel like he was running on fumes and just getting by. Even though they were running on fumes. Having a baby is stressful. They carried the huge responsibility of such a tiny life, but there's something rewarding watching her discover the world around her. There is nothing selfish in her awe, just a pure wonder.

Having a baby didn't replace all the negatives in the world. It didn't magically erase all the insecurities and fears that Calum has. What it did was give him something to better himself for, it gave him something else for which to live. "You're going to miss that call," Calum notes, finally getting Ettie to release her grip on his necklaces. The grip of a baby is nothing to play with they found out when Ettie almost ripped out one Neveah's earrings from her earlobe.

She rolls her eyes, but steps away from the table, unlocking the phone and pressing it to her to ear. Calum gently pulls at Ettie's hands again, to let go of the chains again and to keep it out of her mouth. "No, let go, Ettie." He gets her grip free again. "When you're older, I'll get you one, okay? Pinky promise. Just no eating it."

He grabs the small cup of fruit puree, scoping some onto the spoon. She reaches out for the spoon. "Soon I'll give you control of the spoon, baby girl," he laughs, finally getting her to take the spoonful. "How did you, you know what, it doesn't matter," he sighs, wiping some of her food out of her hair. Things get everywhere with her. He's not shocked anymore by the fact. He gets the last of her small cup full onto the spoon.

Ettie turns her head, intrigued by the silver fork on his plate. "One more spoonful, baby," he says, going in for a second attempt. She whines in his hold, reaching out for the fork again. He sets the spoon down into the cup and shifts her closer to the plate. She will never settle until she can get her hands on it. "That's a fork," Calum explains, then proceeds to point to the pasta on his plate. "I made Mum and I chicken alfredo."

Ettie babbles, her small palms hitting the table. "Yeah," he agrees. "It is quite good." He points to the cup of fruit. "More? One last scoop."

Ettie's not paying attention, still eying his plate. Calum figures he'll try one last time with the spoon and if she refuses it this time, he'll call it good enough. He holds the spoon out in front of her, she watches it for a moment. The attention doesn't last long before she shrieks, clapping. "Yeah, it's mama," he laughs without even looking up. When he does, he can already see the news on Neveah's face before she can speak. His throat dries, tongue feeling too thick for his mouth. God, what can he say? His mind is just utterly frozen in shock.

"She stopped doing chemo. I never even knew," she whispers. She's not even staring at him or the phone clutched in her hands. Calum finally gets his bearings, mind finally getting back into gear. He places Ettie into her high chair and crosses into the living room. "I don't whether to be sad or relieved."

Calum kisses her forehead, hands cupping her cheek. "I'm so sorry, babe. So so sorry. She loved you. She positively loved you."

"I-I know."

There are very few tears from Neveah at the funeral home as they get arrangements in order. She cries a little bit more during the wake. There are no tears at the funeral, even as she marches down the aisle of the church to pay respects to her mother's body one last time. She clutches to Ettie's blanket, though. Calum can see the way her knuckles have lightened around the material.

Neveah wore it over her shoulder, burping Ettie outside before the procession. He stood with her before he had to duck inside. They agreed Calum and Ettie would sit just a few rows back and she would sit with her family. He didn't want to intrude and knew Ettie would be full of babbles, taking in all the new colors, smells, and such.

He was out way longer than he should've been, so he rushed inside. And only as Neveah was lined up the coordinator did she realize that the blanket was still around her shoulder. Instead of passing the blanket along, she holds onto it. It feels a little silly to hold onto this blanket, but she doesn't have it in herself to give it up.

She wishes she could cry, but all it is left is just an ache. One she always knew was there, but just now felt, staring down at her mother's body. She's going to miss her mother. "Forever and always," she whispers, before turning and taking a seat next to her brother. She leans into him. Even though she's older, he provides her with comfort.

In reality, it's just a hole, a holding place for her mother's bones. But it is final. "Why do the living care so much for the dead but not the others that are still living?" Neveah asks from the top of the path. She can see the workers lowering the casket from here.

Calum is unsure how to respond, still trying to keep Ettie at bay in his arms. Neveah notices the whines and takes the child. "Momma's right here, darling. She's right here."

"I can take her. She might be tired of me holding her, but if you need a moment."

She shakes her head at his offer. "My moment's over."

There is nothing for her to do now. Her mother is dead, three, maybe four feet deep now and counting. Soon they will throw dirt onto the waxed coffin. The type of wood will mean nothing to the dirt and worms that will crawl over it. The earth takes no prisoners, only temporary flesh and permanent bones. Her moment will be sealed up and marked with a tombstone.

"People care so much about the dead because they don't want them to talk bad about us. No one cares about what the living say, their opinions still have time to change. The dead speak in eternity and nothing can change theirs," Calum says.

"Ever thought about writing poetry?"

"I never have too much to say."

"You speak volumes with very few words. Ought to give it a shot," Neveah returns.

The ache of missing someone is a slow disease, but persistent. Some days Neveah does well; she cooks breakfast for all of them. She goes to work with a smile. She walks with tours to make sure everything's going smoothly. She can interact with children with light in her heart. Calum sees the nanny that comes in during the week, and Neveah relieves them. Some days she even brings Ettie in while she works for part of the day.

Then other days, getting out of bed is a drag. Neveah picks at her plate, getting just enough not to be met with Calum's firm glance for her to eat more. She doesn't talk much. On those days, Calum gives her space. Ettie notices something is up. Though she lacks the words, the feeling is still there to her. She climbs into her mother's lap, babbles, attempting to console. It will not ever completely dull the ache, but the effort is appreciated. It is enough to get her to smile again.

Calum peers into the living room. Ettie's laughing, reaching for some of her toys on her stomach. Neveah sits cross-legged onto the floor, smiling at their little girl. "Babe, watch!" she calls out, watching Ettie pushing herself up.

Calum wipes his hands on a dish towel, walking out of the kitchen. Ettie smiles, upon seeing him. "Hey, Ladybug."

"Say hi to Dada," she coos. "She can almost roll over, though."

"She's growing up fast." Every week is an adventure. They watch her for a few more seconds. Ettie pushes up again and then one moment she's on her stomach and the next she's on her back. Calum cheers, dropping the kitchen towel before pressing kisses all over Ettie's face and tummy. Ettie giggles at her father's actions, reaching for his hair. "You're getting so big, Ettie. Look at you, rolling over onto your back." The cheering alerts Duke who lifts his head and stands up. He settles back down, taking watch again.

Neveah watches with tears in her eyes. Joy will get a video later today. They'll set her down for tummy time again later and Calum will coax her to do it again for Nanna. Her father will get a video as well. Neveah knows he will race to the cemetery. He will sit on her mother's plot, screaming to the high heavens about their grandbaby being the smartest around. Neveah claps with clouded eyes at the achievement.

As they settle in for the night, Calum pulls her in a little closer into his chest. "Your mother is still smiling down on you."

The ceiling tiles blur in her vision. She inhales deeply, trying to blink back the tears. "You think so?"

"I know so," he whispers, kissing the skin of her neck. "I know it's not easy. But I'm proud of you."

She never thought about dealing with death as a thing to be rewarded for, to be praised for handling. Death is just a part of life. "Why are you proud of me?" she asks, turning her head to look at him. It's dark, but Neveah can see the outline of him, she knows over time the bumps and lines of his face.

His fingertips dance at the hem of her pajama shirt. "You get up every day and you're still a mom. Even when you're off, you still manage to get through it. On your off days, I don't expect you to jump at every cry. I don't expect you to find the energy to sweep, to cook. And yet you do, sometimes. And yet despite all the pain you carry, you still find the capacity to be on. And you let yourself have your bad days. You know your limits and you communicate that and it's hard having a young baby to step away. But you know ultimately some days you have to. And I am proud that you're not just feeling your pain, but trying to heal from it too. I am proud of your progress."

Her palm rests over his cheek, running her thumb up and down the stubble. Her brain is propelling her before she can fully calculate her actions. Lips pressed to his, she trails her nails up into his hair. "Thank you," Neveah exhales before pulling away.

He squeezes at her waist, lips finding hers again in breathy kisses. "You're very welcome."

"I'm taking you out tonight," Calum announces as he walks in through the threshold. He slips out of his boots and takes Ettie, kissing her cheek. "Miss me, baby girl? Love you." Duke trots over, greeting Calum as well and getting some scratches before going back to the edge of the playmat. He takes watch, some of it is uncertainty about the newest addition, but it might be an old instinct to protect still. When Calum looks down to Neveah, he raises an eyebrow. "Put on something nice."

Out? She's forgotten what the phrase means. Neveah hasn't been out in years. Put on something nice? She just barely fits into anything besides her work clothes. All her nice clothes don't fit her anymore. Part of her wishes she was more active about losing the baby weight, but in reality, the stretch marks don't bother her, the extra little gut is just there as far as she's concerned. Her body's just in a new phase. "It's takeout night," is her only rebuttal.

"Exactly, so I'm taking you out."

"Who's going to watch Ettie? Viv went home."

"Michael offered to watch her."

"Michael? I'm shocked it wasn't Ashton."

"Ashton would've put he had other plans tonight. He said he might stop by after them, regardless of whether we're back or not."

"Where are we going? The only things that still kind of fit me are work clothes and some old, old jeans. I can make it work."

He hasn't seen in her jeans very much lately. The moment she gets home she out of her work clothes and into sweatpants. "Whatever you're comfortable wearing."

"Well good thing I was gonna pump anyway. When is Michael coming over?"

"Half an hour, might be a few minutes more." Pushing up from the floor, Neveah walks into Ettie's room, grabbing the double pump and then settles back down in the living room. She can check through the last of her emails and edit that pamphlet for the latest exhibit. She didn't want a double dump at first, but Calum argued that if she was going back to work and still wanted to use her breast milk, having a double pump would be the most effective. She was concerned about price but knew that in the long run, using formula was more costly.

Calum's situated on the floor, reading to Ettie. When Neveah settles down next to them, she pinch the fat of her baby's cheeks. Calum laughs. "Do not distract Ettie. She is learning."

With a chuckle, she reaches up and pinches his cheeks too. It'll annoy him, but that's okay. His smile behind the huff is reason enough to keep it up. Neveah's thankful to have her pumping bra still handy. But it's not like Calum hasn't seen her half asleep with one breast pulled out the side of her shirt trying to feed Ettie.

She rolls the t-shirt up and folds it over the back of her head, so her arms are still through the loop, but her chest is exposed. Thankfully getting the latch is simple and after a few seconds the machine whirs to life. Even though Calum is still quietly reading to Ettie and she's on her computer, the moment feels right and intimate. This is her life, her family. After a few minutes of listening to Calum more than actually reading the words on her screen in front of her, Neveah shuts her laptop screen and rests her head onto his shoulder.

The action pauses the words in his throat. He sees the soft smile on her lips. He knows it's not always the most comfortable thing in the world to do, to have a machine hooked to her chest, but's effective. He finishes the book a few moments later. She's just quietly resting beside him, basking in the moment. He picks Ettie up and holds her horizontal, rubbing her nose against her mother's cheek. "Love you, mum. Even though I poop my diapers and on you sometimes, you're still the best," he coos in a high pitched voice.

Neveah laughs, opening her eyes, holding her lips over her teeth as nibbles on the end of Ettie's nose. "Love you too, baby girl. Even when you poop on me. Know why you're named Ettie?" she asks.

Calum bounces her on his thighs. "I'm curious too."

"Because that's your Daddy's North Star. Right when everything was slipping away from him, you pulled him in the right direction." She boops Ettie's nose, looking up to Calum. She's right. Ettie's the thing that keeps him in line. It was hard to quit smoking and especially after all the late nights and early morning sometimes he can feel his lungs aching for that inhale of nicotine but then Ettie smiles, or laughs and it's all over him, the ache disappears. He's a giver and no one really ever knows how to give back to the giver. Hell, he has to give to Ettie, for Ettie. But it doesn't hollow him.

"Star, the force behind his dreams, the force of life. Ettie Aroha, that's what you are," she whispers. "Bound to be the world's best footballer, because you've already got some strong legs on you, girlie. Bound to do great things. You owe the world nothing. There is no bargain for life, nothing in exchange for existence. Just existence and you can do whatever you want with it."

"Clearly, finishing school is a good thing. Don't pull a me, kid," Calum says, with a small laugh.

"Or do. Who knows what the universe holds?"

"Don't. Finish school. There's room for one uneducated person in the family and that's me. Mum's got two degrees, not including primary."

"Okay, definitely high school. But like, anything after that is truly up to her. College kind of sucked. It's learning and lots of money."

He huffs. "We are trying to sell education here, okay. Sell it."

Neveah laughs. "I take that back, Ettie. It was a magical time and I definitely didn't consider dropping out at one point."

"We need to work on your salesperson's skills."

Finally finished with both bottles, she turns off the machines and screws on the tops to the bottles. "I think they're just fine. Thank you."

Calum lugs the machine to Ettie's room again. "Mum's very smart okay. Don't let her fool you. She's one of the most intelligent people I know. She's very intuitive too. Listen to her gut feelings, even though they might seem a little naggy."

Michael shows up about twenty minutes later and they scurry out of the house. The first time in months that they can escape to themselves. Calum opens the door to his truck. Even for a fifteen-minute outfit change, she looks stunning in the green blouse, dark jeans, and black heels. She even managed to throw on some earrings, though she did steal his leather jacket. But it looks good on her. She looks good, she always does.

He originally intended to take her to an upscale place on the other side of town. But the more he thinks about it, the more he's willingly to tame down the gesture. It's their first outing alone in a long time. He thinks to the little breakfast diner, she loves. It's closed right now, but there is another little mom and pop hole in the wall that he really likes. It's not the healthiest spot on earth, but he thinks it'll be perfect for them.

The lights are low as they enter, hand in hand. Sports coverage is on every single screen in the place. But it's not crowded. He didn't expect it to be on a Tuesday evening, especially so early too. The hostess seats them quickly and Calum orders a stack of onion rings. "God, I shouldn't," Neveah huffs, mouth watering a little at the smell of them as they're brought out.

"You've got enough pumped for the next day. I mean," Calum teases, sliding the plate with a couple onion rings out to her. "Go wild, right?"

"You, sir, are a bad influence."

"No, I'm a voice a reason."

"Just a couple." A couple is all she eats too, though Calum tries to get her to go for the last one. To split the stack evenly but she doesn't fall for it. As their entrees come out, she's compelled to ask. Things are going well between them and for them. They both have feelings for each other and admitted it. But the baby is usually their focus.

"So, do I just live with you forever as your lover and the mother of your child?" She's not opposed to it; she's not opposed to never legally taking any steps. But she just needs to know where she stands. They are not just lovers on escapes through the Californian coast. They're parents. They have jobs. They're adults in bigger regard than legality. She just needs to know the truth. She can handle that.

"No," he answers without pausing, setting the glass of water down. "I know things are a little backward. But hopefully, eventually, you live in our house as my wife with our child."

"And that's the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

Calum holds up one hand, holding the other a few inches above the table. "Swear it on the Bible."

She scoffs a little finishing her bite of chicken before speaking. "Too bad I don't have one right now."

Calum nods to his left. "Bookstore right next door. Sure they have one."

She pauses. He is deadly serious, reaching into his wallet. She's practically done, so used to eating as quick as she can to tend to Ettie. She watches the fifty with another twenty on top falls onto the table. The meal was 30 at most, neither one of them ordering an alcoholic drink. "C'mon," he says, sliding out of the booth.

"You've barely eaten. Sit back down. I believe you."

"I'm not Ettie. You cannot scold me."

Neveah takes his outstretched out. "I surely can nag you though. You're going to be hungry later," she reprimands as Calum leads her around the tables to the front door.

"I'll eat leftovers."

"You'll have wasted that money."

"It's a tip for her great service."

The door chimes above their heads as Calum opens it for her, having to break the hand holding. But he reaches for it the moment he steps inside. "When we get back, I've got to finish those edits. You'll be with Ettie for a few hours without me."

"I'm her father. I don't babysit my child. I raise her, I take care of her just like you do when there's those few hours between you getting home and me leaving the studio," he says, reading quickly over the signs. He finds the religious heading and starts for it, trailing her along.

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm just–everything's so different now."

"You're a mum now. You're still the sarcastic asshole I fell in love with. But now you nag me about eating. I get it."

Almost instantly after rounding the corner of the bookshelf, he finds a Bible. He gently pulls at the hardcover spine and pulls it from the shelf. She holds it out, his left palm rests on it and his right hand is raised. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" she giggles.

Calum tries to keep the smile from cracking his facade. But his giggle leaves him and he drops his head as the laughter shakes his shoulder. "You fucking idiot, I'm trying to be serious," he huffs.

Neveah fakes her offense, brows pulled together. "First I'm an asshole, now I'm a fucking idiot, you ought to burn where you stand for such language, asshat."

"I should burn huh? Sounds like you're burning with me."

"If I go, who takes care of Ettie?"

"Should've thought of that before you swore." He clears his throat, licks his lips and finally gets the smile off his face. It takes a moment because she keeps giggling. But finally, the amusement dies down. "Now, when I said I wanted you as my wife with our baby in our house," his breath leaves him for a second, staring into her eyes. They've finally got a small twinkle to them. He's missed that. "I was telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," he concludes in a whisper.

Her gaze flickers around his face, before landing on his lips. "Sworn on the Bible," she grins, half of the smile lifting higher than the other.

"Told you I would." He knows he doesn't have to ask anymore. "Are you going to say anything snarky if I kiss you right now?"

She shakes her head, blindly placing the book on the shelf. "I would say something snarky if you didn't."

Calum cups her face, kissing her hard. Is it unconventional to be nearly 33, kissing like teenagers in the middle of a bookstore? Probably. But at that moment all he can think about is her kiss, her touch. She smells like honey in his nose, probably a new shampoo or lotion. He's not sure. Her hair products are a constant rotation.

All he is sure is that her lips feel like heaven on his, soft even a little chapped and warm. Her nails dig into his forearm before she wraps them around his midsection, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. Their tongues slip over each other before they part, breathing heavy and still clutching each other.

Neither one can fully open their eyes, trying to just keep breath in their lungs. Neveah tilts her head again, capturing his mouth, the tip of her tongue running over his lips. As she parts, Calum pulls her back, mirroring the same action on her. He slides his arms over hers, slipping them between her shirt and his jacket. He's not connected to his body anymore, he thinks, watching the way she grins at up at him. No, it's not him holding her so close. It's not him that gets to wake up next to her each day. It can't be. But when she pecks his lips, the reality comes rushing back. It's him. It's actually him living this life.

"Hate to ruin such a precious moment. But I'm going to ruin it. We close in like ten minutes," an older gentleman warns.

"We just really love Jesus. Sorry. Have a great night," Neveah rushes out, taking Calum's hand and pulling him out of the aisle and out of the store.

He laughs from behind her. "We just really love Jesus."

"Didn't you go to some fancy private Christian school? You saying you don't love Jesus."

"That is utterly beside the point."

"Then tell me what utterly is the point?"

Calum's phone starts to ring. He reaches into the pocket, noticing Michael's number. "The point is that we got caught making out in a bookstore." He hopes everything's okay but stops on the curb before they hit the parking lot. "Is everything okay?" he asks answering.

"She's just a teensy fussy and I think it's teething. It woke her up from her nap," Michael relays.

Calum can hear the cries in the back. It's not skull piercing just yet. But he's gotta act fast. "A lot of drool?"

"Definitely. I'm going to need a new shirt."

"She'll getcha for sure. Rubbing her gums helps. You can use your finger or take a damp gauze pad. But if you're not comfortable with that, there are some teething rings in the fridge."

"I love Ettie, but I don't think I could rub her gums like that."

"If the ring doesn't work, call me back. And you might not want to change out of that shirt just yet either. She'll keep drooling, so try to keep that as clean up as possible."

"Got it. Sorry to interrupt your date."

"It's alright. We were interrupted once."

The cries subdue and Calum relaxes, finally feeling the soothing strokes of her hand on his back. He hates hearing his baby cry. "What happened?" Michael laughs.

"I'll tell you when I get back to the house. Has Ashton been by yet?"

"Nah, he texted me though saying he should be by in the next hour."

Calum wraps his arm around her shoulders. "Okay. Thanks again for watching her."

"It's not a problem, dude. She's pretty chill. Besides teeth are a pain. I have all mine and I still wish I could suck on a teething ring sometimes."

Calum laughs. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." As they hang up, she's already mentioning getting back home. Calum pulls her back. "It's okay. Just teething. Michael's gonna give her a cold teething ring. If that doesn't work then we'll go back. Right now, we should see how many other places we can get caught kissing."

"How many drinks have you had? What have you done with Calum?"

"You telling me you don't want to go into that convenient store, hide in the chips for a second and kiss?"

His smile is contagious. It's like their 23 again, but instead of sitting at house parties and helping him sneak off for a cigarette and to spill his guts, they sneak off from being parents for a couple hours and they are kids for just a moment. Neveahshakes her head, grinning at herself. "And we ought to buy cheap lime-a-ritas and I'll just bottle feed Ettie tonight."

"You can buy one, I'm driving."

"Now you're a rule stickler," she scoffs.

"Younger me did not have a baby to get home too."

"Fair. I'll go with something smaller. Lime-a-rita's bound to fuck me up completely now."

"Lightweight."

She swats at his chest as they start to the car. "I know what I am and I'm okay with that."

Calum unlocks the door to the house and barely gets his two feet in the door before there's a shriek and a tiny body is waddling up to him. "Dada!" Ettie shouts, all year and a half of her colliding into his chest.

"Hey, Ladybug! Oh!" he laughs, lifting her up. "How are you? I missed you!" Ettie wraps her arms around his neck and he carries her into the kitchen. Neveah sits at the counter, cleaning off papers. He takes hold of the back of her neck, to still her. He hums, kissing her deeply. His gut and chest warm. He's finally home from all the droning of business.

"Hon, tell me that's your beef stew I smell?" Calum asks, pulling away from their kiss.

She shrugs. "I don't know. You tell me."

He presses another kiss to her forehead, shaking his head at the comment. As they eat, Calum keeps glancing to Neveah's left hand. He hopes she catches the hint. But he's praying she hasn't found the box either. He tried to put it high, knowing she's less likely to be snooping up that high in the day to day chores. She mentions how the programs for the kids at the museum are gaining a lot more attractive now thanks to the change of distribution amongst elementary and middle schools. He talks about promotion and tour dates. They have to travel for the latest album.

She nods, breaking off more biscuit for Ettie. "We'll be okay."

"I knew I'd be gone. Just, not so soon," he whispers.

"I'll have Viv to help me out some. I'll call my dad and see if he can help."

Calum reaches across the dining room table and takes her hand. "I know you can make it. I'm just sad to leave you guys. I know I can't convince you to leave the museum and tour the world with me. I wouldn't even try."

She shrugs. She was convinced to have his kid of out a pact. She moved in with him. She's fallen in love with him. There's truly not much more she couldn't be convinced to do. "I love my job. But I love my family more. You nearly died leaving when I was pregnant. I can't have you going through that again."

His jaw drops. Would she really leave her job? "You can't not be doing something. I know you. You're too antsy. Stay home."

"We've only got a couple more years of Ettie not being in school. A few months and she can see the world."

"It's rough. She needs such a strict schedule, time zones are crazy. It's best if you stay home, work, keep this schedule that we have going."

"I've got some vacation time. Maybe not the whole shebang. But for a couple of weeks, we can hang out."

That's reasonable. That'll help him keep sane during tour. Calum nods. "We'll see when you can get time off during the U.S. leg. And maybe later I'll take you guys abroad."

"If it's Europe, I gotta see Switzerland."

"You got it."

"Also, I've never been to Australia."

"One thing at a time, Honey. One thing at a time."

"This was about your parents! They need to see Ettie too."

Calum surely did not miss the mischievous twinkle to her eyes. "Uh, sure." They finish eating and Calum loads the dishwasher, thinking about that top corner of his side of the closet. He can't wait anymore. He finishes with the dishes before heading to the bedroom. He finds the bag it's in easily, double checking that nothing has been disturbed. Positive nothing has been messed with he walks back into the kitchen. How the hell should he ask? On one knee. God his knees just ache thinking about that.

As he walks into the living room and notices Neveah's back turned he figure his this is shot. So he wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face into her shoulder. She laughs. "What are you doing?"

"Givin' you some loving. I see you looking this good in sweatpants." He playfully teases the drawstring. She taps at his knuckles, laughing. They've become much more intimate over the months. He holds the ring out in front of her.

All the air presses out of her lungs. "What is this?"

"I make good on my promises. So," he pulls away and turns her to face him. "Will you be my best friend literally forever, my love, not just lover? Will you be my wife?"

"Yes," the word leaves her so softly he barely catches it. Her nod is the thing that lets Calum know her answers. He slides the ring onto her finger, pulling his bottom lip between his lips. "So we went from best friends to lovers, became parents, and somehow we've made your way back to lovers."

"Some say that's the best love story around."

The clouds pass by yet again. Calum's off of the sidelines with some other dad's. Neveah watches him pace on the field. They came in separate cars. She picked up Ettie from school and got her ready for the game. Calum came directly from the studio. He ought to be saving his voice. His voice coach will be pissed about all the shouting he's done during the game. But of course, he's gonna shout. This is his ladybug's first game of the season. "C'mon!" he shouts.

"Save your voice, Cal," Neveah whispers from the stands before watching the field again. She couldn't watch the game with him yelling in her ear, so she told him that she would sit somewhere else during the game.

Ettie's dribbling the ball downfield when she takes a push from another girl. Her team is up a goal and there are only a couple minutes left in the game. Nothing is called against the offensive move. "C'mon ref! She was pushed. My baby was pushed!" Neveah shouts.

Calum turns from the sidelines to find her, standing up, leaning over the other parents, hand cupped around her mouth. If she thinks he's bad, she ought to see herself. As she settles back down, they lock eyes, smiling at each other. They know the real reason why they don't sit next to each other. It's because the shouting becomes tenfold. Not only are they shouting at the game, but they will also bicker with each other.

"Your daughter is on the field!" Neveah calls out to him. "And she's been pushed. But clearly, none of the refs are wearing glasses."

Calum chokes on his laughter, waving at her to simmer down. They're about to get kicked out for the rest of the season and it just started. The last minute of the game is tense. But thankfully Ettie's team manages to keep their lead. Calum cheers from the sidelines. Neveah races down from the bleachers to his side and collides into with a hug. They know not to intrude on the field, letting Ettie have her moment.

The teams line up and give out high fives before they grab their bags. Ettie walks up to her parents, grinning. "Next time, stay in the car," she teases.

"But you won!" Calum shouts, lifting his little girl. She refused soccer for a long time. They tried it when she was 6, but she wanted to keep dancing. But now at eight, she decided that maybe dance wasn't everything she wanted and asked Calum to help her so she could try out for the team.

Ettie laughs at the smiles her parents' sport. They were just like this about dance. Much less loud, but still very enthusiastic about her interest. Calum learned how to perfect the ballet bun and how to prevent a run in tights. Now with soccer, Neveah learns not to freak at grass stains and keep a fridge stocked. "You two are embarrassing," Ettie teases but looks down as she kicks the grass. "You sure I can't get a piggyback ride?"

Calum pulls out her sneakers. "Change out of your cleats and that ride is all yours."

Ettie takes the shoes and heads to the closing game huddle. Her coach congratulates them on the win and talks about practice next week, what to expect, the new drills. She walks back to her parents, Calum kneeling for her to jump onto his back. They walk back to their cars, debating where to go in celebration of the victory. "Ice cream! Before dinner?" Ettie questions.

Calum's not always an easy one to crack. But he gives in quickly. Ettie turns her attention to her mother, jutting out her bottom lip. Neveah doesn't even need to look up. "Put that bottom lip back in. We have to go because you're going to go with Dad. And if you go with him, he's going to sneak off and do it."

"You guys are the best."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Calum and she chorus, laughing. They're not always perfect parents. But they do their best, like agree to ice cream before dinner after soccer games.

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247krp · 7 years

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— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Chase Park, spotted prancing about in the Northwest Side. I remember seeing him with The Nobodies back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say eccentric and frivolous? Apparently now he spends time as PHD student and an assistant lecturer in occult studies, and keeps skeletons buried at Bukdong Apartments, 601. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Starmye; we missed you so.

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

chase never bothered with his clique’s rep, which was practically nonexistent to begin with. though indifference did not mean ignorance; the quirky male was well-aware of how fellow students viewed them - the nobodies. people from mundane families with lives that were truly nothing to write home about. until of course the scandal with capital s which had chase move away from his rather indifferent, cheerful and carefree attitude for which he was known within the school halls, towards a more serious disposition ( albeit fleetingly ). reason? cha sumin. the girl he called his witch affectionately, who was perhaps the only earthly attachment chase cared to think about on his off day. the two were always joined at the hip and if they weren’t, chase and sumin weren’t too far removed from each other considering their natural instinct to always be pulled in by the other. though, sumin was not the only person chase was involved with. in fact, chase involved himself with many people ( sometimes simultaneously ). enough to earn himself the name starmye - mr. enlightenment; the charismatic guy with the lopsided smile who sometimes uttered incoherent sentences, made that dreamy impression and followed his intuition even when it lead him into trouble. starmye was no timid personality, by far, and despite the harsh whispers about his appearance or his affinity with satanic practices, chase was a ball of light, floating through cheongnam without a care - and perhaps that was his problem. care too much and you become anxious, care too little and you become detached, not only from your own emotions, but those of others around you. so, the frivolous male hurt his little daydreamer. he did feel guilty about that though. did he?

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

perhaps chase park was the one person who changed the least after high school period was over, maybe because his personality had always been quite stable. chase had never been discontent with the person he was, and although he’s made some mistakes in his student life, he’s learned to live with those and accept that, no matter how spiritual he may get, he’s still a faulty, earthly human being. especially the drug addiction which he suffered from as a teenager and from which he has recovered for several years now managed to ground him considerably. he is still a guy with his head in the clouds, a whimsical and selfish person, but he is now more aware of other people’s feelings. however, awareness does not indicate action and he is adamant to never change to adjust to someone else’s emotions or feelings. the odd guy is his own person, and quite self-reliant. chase remains opportunistic and devious; a person who only values the emotions from those he cares about. he has embraced gossip girl’s alias for him, feels flattered by it and uses it for his palm-reading business. in his day to day life, chase teaches at snu and works on completing his phd in his free time. though, he remains someone who wishes to seek his own definition of nirvana and lives life in the present, uncaring about the repercussions for the future.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

“tell me the story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe”

they were a bunch of pretenders. an average middle-class family like any other, getting by on an equally average salary from a car salesman barely meeting his targets and a businesswoman only in name, running her online lingerie store with a small quota of customers. they had a son, as had been expected of them by proper korean grandparents with more say in their family life than they themselves did. as was custom in korean society. that son received a less than customary name but his expected arrival after years of failed pregnancies more than made up for that little mishap. chase was dressed in little blue and white striped button down shirts and similarly coloured mini jeans with neat little shoes because that was proper, and god forbid if the park family were seen as anything else than proper. the boy’s dress did not change as he grow older either. his hair, now grown longer, merely added to the snobby look with a neat parting. the boy’s mother wore pencil skirts and blazers to work, which was essentially a tiny office space in their small apartment right above the car dealer his father worked for. keeping up appearances, was the family’s long-lived motto. but as chase’s stiff-backed mother kissed her husband goodbye while gazing into hollowed eyes that revealed more exhaustion than affection, chase still considered himself lucky. his parents, despite living dull lives with run-down routines, loved each other - and chase park was infinitely loved by them combined.

"and so being young and dipped in folly, i fell in love with melancholy” ( edgar allan poe )

in the midst of all the pretense, chase went to school and then some. in order to fit in with the upper class families, who had pretenders of their own, chase was required to entertain the idea of after school class at an english academy, for which he was eventually enrolled. reluctance stressed the boy until one particular class sparked his interest. the boy had never truly had interests of his own, merely content to follow in his father’s footsteps. practically a carbon copy of his parent, chase sat still in the one class which told stories of hecate and asteria, hades and cerberus and the boy found himself indulging in mythologies of the world. somewhat educated in the english language, chase embarked on an adventure through the iliad and beyond. his fondness of greek mythology stretched to a fondness of mythology in general, in particular celtic myth where fairy lovers enchanted the boy into reading on rituals and exploring the existence of witches. history explained to him brutal hunts of real-life witches, who more often than not were fake or pretenders. fairies give magic to people, the books read; and fairies are in league with the devil. needless to say, chase found himself intrigued with the fantastical and upon finding witchcraft and its associated with demons, the boy was sold to a future in the occult.

“in order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present” ( francis bacon )

sure enough, the prim and proper son of the parks traded checkered button down shirts for plain t-shirts and dark trousers. they were neat in their own way and thus his family did not mind the change much. in exchange for their acceptance, chase continued studying and brought home top marks. it was not a big deal to the boy with above average intelligence, who finished his school work with haste to allow himself to dig deeper into the world of magic and darkness. it was truly a miracle how the occult did not affect the purity of his soul, but seemed to enhance it - make it stand out more. chase had always been a friendly kid, ready to play with the neighbourhood kids and shoot ball on the basketball court. now, he was that friendly, misunderstood kid, who lost a friend or two because their parents did not understand chase’s newfound talent for dark humour. it also wasn’t chase’s fault when one of the teens ran away crying over his short lifeline. it was in his palm, what was chase supposed to do? lie? no, chase was no liar though the experience had taught him to be more delicate with the truth, for it is often ugly and unappreciated. in mystical traditions, the secret isn’t that you’re not being told but that you’re not able to hear. chase understood that he lived in a different world than most people.

“the whole and sole object of all true magical and mystical training is to become free from every kind of limitation” ( aleister crowley )

chase floated; between heaven and hell, reality and imagination. he was a guy who looked at the stars, not to make a wish, but to sneak a peek at his ancestors possibly shining down upon him with vague messages of their own. chase believed in angels, both fallen as revered; and in demons, existing in both humanity and as beings of literature and religion. sometime during high school, chase stumbled upon an opportunity that let him visit and face his own demons and they kept him glorious company until the teen could not longer distinguish reality from dreams. he was in touch with his spiritual side, saw things that no one else could see but the skin he inhabited started to deteriorate and the body he was given started to fail him. chase laid off the intoxicants that gave him wings and resettled back on earth. the man’s academic career was promising though not in the preferred field his parents attempted to urge him into. while at cheongnam, his teachers had no clue how to deal with the weird kid in the back of class, there was one person who slipped him contact details of a particular professor at a certain university whom chase eagerly contacted. he got into snu within a week and started his studies on english literature and world mythology. he finished within four years and immediately fell into a research project that took up most of his time, leaving social gatherings a rare occurrence.

“life asked death, why do people love me but hate you? death responded, because you are a beautiful lie and i’m a painful truth”

in the sanctuary of his own shaggy apartment, chase lives his life as peacefully and exhilarating as he can. the sudden hobby of palm reading a service he grants to those who inquire. the man keeps his parents at a distance, not because he does not appreciate their company, but because he wishes to rid himself of most earthly attachments. they didn’t understand him when he was a teenager, and still don’t. they take pride in chase’s profession but not in his field of research. nevertheless, chase park is two sides of a coin; it depends on how you flip him, who you’ll meet. at work, he is seen as the odd one out but a cheerful fellow who you can rely on, sometimes. his students love him and his supervisor inspires him. chase teaches on world myths and beliefs, parapsychology and extrasensory deceits. he preaches the advantages of religion and a descent into occultism. never will it be clear what his own views are on the subjects he instructs. chase park is an enigma few understand, and that is okay. because he is the painful truth among beautiful lies that only a select few will seek and even fewer find. it’s up to you whether you assign him to be your demon or your salvation. but rest assured, it will be magical.

#247: accepted

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xbestregards · 7 years

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After, life

It's isn’t uncommon for a ghost to have a incomplete memory of their lives back when their hearts could beat in their chests. We never enter this state of being by our own accord really. It is that split moment before we reach the end that decides what we become. It is always different to each of us, the details and state always unique but bleak for the obvious reason. But you’re not really curious about other ghosts, the one you want to know about is me. How did I die, who was I when I was alive, and why haven’t I moved on? These were all questions I asked myself when I woke in this mass of light struggling to get a form.

The best way I can describe my beginning is waking up. I opened my eyes and found myself in a white empty space. Not really a void because this place didn’t feel endless. Rather without being able to see a ceiling or floor I could feel that those things were there, not much bigger than a office. It isn’t hard to believe that I was confused by this. Was I here when I went to bed? Did I go to bed? I couldn’t remember but I didn’t have much time to figure it out. I heard of all things, a door opening behind me and then shutting.

The term of an office couldn’t be more clear after that. It was like as if while the sound traveled through the room it revealed what I couldn’t see. File cabinets along the walls, a desk toward the front of the room and chairs, framed pieces of writing that I couldn’t really make out. There was even a shrub on the desk. A shrub amongst other things that would tell you the one who used this room had more work on their plate then they could handle. The sudden appearance of these things that I could so easily name ebbed my confusion but only slightly.

“Take your time getting used to it,” the voice that could only belong to who opened the door told me, “this part isn’t easy for anyone.”

The disembodied voice soon assured me that it indeed had a body. Or the representation of one. He had everything that made up a body and if I had to put a time period on his clothes I would guess sometime during the 1700s. But what drew me to watch him as he moved around the room was the fact that he didn’t walk. The white that should have his pants covering legs instead became wisps and disappeared beyond his knees. And the body that I mentioned wasn’t completely solid. I could see the cabinet covered white walls through him, like he was just dust temporarily obstructing my view.

“This part,” I asked with hesitation preventing me from creating a complete sentence.

“Yes this part,” the man said as he sat behind the desk, “give it some thought and I’m sure you will come to the answer on your own.”

The discussion that followed could go just about as you could imagine it would. It was the five stages of grief toward the loss of myself. I guess you could call that self pity then. The man behind the desk helped me through it. It was obvious this wasn’t the first time he watched someone’s soul battle with the fact it had a mortality. The denial and anger stages were short lived. It only took a glance at what I had become. A pink floating entity. I didn’t seem to have legs, just a wisping tail where they should have been. I didn’t have any defining features that people had, they were more the general shapes to give the suggestion I had them. The one thing I noticed the most was that my eyes were pupiless. Thick black curving lines surrounded my now too large pure white eyes. When you are faced with the hard proof of what you are its hard for those two stages to stick around.

Bargaining wasn’t a very long stage either. In fact I can’t really remember if I did try to make some sort of deal to return to who I was. Mostly because I couldn’t remember who I was. It was the stage of depression where everything began.

“I know this isn’t easy to accept,” the man said to me while he started looking through a bin on his desk, “It never is. But you can be proud in the fact that you are here.”

“Why should I be proud,” I asked in a tone that was so close to venomous I could taste it on my tongue. At least I could taste.

“This room is only for a certain kind of ghosts,” he began to explain, not stopping his search, “every ghost that comes through here only does so because they follow one of two criteria. One is that the person committed suicide. It is considered a sudden and violent death, it leaves the soul suspended. The second is that unlike other ghosts, you have a concept of passing time. The number of spectres that can pull off that feat and be so complete in appearance is a rarity.”

Finally he found what he was looking for. As he explained my hearing deteriorated. It sounded as if someone had shoved my head underwater for all that I could make out from what he said. What I could gather was that in his hand was a file and a journal. Both of which belonged to me. The file was extremely incomplete; the only thing it contained was that I lived in California, I died yesterday, and the reason for my death is being debated between suicide or by the natural causes of heat stroke. The journal was the only thing that belonged to me that they were able to get a hold of. Something about ghosts only being able to keep what they poured the most of their energy into while they were alive, this journal was a second part of my soul.

In my silence I took the journal and he began to explain more to me. I was going to have what was called “free range haunting”. My job was to simply go from client to client and scare them until they left their home or expelled me from it. After a few months of doing that work I learned that getting them to leave paid more and didn’t cause me any pain. But I was detached from my work, I wasn’t satisfied. At night without the need to sleep I would pour over the journal I was given. It was such an incomplete history book of who I had been. I curse myself for not writing my name in it in some way. The others began to call me Lady Cherry Waffles, Waffles for short. I needed something to call myself so I didn’t push it away. But I resented the fact that they could remember their names. They knew their history and who they were while the thing that was supposed to give me that information was so maddeningly vague.

From what I could gather in those ink covered pages I had always been a ghost in a way. I never felt connected to the people I was supposed to, family and friends. It was a detachment that left me alone in a world of depression and self hatred. Very rarely did I find a passage where I would actually accept the praise from other and truly believe it. And while I was hungry for the companionship others I would deny myself what I wanted by choosing to avoid social gatherings because the thought of being near other people gave me anxiety. I was drowning in the tar pits of my desperation for human contact. The black inkiness of my own doubts dragging me away from the shores that could have held my happiness. And if any life vest or boat was sent my way I ignored it till the sank.

I will never know if the last one that I wrote was what led to the debatable cause of my death. I wrote about how hot it was and how I wished that the heat was as easy to escape as the cold. The cold which I enjoyed so much more then the pressing heat. It was something that was consistent with who I was now. Who I was now… The thought pulled me away from my journal by my own accord. Every day for I didn’t know how long I would pour my endless hours over those pages of a tortured person that I couldn’t believe was myself. Drinking in the information like a sponge through my pupil less eyes. It had become an endless routine that was a borderline obsession. Never had this book left my side once I received it and I tried it like it was the most precious and fragile item in the world. I had been so preoccupied in trying to figure out who I was I had put shackles on my own progress. I never tried talking to the other ghosts in my work place, there were so few of us that shared this state of limbo. How many times had I reread the same entry just so that I didn’t have to speak to anyone. Using it as an excuse for my absences or reason to not engage in any kind of social interaction. I had become the me that was preserved in the pages in my hands. I was still starving for companionship and I was still avoiding it like a plague.

For the first time I shut the journal but that wasn’t enough. I wanted to be free from the black tides of tar that were starting to infect me from the past. So I opened the book again and began to rip out the pages. With ever sound of ripping paper I felt myself becoming separated from the person I was. The defiling of this self made record pulled the tar off of my soul. With each page that drifted to the floor I felt light. The pages were all my doubt, all my fears, all of the pain that led me to this state and I was removing them. It was only when every page was on the floor in a incoherent mess of writing did I feel liberated. No long was I the prisoner of my past. The shackles were gone and the afterlife was open for me to discover.

I spent the years the followed making up for my absence. I still wasn’t the best at interacting with my peers. But unlike before where I would fall into the dark tides and give up on the friendships I so dearly wanted I acknowledged my flaws. This persistence to what I wanted rewarded me. There were talents I possessed that were never known to me because I have never tried to discover them. Any kind of talent or hobby that appeared to me in life was given shifting eyes as my doubt told me I would never be able to do or create something people would be interested in. However that shadow of doubt was gone and there was nothing stopping me from pursuing any interesting task that came my way.

And through this new found confidence I achieved the goal I had wanted for so long. I started to form friendship with those around me. They were always slow going at first, again I was very aware of my flaws now. But the people that I discovered didn’t mind my flaws, in fact they celebrated them and assured me it was what made me special or attracted them to me in the first place. I wasn’t alone anymore, I was no longer starved. I was finally satisfied and I had reached the last stage of grief. Acceptance not of my death but who I was and who I am. Something that even living people struggle to grasp.

I may never know what it was that led me to become an incarnation of emotions and energy. While that mystery may never be solved the truth of the matter is, that it doesn’t matter at all. Who I was in the past does have some effect on who I am now, I am not denying that. However it is only in the sense that it teaches me what I have to do in response to the mistakes I had made. Now I have the support that the journal so steadily cried out for. The outlets for creativity are in every part of the world and are always in reach. And where the ink told me the story of a person who was so afraid to stand up and say what was on her mind, letting it bottle up until the bottle couldn’t hold it anymore; I do not. Unlike the me that was - the me that now only existed as ink on paper - death is not an option for me. The only choice I have is to live.

#lady cherry waffles #short story #ghosts #death #life #memories #the ghost writes

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