#self para

[drrutherford]

New Year, 2024.

He stares blankly at Melissa's text-message as it flashes across his phone screen.

"Are you in Launceston?"

No, because he doesn't understand this business of toasting champagne with one's enemies, in a place teeming with them that his family had done well to abandon. Of course, toasting enemies is an occasional inevitability in London; at events they all have vested interest in attending, or else cede the limelight to an undesirable other.

But Launceston is not London. Why the Rutherfords would ever need chase French cul or any other into a foreign city, he cannot for the life of him understand.

It's sloppy, unnecessary. And too much potential for ill-advised liaisons.

The surgeon releases a sigh, leaning back in his chair. Maybe his family is right, and he is softhearted after all — unable to fathom the thought of shooting the same people you'd willingly toasted mere weeks ago.

Or — perhaps he's every bit as calculating as the eldest son of a mobster, who, in another lifetime, might've been forced to lead his father's people. Calculating enough to know that mingling in such ways would only make his own soldiers less willing to pull the trigger when asked of them. Less loyal.

He doesn't understand it, but he's glad that in this lifetime, it's not his conundrum to resolve. Setting aside his cellphone, Gideon turns his attention back to his work. He needs to reserve every bit of calculation for a problem of his own, anyhow. A priority. 

He's not exactly sure how his father caught wind of his intentions – Was it the frequent drop-ins to his lawyer's office in recent weeks? The indefatigable rumour mill that was London's press?... Or had his father specifically taxed some sorry pigeon with the job of gathering, every so often, intel on his wayward son? – but it's become abundantly clear that Andrew knows. Clear, by the gift that had come on Christmas Day, inside a card neatly scrawled in his father's own penmanship.

Gideon, A man may have the world, but if his child wants no part in it, what good does it do either of them? So saying, I trust even you won't turn your nose up at this humble offering... For my grandson's sake. Happy Christmas. — A.R.

Along with the card and an extravagantly-summed cheque, was a referral appointment to the exclusive services of a custody lawyer. Some internet hunting later had revealed the lawyer had made his name overseas and had now returned to London.

Though he'd kept the card, he'd had too much pride to take the money. Blood money. Not that Gideon didn't see the appeal; what was pocket money to Andrew Rutherford was a significant cut of his own annual paycheck, even as a neurosurgeon splitting his time between both public and private sectors in one of the most prestigious cities in the world. But he'd been stubborn since the day he'd earned his first payslip, and the way things were looking, he'd be stubborn until his last. So he'd sent the cheque back with a brief but polite Christmas note in return.

He may have been too proud to take the money, but that doesn't mean he's foolish enough to ignore the legal recommendation of a mobster who'd notoriously spent the last four decades of his life dodging the law and finagling his way out of the courtroom. Whatever else may be said of him, Andrew Rutherford knows how to win a case – or – the right people to employ to win it for him. 

And even if the lead proves to be a dead end, had not the last year given him repeated, painful reminder that he needs to refocus his attention on his own life? Maybe Nora's right, and he's spent too long shooting himself in the foot by fighting other people's battles or martyring himself for the wrong causes. Maybe Yvonne is also right, and he needs to quit falling on his sword in defense of everyone around him. Maybe he needs to keep the secret he'd shared with Leyla on his birthday, too.

And maybe, despite all that and every good intention along the way — the lead will fail.

Maybe it won't make an ounce of a difference in the end. He's squared up against his ex-wife in court once before already and had won nothing for his efforts but public humiliation. A second attempt over the years had been thwarted before the judge had even riffled through his painstakingly collected pile of evidence.

What good will a third trial do?...

But for all the cynicism in his heart, Gideon knows he owes Felix this much. Owes him a hundred attempts to pull him out from under the influence of a selfish, fame-spoilt, cocaine-fueled mother; who'd struggle to choose between their son and her next hit. At least, until such a time as his beloved, now-six-year-old boy comes of an age when he can choose such parental influences for himself.

Gideon glances at the clock. In half an hour, he's meant to meet his girlfriend to watch fireworks on a rooftop and ring in the New Year. Enough time to finish this email, the one addressed to the so-called 'Mr. Dalton, Q.C.' with regard to his plight. Besides, the Rutherford doesn't need any more time to think of his resolutions before 2023 fades into the annals of the past. He's made his one – and only one – resolution already.

... It's time to get his son back.

#Started writing this back in December... #Was intended to double as a realistic headcanon for Gideon while also explaining his/my absence from the dash #Or at least his absence from stirring up Gid-style drama 😅 #It may still need to serve that purpose x #self para #January '24 #flashback

[nathaniel-donovan]

You have to break down before you can breakthrough. – Marilyn Ferguson.

Summary: View into Nate's mind, snippets of each day he's been gone, and an introduction to his NA/AA sponsor. Timespan: A week. Mentions: Donovan Clan and basically everyone he's let down. Triggers: drugs, addiction, grief, blood, depressive thoughts??

day 1.

An ominous silence seemed to surrounded Nate with the way he carried himself, he physically feels numb in as equal parts as he does out of focus. Everything was disorienting and he was beyond the point of finding his footing. If he was ever to be asked if had hit rock bottom before, he’d have said yes, under false impressions that he had. Yet as he sat with his dominate hand on the steering wheel, his left dragging down his face, only to push back up for his thumb and index to wipe the tears from falling under his eyes, it was like he had finally fallen through that trapdoor. Finally hitting himself so firmly that the only way now for him surely was up; if he would allow that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, Nate’s issue was that he mentally couldn’t do it. All the fragments of himself that were broken, were so far apart it felt like it’d take more than just his lifetime to bring them back to heal. Physically there was nothing left of himself to tear down and while he sat in his own silence, he was lazily focused on the highway with no real direction he was heading into.

He wasn’t running, contrary to popular belief, this was him trying to make his own choices. His nephew was missing and while he had tried to make small attempts to do whatever he physically could; he felt hopeless. He had decided to put an end to his relationship because he couldn’t cope with the person he was becoming; it’s self sabotage. He’s driving away from town knowing he was letting down not just his daughter but Olivia with the former plans they had made, ones he wasn’t showing up to, and it’s down to that fact of him not being able to be the person they needed. Or anyone. He could no longer extend himself off into branches as there was nothing left for him to offer. He had tried. The last eight months had consisted of him attempting to take two steps forward, for him to continuously get pushed back five. It was his own fault — at least that’s what Nate believed — it was his own fault because it’s what he deserved. His reality was that it was that disease of addiction completely wrapping around his brain and consuming it, one that he hadn’t been strong enough to fight off, to let it just lay dormant while he held a grip on that self control he once ravelled in. Yet in spite of that; he was at fault.

There wasn't a world that Nate would live in, where he wouldn't hold himself accountable for his own actions. While he had influences and demons on his shoulders weighing him down into the ground, it was still him. Every single action, everything he said, everything he did, it was him. He never claimed to be perfect, though at times maybe he wished that he was, then perhaps he wouldn't be alone in his car crying. It was the only place that he did allow his emotions to get the better of him, after all, you wouldn't catch the son of Harold Donovan being as raw as he was around people that actually cared. Nathaniel wasn't brought up to express, he was brought up to achieve and what did he have behind him? A failed relationship, seemingly rocky relationships all round, and no doubt a daughter that thought he let her down. The kicker of it all that despite all of that? He wanted it to stop, he wanted to forget. He craved a high so euphoric that he'd feel better.

It was selfish - a feeling he felt quite strong on, the way his mind was so set on destroying everything around him and the fact that he was letting it. He was following suit because he couldn't pick himself back up. Despite not being able to do anything, he was leaving his sister behind when Landon had been taken. Targeted. That wasn't Nate. The Nate currently parking up outside a motel? Wasn't him. It was a stranger in his own body; he wasn't thinking. Not that that made it any better, it didn't, it wasn't an excuse and nor would he ever use it as one. Actions held consequences and Nate was always one to hold himself accountable. He wasn't turning his back on those, he was delaying them. He texts his sister; Logan, as it's only now as he's letting himself fall back onto the motel bed, that he remembers about his cats, it has him groaning and in turn messaging her because he knew she'd look after them.

day 2. (tw: blood, drug insinuation.)

Hearing from Lydia only had Nate lingering in limbo; his heart practically could have not sunk any further than it already had. He didn't want to turn his back on his sister, not when Landon was missing, but you couldn't schedule a breakdown, could you? He couldn't put a pin in it and save it for later, it didn't work like that. Its' why he had left Tonopah completely, wanting his own space, as well as not wanting to make the entire situation worse for everyone around him. Or make it about him. Lydia wanted him to support her, Nate wanted to support her, though how was that possible when he didn't even have strength behind him to do so? It felt selfish, he felt selfish and he hated it. He couldn't physically explain how he couldn't do anything about it, he wanted to, he just couldn't.

It's a feeling that just sparked frustration and he's continuously trying to wash his face in the bathroom of the motel, it's repetitive and constant, it's like he's hoping that splash from the cold water would somehow wake him the fuck up. It's what needed to happen and the more he willed it, the more his annoyance just spiralled into anger. A feeling that unleashes the moment he takes a glance at his reflection staring back at him, his fist practically colliding with the mirror seconds after and it's an action that doesn't stop, again it's repetitive. His movements only stop when his vision moved from that sea of red, only to see blood covering the surface he had tried to punch through, it's dripping from his hand due to the way the glass had pierced through and cut his skin. He outstretched his hand only to instantly regret doing so, the pain only becoming more noticeable the moment he looked at his hand.

There was apart of him that couldn't be bothered to wash it, to tend to his self-inflicted wounds and it's like he had to force himself to start running the water. Now putting his hand in the running stream it's done so he can try and see the glass - attempt to remove the obvious bits - all while foolishly doing so, considering the seeping wound didn't stop. Eventually he reached for a small towel, wrapping it around his knuckles with an idiotic view point of that'll do.

Moving himself out of his motel room his feet are wandering more aimlessly, it's in search of something better than his poor attempt of a band aid - in Nate's perfect world right now? He'd have wished for a quick pick me up, something to completely numb the constant throbbing sensation coming from his right hand. So despite the fact that he was practically trying to mentally scramble his way out of hell, he found his wish answered in the form of his help. A woman by the name of Hailey had wrapped a bandage around his hand, someone who was also overly keen on talking when Nate had barely spoken two words since poorly explaining what he had done. Apparently tripping into the bathroom mirror had pulled a cheap laugh from the stranger. Though unfortunately the only sentence that had Nate even remotely interested and it showed, consisted of six little words:

"I've got something that can help."

It was music to his ears and it was sad. The way his dependency for any form of substance was overweighing his need for common sense. It's the fact that he had literally days ago put distance between himself and Alara, only to enter the bedroom of another woman's for a little plastic bag. It was cheap and only kicked him further into the ground, but nothing ever came for free and he's almost convinced himself that it was fine. Why? Because he needed a hit.

day 3. (tw: drugs, grief - mentions Cassie Donovan's death.)

Sitting in the middle of the room his legs are crossed and underneath the coffee table he was in front of - almost like he was sat up at an actual table. Before him? A line of cocaine and Nate was just fixated on it. Despite how silent his room was, how you'd practically be able to hear a pin drop, the noise inside of his head was loud. It's screaming. It's ten fold the worst pending migraine. It was this moment that would be described as his darkest hour, sure, he may have faced multiple over his lifetime, yet right here? It was sink or swim for the Donovan. He either gave in or he'd pull himself up. There was no other option. It was as black and white as it could be, he needed to latch onto a good thing and fight for it.

The only problem for him was that his mind was telling him he'd be better, he'd feel better if he did it just once. The thought was seeping through his skin, it's like he was trying to convince himself that this was the better option. Why be sad when he could feel happy? It was easy. His mind thought back to Alara and everything she said to him, everything he agreed with, apart from him wanting to choose pills and drink over everything that was important. That wasn't the case, at least not for Nate, his struggles were not a choice he made at a snap of a finger. He was always here, with a very clear need to pull himself back. It's why he wasn't acting on impulse, because there was still apart of him left. Since his sister, Cassie, had died he had lost every single battle with his mind, but perhaps it was now time for him to win the war.

The moment his thoughts land onto Cassie there's a crack in his otherwise expressionless features, his brows furrowed together softly as he remembered her. There's a wonder if she faced this same situation before she died, whether she span in exactly the same way he had. That feeling of hopelessness, that feeling of not belonging to his own skin? In this moment he felt he finally understood her need for peace, there was only so much fighting you could do with your own mind before you gave up, and he got that. He took a deep breath and sighed heavily, he could practically feel his heart sinking in a way it hadn't before and that was all down to his grief. He lost his sister and he went onto autopilot for months. Now? Now that switch had just been flicked off and he was letting himself feel. Nate had finally given himself that freedom to just be and as quick as the tears filled his eyes, they fell, streaming down his face so furiously it was a battle of which could splash across his hands the quickest.

The only image he had filling his head was that of his sister in the process of him identifying her, one he hadn't spoken about since, one he hadn't mentioned because there was no point. Yet actually? There was every point. His most prominent memory of her was stone cold and laying on a mortuary table. That wasn't ever going to change. Nate had never been phased by death, but that painted picture being his sister's? Harrowing. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands he's trying to stop himself from completely soaking his face altogether, he faintly shook his head, and he finally breaks the silence of his created atmosphere with a, "C'mon..." it's a low groan, it's quiet and pleading, he's trying to stop himself as if spoken words with do that.

After a while of time that seemed in relation to forever, Nate finally pushed the coffee table away from him, giving him that chance to stand up from the floor. Starting to pace back and forth he only broke that cycle by sitting down on the edge of the bed, with his head in his hands his eyes are closed, he's focusing on his breathing with an undying need for the pain in his head to stop. It's knowing there's something itching in the back of his mind to still make the wrong decision. He begins to think of everyone he was letting down, everyone he had turned his back on and it's only when Mia comes to the forefront of his mind that he seems to just stop. Did she deserve this? Did she deserve a father to not only enter her life unexpectedly, but to also be pulled away in the same way? No. He managed to shift his focus of thinking, landing firmly on his daughter and it's like he gets an ounce of strength to pick just the tiniest part of him up. He grabbed his bag that he never really unpacked, it's a surge of adrenaline, opening the door to his motel room with no thought behind his actions - other than to create enough distance between himself and the line from the devil laid out on the table.

day 4.

Out of all the places he could have gone he found himself unknowingly sitting in the middle of a private 60th birthday celebration, banners he had dismissed on the outside of the bar, as well as the decorations on the inside. He had tunnel vision in some ways, as well as a lack of ability to just register things around him. This was also a pivotal moment for Nate, one that while he wouldn't see it as, it was fate literally dangling another olive branch for him to take. It was only how he responded to it, that would determine how he progressed. After all, you met your fate on the road you took to avoid it.

Nate sat up at the end of the bar, glass of whiskey untouched before him and so deeply lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even notice the stranger approaching him. It's only when they talk that he turns to look.

"You good there?" a question that left the lips of a man that looked like if he wanted to, he could pick Nate up and throw him through the nearest window. Broad shoulders. He was in his fifties - or maybe the years hadn't been so kind. Barely six foot. Yet his confidence with the way he carried himself was blinding.

"Yeah." it's a short response as Nate looks towards the stranger, with a clear wonder of what he wanted.

"Been staring at that glass for the last hour." the man responded, quite matter of factly, knowing that he had watched Nate from the moment he had stepped into the bar. Almost as if he was watching a ghost of his own former life.

Nate doesn't say anything in response, he just continues to look at the guy before turning his attention away.

"What’re you looking for at the bottom of it? Easy life?" it's an assumption, it's also a light prod at the stranger he doesn't know, wanting to see if he could get him to bite, because if so, maybe he was judging this entire situation in the wrong light.

His question, however, has Nate looking towards him again. Still silent. Yet whatever the stranger was trying to do, he'd done it.

"Name's Charlie; friends call me Charles, wife calls me Lee just to be original." it's an introduction because he's able to read what was happening; he also wants to break that stoic look the Nate's face.

Exactly as Charlie wanted, Nate appeared to do. He cracked smile, suppressing a depressed chuckle with how random this entire interaction was. "Nate."

"Short for anything?" Charlie hit back instantly.

"Nathaniel." he answered easily, despite having no clue as to what was going on. It was almost like he was beginning to wonder if he was in some kind of fucked up dream.

“Ah… Emma!” he shouts behind him, prompting a woman in the background to respond with a yes dear. “Nathaniel?” a question that had a gods gift as an answer to shortly after. “Nothing quite like a gift of god staring at man made creation, ay…. Wife,” he gestured over towards her, “got this weird fascination with names… she’s an author. She always used to tell me it’s a choice,” he gestures with his index to the glass in front of Nate, “You take the drink, the drink takes a drink, then the drink finally takes you… Fitzgerald.” He added with a slight shrug. “She’s either a good influence or I’ve just learned to listen after thirty years of her telling me I’m deaf.”

Nate offered the guy another smile - it's an attempt, at least - yet the way his brows crease together momentarily was a tell of his confusion. He sighed, pushing the glass away from him that he hadn't even picked up, let alone touched.

“I’ve been where you are,” an offer of an explanation from Charlie, as if the guy sitting defeated up at the bar was a familiar sight, “Listen…” he begins to pull a small card from his wallet, asking for the bartender to lend him a pen he soon quickly scribbles on the back of it before putting it down on the bartop for Nate to see. “You show up, you’ve got a stranger that’ll listen. You don’t?” He shrugged, as if to silently say that was your choice.

Reaching for the card Nate picks it up, eyes scanning the text written across it, “This your version of a pickup?" it's a joke and that's not quite relayed in the way he wanted, it's more unintentionally judgemental, so instead he chose to follow on with, "That obvious?”

“Yeah.” It's short and sweet, it's enough for Charlie to get his point across to the guy he had just left a hinter with as to where he thought he should go, having written details of the next AA meeting he was attending personally. "Should get that sorted." he pointed towards Nate's hand, paying focus to it for the first time and the way the bandage looked wet before he walked away.

day 5. (tw: drug & death mentions)

He should have gone home. That much was obvious to Nate, and yet where was he sat? In the middle of a meeting a stranger had suggested he be at. It’s one he doesn’t partake in; it’s one he listens in. His jacket is off and on the back of his chair, sitting in a short sleeved T-shirt whilst everyone else had sweaters on around him. His arms are crossed and he’s staring at a fixed point - the leg of another’s chair across from him - trying to keep himself mostly normal as he can feel the sweat practically beading across his forehead. This entire set up? It wasn't for him. It wasn't that he was too good to talk about his own problems; it just wasn't the environment he wanted to do it in. He got it though, he got how it could help, and being around the number of people he was? Despite his quite obvious need to isolate himself, it was a distraction from the way his body itched for every substance he was resisting.

He had flushed every prescribed pill he had on him - not that they were even his to start with, he was doing his most to avoid even a drop of alcohol, he was trying to do the opposite of what his body was telling him to do. It wanted the easy way out, it was more of a need now than a craving, his body wanted to calm every nerve, he just wanted to relax and let himself give in. The only reason why he was here and not making his way back to Tonopah, was because his regret of leaving his sister whilst Landon was missing, had been surpassed by his regret of not doing a line in his motel room. It was alarming and it was a problem.

Nate wasn't sure what he was searching for, he just knew now that if he didn't leave when he did, there'd have been no decision for him to push against. He'd have shot up, he'd have taken the pills, and the drink. He had flickered back and forth for months when it came to stopping and each time he tried, he found a drink in his hand because it was easier to numb the withdrawal than it was to break through it. He was trying to do better despite singlehandedly managing to completely fuck everything up around him. It was sheer talent, at this point. A talent that was just being utterly squashed by guilt.

It's not just his sister, it's the MC - Cole - it's the one solid force he should have turned to, but he hadn't. There was so much shit going on that he thought handling it himself? Was the right way. Yet maybe if he had spoke up months and months ago, he wouldn't be where he was now. Hindsight was a funny thing, wasn't it? Instead his entire body ached, he felt anxious, and his right hand just seemed to feel like it was pulsating as every second went by. He had changed the bandage, though it was minimal care whilst he did as in Nate's mind? He was choosing to focus on that pain, rather than the drowning need to take him to a place of no return. His way of thinking was fucked up, yet right now that's because he was.

Nate had been so lost inside his own thoughts that his reactions were delayed once people started getting up and moving away around him, only really coming back to reality once he heard a familiar voice speaking towards him, "You good?"

Now looking at Charlie, Nate nods faintly as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his left hand.

"Got anyone at home?" Charlie asked, sitting down a couple of seats away from Nate.

Nate nods again, “Too many... and here I am.” there's a hint of sarcastic frustration in his tone, one that was swimming in defeat.

“It happens.” Charlie says as if it was normal.

“It does? Seems fucking shitty.” Nate tossed back; feeling that it was.

“Beginning to be a friend to yourself is far from shitty.” Charlie countered, apparently having an answer for everything.

Nate soon drags a hand down his face with a sigh, “Just the wrong time to be trying.”

With that response of honesty he received, Charlie saw that very short greenlight to question further, “When’s the right time?”

“When my nephews not missing.” It's a simple answer from Nate, knowing with his entire being where he should be.

With that silence fell between the two for longer than it was needed, though it's in that silence that Charlie sees an advantage to take, and so finally, “I lost my son when he was twenty three, missed his funeral because I was out like a light and having my stomach pumped." he held up a brief hand, as if to say don't to any sorry's. "What I’m trying to say is that it’s what you do now that matter’s, you think you’ve fucked up? Only you can change that. For yourself, your family. Sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Nate’s lightly nods, agreeing with the other. Now pulling his attention away from the older guy, because it's this conversation - no matter how short - that was beginning to make him feel more human.

“You sleeping?” Charlie brought Nate's attention back.

“No, flushed the help.” he admits, knowing that it was probably part of the reason why he hadn't gotten up yet, getting up meant putting himself back into that isolation bubble he had created.

“Need a place to crash?” it's a question that seemed to just read his thoughts and it has Nate looking back over to the guy, shaking his head.

“Coffee, then?” It's like Charlie was subtly pushing, clearly being able to recognise where Nate was, not just physically but mentally too.

“Why?” Why was he trying; why hadn't he given up. Nate wasn't necessarily irritated by it, he just felt confused and it's a feeling that instantly disappeared when all he heard in response was: It’s free to lend somebody a hand.

day 6 & 7. (i'm lazy let me live)

If you'd have told Nate a week ago he'd have been sat for the second day in a row, opposite a stranger - or maybe they were acquaintances now - talking, he'd have told you that you were full of shit. Yet here he was, feeling freer as he felt no expectations, and no it didn't help the way he was weighted down by his own pressures, but what it did do was make him feel slightly lighter. It had almost slotted him into just touching that better frame of mind. Charlie had done exactly what he had wanted to do; pull a stranger out of a dark place so deeply rooted by self-isolation that they'd see just a shimmer of light. It was what was needed, a dropping of hope because without it what was there?

Nate felt immense appreciation for the man because he knew if his week had gone a little differently, so would he. He had also smiled for the first time and it felt genuine, it's a smile that was born from talking about his daughter, only to die out as quick as it appeared with the way he knew he had gone completely silent on her. It's each of these little realisations that had him suddenly really waking up to what he was doing, and it's only something that had him feel more frustrated. It's emotions he doesn't quite know what to do with. It's also him not knowing how to approach everyone he had turned his back to. It wasn't intentional, it had never been intentional and still, he had done it. Nobody else. He couldn't change that - as Charlie had offered: he could only correct it by showing up.

Nate had spent the majority of his time after with his head being held up by his hands, it's him not bothering to keep to appearances, it's him needing to think, and knowing he wasn't facing judgement. He didn't actually feel like he knew where he stood with anybody, knowing that everyone he had tried and succeeded to just put distance between, he prioritized. It was shitty timing, fuck, it was shitty timing. Even though he still had so far to go, his most prominent feeling was remorse and this time he wasn't lost in it.

Despite still not being able to explain why he literally just recoiled so far back he pushed himself off of that cliff edge, he at least felt partly sane now, he felt it enough to know that actually? His thoughts of knowing exactly where he needed to be, were ones he was acting on. It's enough to allow him to feel a difference in himself, it was only slight, it wasn't even anything to jump around and cheer about, yet it was there and he felt better for it. Nate didn't feel like he was watching somebody else in his own body anymore, which by all accounts was exactly where he needed to be, and he was accepting the harsh reality of what he felt he had done.

So as he finally, finally, got back into his car it was like he was gaining that sense of direction back, managing to reach and grab that last fragment of willpower he thought had disappeared.

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” – Mahatma Gandhi

#self para #well that was a chore #don't have to read #this is for my benefit gfdhsjak

[erdogan-nevra]

Left Behind

Date: March 16th and beyond

Locations: London, Porto

Medea was silent in the chair next to her. Or as next to her as she could be as they were in separate pods across the aisle. She doubted the woman wanted to talk but even if she did, it would have been drowned out by the constant thrum of the airplane.

Nevra had never demanded anything from the Rutherfords in the entirety of her employment. They likely would have given her whatever she asked for, within reason, but she had never taken advantage of that. Advantage of their generosity and what giving it to people meant. Most would mistake it for loyalty or comradeship. A chance to tell the people who worked for them that they cared when really it was a chance to show the rest of the world how much fucking money they had. 

Fine, let them throw it around. The eleven hour flight would be more bearable in first class. 

~

“Wait, I’m coming. Wait, wait!” The knock had been soft at first but grew the longer she took to disentangle herself from her blanket cocoon on the couch. The hallways of her little cottage was already narrow and when Sabir zigged the same time she did, Nevra found her knees slamming to the carpet. She shook her head and nudged the dog away, talking loudly before she even opened the door. 

“I didn’t think you’d come thi-”

Ayaz. Not who she’d expected to see but Nevra smiled nonetheless. Maybe he’d remembered her birthday as well and was bored enough to come wish her so in person. She crossed her arms and put on a small pout. 

“I hope my present is hiding somewhere in your coat because I don’t see one and I’ll be honest, if you didn’t get me anything, I might just cry.”

It took her three more beats to understand that he wasn’t there to wish her a happy birthday. 

What was that look on his face? 

“Ayaz?”

“Nev, let’s go inside.” 

She didn’t know why but her heart started racing as he put a hand on her back and shut the door behind them. 

~

We will be landing in Porto Velho in twenty minutes. Please have your arrival card and any items to declare ready and in hand.  

She could feel Medea’s side eye and decided to ignore it. Neither were traveling as their namesake and both had only a carry on. A few changes of clothes was all that was needed for this trip. 

The plane rolled into port with a soft bump. Nevra was on her feet in seconds. 

“Easy there.” Medea’s voice snaked through her consciousness, squeezing uncomfortably, suffocating her with its very presence. 

Ayaz had suggested the woman come with her and when Nevra had told him she didn’t need a babysitter, he shrugged. Yet her arrival at Heathrow and the sight of his ex-wife told Nevra enough. They didn’t trust her, not right now. Not with-

Nevra smiled at the customs worker. When they’d gotten off the plane and ended up here was beyond her. Everything blurred together now. “No, nothing to declare. Just here for a business trip.” Her face remained calm and inviting. Learning to play different parts had been one of the main skills she’d learned as an assassin. She’d never imagined she’d be using it in her daily life just to reassure people she wasn’t going to throw herself off a bridge. 

Medea was next to her again. The Turk could feel her resisting the urge to take her elbow and guide her to the car that was waiting outside. Both women knew what would happen if she touched Nevra. She’d practically bit her head off at Heathrow to prove it. So unlike her. Then again, none of her actions had been like her the past few days. 

What would he think of it all?

~

“Nevra, did you hear what I said?”

Dead. 

Dead. 

Dead.

The snap of fingers echoed in the air. 

The person she’d chosen to love was dead. 

The person who had chosen to love her was dead. 

He was dead. 

Fingers wrapped around her wrists, pressure building each moment she kept silent. 

She had always been the one to leave when things came down to it. Her community, her friends, her fiancé. Nevra always made the choice. It never made it any easier but she had always been in control of who entered and left her life. That way she always knew who to blame when those horrible days eventually showed their faces. 

Who could she blame for this? 

Not herself. 

The drug dealer? Absolutely.

The women and men who joined him for god knows how long until he’d been the unfortunate victim of a bad batch? Sure.

Kerem and his anger, his unfuckingreasonable anger toward their situation? If she tried hard enough. 

Not herself though. 

But Berat…

“Nevra, come back.”

No, she would never, could never blame him. She had chosen him and she wouldn’t blame that person. Even if-

So now she was the one left behind and god did it fucking suck. A harsh laugh escaped her lips. She finally noticed Ayaz and saw the look of concern at her outburst.

~

Blood splattered her face as the assassin pulled the trigger of the gun resting at the base of the man’s skull. It was messier than normal but he hadn’t come quietly and she was pissed off enough not to care. Medea on the other hand looked less than pleased. Blood also splattered the toes of her shoes. She took one look at Nevra’s blood covered face and audibly exhaled through her nose. 

“At least you used a silencer.” She could barely hear the words over the roaring in her head and the sounds of passing cars on the street at the end of the alley.

A burner phone appeared in the older woman’s hand. A quick picture and a moment before confirmation before she tossed it into a barrel, followed by a lit match. A tiny part of Nevra wanted to burn the dead man as well but that wasn’t the job. This job was finished. 

She took out her own phone and pressed the name at the top. Three rings before it picked up. Time difference, right. He wouldn’t care though, not really. 

“Another one.” 

Ayaz sighed on the other line and he kept silent for a moment, no doubt debating how long he should indulge her desire to lose herself. 

“There’s a woman in Launceston…”

~

“You’re sure? No possibility you’re wrong?” Her throat felt like she’d eaten a handful of gravel. She felt her hands begin to shake in Ayaz’s grip. A shake of his head and a slight bow but he never averted her eyes. Never severed that last tether of support she needed. 

Nevra looked toward the front door and slowly allowed the realization that Berat would never walk through it again to wash over her. How was she supposed to get through everything without him? 

They’d talked for hours and nights on end of how it had been so simple to choose each other. How, once they’d said screw it and thrown caution to the wind, life had been so much happier. Their happiness had been a choice, her choice. 

This was not her choice. 

This is what it felt like to be left behind. 

If he was going to leave her behind, then she was going to leave everyone else behind too.

“Give me a job.” 

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t said in anger or sadness or despair. It wasn’t a want but a need.

It looked like he was going to refuse her so she shook her head. No, don’t stop me.

“Give me a job.” 

~

The second plane was just as comfortable as the first had been. First class again, only this time Medea had done something unexpected. She’d bought out the entire first class. Nevra knew she was standing at the back of the area talking to the hostesses. She didn’t care what she was telling them. No one bothered her though. 

As the woman settled in the back, the Turk settled in the front. Maybe her babysitter had gone through what Nevra was going through. Maybe she expected her to use the privacy to break down and cry or throw a tantrum or let all hell loose. Nevra intended on refraining from each one of those things. 

If she was going to cry it would be on her own terms. Her grief would be her choice. Everything from here on out would be controlled by her because fuck this feeling. A better person would have taken the opportunity to understand, this was how she’d made other people in her life feel. Before, she would have been that better person. 

Now she wasn’t and didn’t care to be. 

Berat Yalaz would be the last person who would make a choice for her and the last person to leave her behind. 

The thought made her sigh.

#self para #the reason she's not at the awards #berat #ayaz #medea #I cried a bit

[berat-yalaz]

I MISSED YOU A LITTLE MORE TODAY:

I do not expect everybody to read this. If it's an issue, please just scroll on. It will be dealt with vaguely enough in follow up paragraphs and threads that the main points will be clear without it. This para, and the one that follows, are a bit depressing and deal with some very triggering topics that not everyone will want to read. That's completely okay and I understand if you scroll past. And whilst I know this is role play and it's supposed to be an escape where people don't have to deal with this shit, writing about it is important to me. But I do so fully understanding it's not for everyone's consumption. So please do what's best for you. I never intended to become this attached to Berat, but I also never intended him to be such a reflection of myself. The combination of depression and addiction that I put into his biography is devastating and life ruining and a difficult hurdle to overcome, and the reason it's the most personal and painful one I've ever written is because I understand how that feels. I also understand how the pain of loss compounds it day after day, and makes dealing with both almost impossible. I don't want to not write about this, because the struggle is so fundamental to his character that avoiding it would feel like a cop out. Not everything has a happy end. Not everybody makes it out the other side, because life isn't always as kind as it should be. That said, I want to make clear before the para, because the end is both vague and obviously foreshadowed: his upcoming death is not intentional on his part. The heroin is laced with fentanyl and he has no idea. But in a way, that seemed an even more fitting end than making it a purposeful choice. Still, proceed with caution for these two please. Next one will be from Ayaz later. Thank you. Date: March 16th, 2024. Warnings: Implied future drug use, severe depression, thoughts bordering on un-aliving oneself, precursor to overdose, precursor to character death. I tried to keep it vague, but it hints at a bad time.

How little would she think of him now?

It wouldn’t be unwarranted, of course, after all he’d done. After the pain he’d caused those he would so vehemently say meant the world to him.

Didn’t mean the idea hadn’t hurt, though.

“I missed you a little more today.”

It’d been a consistent routine; for those words, that admission, to be the last to leave him before he sought sleep. Survived one more day without her. This time, though, as Berat ventured further into the rundown and disorganised mess of a flat, he picked up the photograph of the woman in question from its home on the mantelpiece. Even the most beautiful smile in the world, the kindest eyes looking right back at him, couldn’t stop the hurt today. Neither were a match for the gnawing in his chest, and the guilt buried so deep in his gut he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten…

It’d been three weeks since Kerem had found out about him and Nevra.

Three weeks since he’d dared leave his home.

Three weeks since even Nazli had stopped trying.

And he deserved that, you know. He deserved to lose the only person who’d stuck by him through his darkest moments, because eventually, everyone had to run out of chances. Berat didn’t know whether it was the personal betrayal of Kerem that’d pushed her over the edge, or the fact he’d chosen the woman who’d been indirectly responsible for his downfall in the first place—a Rutherford sympathiser, to twist the knife—but she’d drawn a line, and he’d heard it loud and clear.

This time, he wasn’t worth the struggle.

And that was okay. And Berat didn’t blame her. And maybe it would have saved them all a whole lot of pain if she’d just made that same realisation a few years earlier.

The man flipped the pristine wooden frame he now held in his hands, carefully turning the clasps at the back so he could remove the photograph held within. Berat wasn’t sure he’d ever been bold enough to do so since he’d put it there; so scared of damaging one of the few tangible reminders he had left that he could only ever want to observe from a distance. Maybe that was a lesson he should’ve carried through into life, too. To not risk irreparably marring precious and beautiful things he’d never fucking deserved in the first place.  

He was holding it, then. A piece of paper in his hands all he had left.

And he was glad today that she was gone so she didn’t have to see him like this.

They all told him they wanted him to be happy, but he’d never asked it to find him the way it had. Life was cruel like that, he supposed. With one hand it gave, and the other, it took away so much. So why didn’t happiness ever seem to be an ultimatum for anybody else? Berat had never sought out Nevra expecting to love her the way he did, and he’d sure never done so with the intention of hurting his best friend. But for a man whose life had been so devoid of meaning and good and anything worth trying to be a better fucking person for, how could he not want for it?

You won’t let yourself be happy. And for a long time, that was because he didn’t feel he deserved to feel happiness in a life without Ceren.

But now he wanted for that relief with the only person who’d made him feel worthy since, and the brutal reality was that it meant walking all over somebody else’s in the process.

Did Kerem have the same dilemma when he’d found Emine?

Ayda, when she’d left him?

The slow, year-long retreat he’d made from them hadn’t been an accident, and surely they must have realised that by now. It hadn’t been because he didn’t care, or because he was so scared one of them would pick up on the signs that they’d catch him in a lie. It wasn’t self-preservation, it wasn’t self-pity, and it wasn’t a choice to move on. It was because he couldn’t fucking stand himself anymore. The mere sight of what looked back at him in the mirror fucking repulsed him. So why should they have been forced to endure him, too?

Even his mother felt the sting of distance. Because where his conscience apparently lacked so far as Kerem was concerned, he couldn’t put her through the pain of witnessing her son descend into yet another downward spiral.

The woman had suffered his poor choices for long enough.

Berat removed his phone from his pocket. Replaced it, slowly and carefully so as not to damage the edges or risk a fold, with the photograph of Ceren.

Oh, she deserved so much better than where they were going.

But he didn’t want to do it without her.

Didn’t want to do any of this without her, really.

He finally glanced down at his phone. The lock screen was littered with messages from people he was too ashamed to respond to; friends, family, people who’d been waiting for him to fuck up again. Because they all were. Even the ones who’d never admit it aloud because they liked him just enough to pretend they had faith he could do better. Kerem was one of them. Whilst he might’ve loved his friend, Berat could always see it in his eyes; gaze somewhere between disappointed and pitying. But none of them had expected something like this.

But neither had he, and that seemed to be lost on them.

One name stood out from all the others, and for a brief moment, he smiled. He smiled in spite of all that’d happened, in spite of his nausea, in spite of the exhaustion, in spite of feeling so trapped that he still couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel he’d forced himself into.

Nevra.

Wondering where he was, no doubt.

‘I love you.’

And that message he carefully typed out with unsteady hands wasn’t a warning sign in itself when he told her as much every chance he got. Told her with the sincerity and gratitude of a man who’d never thought he’d say the words again and mean them like this.

Because Berat did love her.

Hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. Couldn’t help it, though.

A part of him had known from the start that there was never going to be a happy ending for them. Never going to be a ‘them’ for the long haul at all and he’d tried to make her understand that before they got too deep. His reluctance to deal with their situation, to be open about what was happening, to speak with Kerem so they didn’t have to keep living a lie had been frustrating for a woman who deserved better. Certainly, deserved more than he could ever give. But his aversion to confronting his choices had less to do with cowardice and more to do with fear of losing the one person in his life who made breathing a little easier.

Fear of losing this beautiful and unexpected thing he didn’t deserve, but was too selfish to give up.

Yet now, he realised none of it mattered. He was going to lose it all, regardless.

Maybe that was okay, though. Maybe he’d just deal with it like he always did.

Maybe he’d just fucking suffocate under the weight.

Maybe he’d die.

Berat reached into a glass dish to grab a handful of fifties. The Turk could hardly be ashamed of stooping so low as to pawn a sentimental watch after all he’d done. It was too small a guilt to scratch the surface. A small mercy, he supposed.

He put out extra food for the dogs. Extra water, too.

Left the television on so they’d at least have the illusion of company until his mum showed up to take them for breakfast in the morning.

Berat didn’t know when he’d make it back, but he was hoping it’d be a while.

Long enough to take the edge off. Long enough to stop feeling.

“I’ll be there soon,” he reminded her out loud as his hand slipped in to feel for the photograph in his pocket.

If only someone would just let him.

#self para #tw drugs #tw depression

[laurent--stpierre]

LET'S ALL STOP ATTENDING THE AWARDS [2 of 2]:

Like seriously guys, let's just stop okay. Part one will be posted tomorrow.   Date: March 22nd, 2024. Warnings: None.

The basin was stained with blood, despite the steady stream of water.

No matter how much the Frenchman scrubbed, he couldn't wash it from his hands. Crimson seemed to creep into every line of his skin; stubborn and fucking vile, just like the animal it belonged to. Bloodshot blue eyes closed for a moment. A damp cloth met a nasty cut above his left eyebrow, but whilst the hand that held it was gentle in its approach, he could also feel it shaking.

"Hey, stop—" The man's words were soft instead of condemning as he turned slightly to face the woman beside him, reaching up to take her wrist. "Don't worry about me for a second. Let's get you cleaned up."

It was hard for him to tell if the words had even registered.

Laurent took the same cloth, flipping it to find a clean edge, and ran it once again under the lukewarm water. Though her only real injury beyond the tell-tale marks around her neck seemed to be a bleeding nose, her face was a harrowing picture. Stunned was a word, but it still seemed to come up short. The look in her eyes made him wonder if she was even present in the moment at all.

"Lara, look at me." It was sterner this time, and that seemed to work.

Because she did.

"You're okay..."

But somebody else wasn't, and that was likely a big part of the problem.

This time, it was him reaching out for her. Laurent tilted her head up slightly, looking for better light to see what he was fucking doing, and she quite clearly didn't have it in her to protest even if she did flinch. That was enough to give him pause. That for a moment, it seemed she thought he'd hurt her... The bleeding had stopped, but the mess on her face, and worse, the Dior, made it very clear she wasn't okay. Even if she didn't bruise, people would know something had happened.

Neither of them realised that was about to be the least of their worries.

It hadn't dawned on him she was crying until now. Silent, empty, but she was definitely fucking crying. Guilt twisted at his gut as he reached his other hand to brush away a tear with haste enough to say I didn't see anything. The hand remained against her skin—a barrier for her pride if it happened again—and he quickly got to work at cleaning up the blood drying around her mouth and nose.

"Is there something you—" But before he could finish, his attention was taken by the phone on the counter top coming to life. Not his, but hers.

At first he'd assumed it was somebody calling to see where she was.

Until he realised it wasn't.

'Not now,' he thought to himself, grimacing.

As she looked down, it was the first time the Rutherford's attention seemed to be anywhere but off into the distance. And that's where her eyes would stay, focused, attention unwavering, until the horrific video that'd been forced upon them all would come to an end. The two stood in silence. Even his hand had recoiled at some point; an unconscious movement on his part. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

They both understood what this would mean.

What the night was about to descend into.

And just like that, whatever part of her had put up a barrier of shock crumbled.

"Who?"

It was hard to tell whether her voice was strained from almost being choked to death fifteen minutes prior, or because she was fighting so hard against the masses of emotions she was being forced to come to terms with tonight. Both hurt him.

"A Russian," he answered honestly, even though he knew he shouldn't have.

The words seemed to trigger something in her, and even though Laurent knew there was no love lost between Lara and the Vorshevskys, she was overcome once more with tears. Only this time, she didn't have the control to keep them quiet. So few people had seen her this way, he knew. So few people understood what it was to witness a woman who spent every day trying to convince the world she wasn't, vulnerable. And suddenly, he was back in a hotel room...

"What the fuck is wrong with you people?" She choked out, her voice both dejected and subtly angry in a way only she could manage. "When is this going to stop? When is enough going to be enough? When are you going to realise this solves nothing?"

"Lara—"

"You're so fucking stupid. This cycle of violence has been going on for decades and causes nothing but pain. There's no resolution. Nothing gained. It's bad for business. What do you think this achieves except mending your fucking egos?"

"I had nothing to do with—"

"Are you really that delicate? Is Oliver?"

Laurent didn't have any fight in him, because he knew she wasn't wrong. But Lara seemed to have plenty. The tears were streaming, her body was shaking...

Then she shoved him.

Laurent stood in silence. Took it because it was deserved.

He waited for her to walk out, and yet...

It was hard to tell which one of them moved first. Maybe it was as simple as falling back into old habits, but the next thing he knew, his arms were wrapped around her; painful, given the state he was in, but not nearly enough for him to even consider letting go. Her head was buried in his shoulder, and she was breaking down. The whole night he'd wondered. How much seeing Amir must have hurt, how much seeing her name up on that screen for so many unforgivable awards must've chipped away, and now the two horrific scenes she had just witnessed in quick succession.

Even she could only take so much.

He could feel the Rutherford's hand clawing at his back, desperate to find purchase in his suit jacket as she clung to him as desperately as though she feared she might fall down otherwise. And he held her. Let his hand rub at her lower back in an attempt to calm. Laurent's eyes closed, mostly because hearing it was gutting enough without seeing her pain, too. And maybe he'd have apologised if he'd thought it'd matter.

"You need to call Henry," he said gently, his head pulling away from hers slightly. "You need him to get you out of here before this goes south."

Lara said nothing.

"Please."

#self para

[keremdogulu]

TYPE: Self Para @berat-yalaz

PART ONE OF TWO.

SUMMARY: This is a part of his reply to @emine--yalaz but also his self para.

Keder, aşk için ödediğimiz bedeldir.

To breathe again, he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

"It's..." Emine had said "Berat."

"What happ-- " he knew. The look on her face, the floor threatened to swallow him whole. "Is...is he hurt?" It was the same denial he'd had three weeks ago, but this one was the worst kind.

Kerem was pretty sure he might fucking pass out.

This surreality? It was roaring in his ears, unable to focus on anything as the world fell into silent chaos. The familiar timber of Berat's voice echoed through his mind, that laugh that so often made him feel at home nothing but dread that was collecting within him. The clogging in the back of his throat, the familiar burning behind his eyes as the pressure built and built.

Gone? Gone, gone? Not just hurt, there would be no recovery.

De-- no. He couldn't.

His world was crumbling, on fire, spreading and catching onto everything he held dear. Kerem was descending into madenning chaos, into the unknown and he'd never known such undiluted terror before. His nose burned every time he tried to bring air into his body, to keep himself from passing out from the spot in which he stood.

The look on Emine's face broke everything he'd known about his resolve, the way she -- for the life of him, it tore him apart to see her in such disarray. In such unbridled pain. He was frozen, unmoving, and unable to voice exactly how the world seemingly stopped moving. Berat was his brother, they'd fought side by side together for so long that it'd been natural.

Three weeks had felt like torture, even if he'd been pissed.

Friends fought...all the time, right?

He wasn't sure if it was because he was scared he was going to collapse, or because he needed to hold her again, but his arms found her, pulling her close as he tried to keep them here. His mind was spinning, and his world was imploding.

He wasn't going to be able to keep this upcoming eruption at bay much longer, he could feel it winding through his bloodstream and speeding straight for his faltering heart. It was breaking, more than anything could ever possibly break.

Irreplaceable. Irreparable.

Kerem tried to swallow, heaving in the process.

This...this was not real. It couldn't be real.

"Please." The words were but a whimper, his lashes fluttering as they collected water droplets in their erratic dance. "Oh god, you're wrong. You've gotta be -- " The second the words left his mouth, they tasted like ash. The truth seeped into the knowing part of his brain. "this is not happening."

Kerem had done this. This was his fucking fault.

They had been laughing so wildly, that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop, ever be able to breathe again with this feeling of freedom. Berat had been narrating some fucking show as they'd lounged around doing fuck all. Those had been simpler times, even if things had never been simple in the first place. Berat had always had a way of bringing out a more relaxed version of Kerem, always pushing him to do things that he might have shied away from. They had been a duo, there had never been one without the fucking other. And now.

Kerem couldn't remember what had been so damn funny now, but he wished he did. He wished he could remember every single fucking moment he'd been blessed by his best friend's presence. How could he have gone back to that, but that voice in his head came for him 'Because you threw him away without regard for everything he's done for you over Nevra'

He slammed backward, pulling away from Emine. His palms found his eyes as he pushed and pushed.

No. No. No. No. No.

He wished he could go back three weeks and say something different. Be different.

Nevra's name came to mind and he couldn't stop himself as his legs rushed to the nearest bin, he emptied the contents of his stomach in such a violent fashion he gasped trying to claw air back into his throat through the blinding tears. Berat couldn't be gone. But he was.

Kerem had hurt everyone he loved in that fallout, and it'd ended with his best friend's life. If the guilt hadn't been there before, it was now attempting a sniper-styled assassination. Was this his fucking fault? Truly? Had he robbed everyone of knowing him because of a stupid fucking fight?

It hit him.

Berat was dead.

He wanted to tare his fucking heart out of his chest and be done. He wouldn't, but he wanted to. Even as the room closed in on him, breath was stolen from his lungs once again at the onslaught of memories. He'd never get to make new ones because drugs had stolen his life, had embedded itself so deep into who he was, it'd warped his sense of self. Berat had so much to fucking offer and give.

But addiction never lets its victims go easily.

Or at all.

"I did this, this is my fault." Kerem sobbed. "This...this is my fault."

#t: Grief is the price we pay for love. #self para #reaction #berat yalaz #berat & kerem #the end of an era : berat #because one part wasn't enough #this is just inital reaction #tw: drugs #tw: death #tw: drug overdose

[ayaz--ates]

I'LL MISS YOU FOR ALL THE DAYS:

Same as part one. I'm sorry I did this to you, my man. You are and will always be one of my most beloved characters. ♥ Date: March 16th, 2024. Warnings: Drug use, overdose, implied prostitution, character death, sad times, both Kate and Ayaz having a mental breakdown.

‘The place in Wood Green we had to shake down last week. He’s there.’ ‘You’re sure?’ ‘I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.’

“Imagine being this much of a fucking disappointment…”

As he restarted the engine of his Aston Martin—cautious about idling this long anywhere in Haringey lest he end up on bricks—the man muttered away angrily to himself. Tossing his phone into the front passenger seat in frustration, Ayaz quickly pulled out into the sparse, late-evening traffic.

It was like babysitting a grown fucking adult.

In fact, that was precisely what it was.

Rumours had been circling around Haringey in the weeks since Valentine’s Day—unfortunately, he spent more than enough time there these days to have picked up on it—and he’d heard all about Berat’s fight with Kerem over Nevra. Speaking of fucking disappointments. The apparent year-long relationship was something he’d bring up with her another time, but her ex-fiancé had evidently made his feelings on the matter known. Even if a conversation with Giordana regarding their date had set his mind at ease about Berat’s mental state, Ayaz was still concerned.

In the blink of an eye, that man could and would spiral…

The few Rutherfords he trusted with the task asked why he cared enough to have people keeping an eye out for a Turk at all, let alone reporting in when they thought he might’ve been gearing up for his next fix. A waste of manpower, someone had the gall to suggest. Ayaz must have missed the part where he’d asked for their opinion on how he chose to conduct business in his borough.

His thumb tapped impatiently against his steering wheel as he hit a red light.

How the fuck was Berat still sinking this low?

How could he put Nevra through this if she really meant that much to him?

When Ayaz had beat the shit out of him the first time—punch after punch to a face that ended up so mangled it was almost unrecognisable—it’d been for Ceren. Partly for himself, too, he supposed. The man had been so fucking blasted on heroin and whatever else, he hadn’t even managed to keep it together long enough to make it to her funeral. Hadn’t even said goodbye. And the truth was, as soft a spot as he would always have for Berat, Ayaz would never be able to forgive him for that. Not when he knew the waste of space was his cousin’s whole world.

This was for her, too, he assured himself.

Not for himself.

Not for the memories he still clung to of looking out for him when he was a tragic kid trying to find his way in a new country. Not because he’d once seen him as a little brother, and that kind of bond never really went away completely no matter how much bad blood was spilled between sides. Because it’d never really been Berat that’d turned on him or his family. Ayaz recalled vividly a moment after they’d been cast from Haringey when he’d dared come back to visit his cousins, and whilst everyone else circled like predators, ready to be the ones who got to claim an Ateş, Berat had been the only one to defend him. It’d ended up violent, but Berat had stayed with him.

No doubt he’d paid for that. Maybe Ayaz would pay for this one day, too.

Getting to the run down club had taken a lot less time than he’d been expecting, Allah'a şükür. Maybe he’d be able to make it inside before he even had chance to get a needle.

Ayaz was going to drag him the fuck out of there and give him the hiding of his life.

If being with Nevra was what he wanted, if a relationship with Leyla was what he wanted, he was going to stop fucking up, because they deserved better.

The car had barely stopped before he was in the street.

It truly was an awful area to find oneself; a shit stain on the borough in its entirety, which was saying something when Haringey was exactly that to London. There were scantily clad women gathered around the doorway, cocaine at their noses, drinks in their hands, a sway to the hips that said come inside. There was shattered glass. Boarded up windows. Even the sign overheard was missing a letter. It looked exactly the type of place where you could slip into the basement and shoot up.

They didn’t even try to hide it.

When the security guard outside caught sight of Ayaz, he looked petrified.

“Berat Yalaz, is he here?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he went insi—”

Ayaz didn’t give him the courtesy of finishing because it was all the confirmation he needed. The Rutherford weaved through the Saturday night crowd, ignoring people who recognised him, ignoring the people heckling him, and focusing solely on the staircase across the room that he knew took anybody who wanted it right into the pits of hell.

The man guarding the top of the stairs had tried to stop him until Ayaz had put a gun in his face.

He’d been less confrontational after that.

“It’s almost like you ignored our little talk entirely, Deniz. So are you deaf or fucking stupid, because I very specifically remember telling you not—”

—to sell to Berat Yalaz.

The women were so pale and grey, one could’ve been fooled into thinking they were translucent. They were skin and bones and sunken in eyes and gaunt faces with shadows that made them look twenty years older than he was sure they were. The room smelt of damp and piss and reminded him a bit of the tube but without a coherent crowd, and if it hadn’t been for Berat, he would have been quite literally anywhere else. These people deserved to be subservient when they lived like animals and his disdain was radiating.

“You need to leave right now, Ateş. You are not welcome here.”

“I don’t remember asking for permission.”

There were two men passed out against a wall, but neither were the one he was looking for.

Someone was getting their dick sucked. Another ghostly woman cried in the corner.

They’d been so sure he was here, and yet…

There was a commotion coming from behind one of the curtains that sectioned off the room into semi-private areas for those who’d pay more. Checking them had been his next priority, but now that his attention had been drawn to the sound of muffled crying and something rustling just ahead, he knew where he was going to start.

“Ayaz,” Deniz continued, angry now as he limped after the Rutherford lieutenant. “No!”

The man dared grab for the shoulder of his jacket with his grubby fucking hands and absolute fucking audacity. The action was timed perfectly with Ayaz reaching out for the dank curtain and tossing it aside, and even though Deniz had tried to yank him back, the old man’s frailty betrayed him. It might’ve taken a moment for Ayaz to register precisely what he was looking at, but it would’ve taken much longer to be removed from the situation before he could.

And that was unfortunate for everybody in the room.

The rustling was coming from a comically large, cloudy sheet of plastic.

The crying was coming from the girls attempting to use it to roll up a lifeless body.

And for a moment, he felt himself falter.

“We didn’t know, Ateş. It was a bad batch, or maybe it was laced with fentanyl or—”

The words were wasted when all of a sudden everything seemed to go very quiet. Deniz might’ve been attempting to explain himself to avoid meeting a similar fate, and yet all Ayaz could hear were the whimpers of the women who seemed to think themselves to blame as opposed to the piece of shit behind him. An unfocused gaze dropped down to Berat’s face; eyes opened but empty, vomit very obviously starting to dry around his face and neck and at his shirt and…

“Look, maybe Kerem will be okay with this after everything that happened…”

Whilst he might not have heard the excuses, Ayaz had sure fucking heard that.

What?

Until that fleeting moment, it’d been his intention to drag Deniz out into the streets of Haringey and make an example of him like he fucking deserved. A reminder that when he said something, demanded it, he expected people to listen. But, as if he no longer possessed control of his body at all, the very same gun he’d used to scare the guard just upstairs unloaded two piercingly loud shots right into Deniz’s terrified fucking face without so much as a hint of what was to come.

Let’s see how much he’d have to say after that, huh?

And he was shaking now as the body hit the floor. Not like the women who had retreated in fear that they might be next, but enough that he’d almost lost the weapon in his hand.

Almost stumbled into the wall beside him.

Ayaz had expected to come here and scream obscenities at him. Tell him how much of a waste it was that he’d lived whilst Ceren had died and how he wished every day that’d been different. Maybe throw a few punches to bring him back to reality, and maybe a few because he wanted to, and perhaps, in a worst case scenario, get him back to Tottenham so he could sober up before he could do any of those things…but this?

Suddenly, he felt ill.

“Is he dead?”

It seemed stupid to ask when he hadn’t moved an inch since he’d gotten there. No breathing, no blinking, no choking…

“We tried—we tried to help him but—”

“Why didn’t anybody call for help?”

“Sir, we’re not allowed to call for help.”

Ayaz reached a hand up to his mouth. It’d been out of exasperation, shock, and yet he found himself using it to stifle a sob he hadn’t even known was building. As if it was the first step in a chain reaction, his vision went blurry with tears, and he dropped to a crouching position beside his old friend as if it might once again afford him the ability to breathe.

When he reached out to feel for a pulse, he already knew it was in vain, but what if they were wrong? What if they’d assumed the worse in haste, and…

“I’m sorry.”

The woman didn’t dare reach out to him, but the pain behind her eyes was so sincere when she muttered the words, he couldn’t help but wonder how many times she’d been in a situation like this before tonight.

Berat was dead.

Berat was dead, and he decidedly couldn’t fucking breathe.

‘Look after him once I’m gone, won’t you? We’ve never been away from each other before, and I think it’s going to hurt him…’

Ceren’s words echoed in his head, mocking his abject failure, and he’d never been horrified to recall any part of her until that moment.

How little would she think of him now?

When his cousin had pleaded with him to keep an eye out for Berat in spite of the fact they’d chosen different sides, she’d meant because she was headed to Porto Velho with her Rutherford boyfriend. It’d all seemed less serious, less important. And then she was gone, and suddenly a mild concern sounded more like a dying wish. If only she’d known how much he’d end up hurting, maybe she wouldn’t have asked something so monumental…

Ayaz pinched at the bridge of his nose, damp from tears.

Took a deep breath as his eyes once more focused on Berat.

The realisation he’d never speak with him again weighed heavy.

That he’d likely never see him again, more so.

As he pulled out his phone to call one of people, his voice was so thick the first few words of his statement had been lost entirely:

“I need a couple of cars here now. Deniz is dead. I want these girls out of here.”

“Is…what’s going on? Are you good? Did you find Berat?”

“Just send the fucking cars, Greg.”

#self para #tw drugs #tw overdose #tw prostitution

[askfabray]

Time Stops → Self-Para

CHARACTERS: Quinn Fabray DATE & TIME: October 23rd LOCATION: The Fabray house SUMMARY: Quinn finds out she's pregnant. WARNINGS: Abortion CW

Quinn was late.

She was never late. Not for classes, not for appointments, not for Cheerios practice, and never for her period.

So when 3 days had passed since the expected start date of her period, Quinn’s mind started to spiral. Being pregnant was impossible, wasn’t it? She only had sex once, with Puck, at his Homecoming party, and he had pulled out, hadn’t he? Or did he use a condom? Her memory of the night had some blurred spots here and there, and unfortunately, whether they had used any sort of prevention technique was one of those spots.

But now that she thought about it, being late for her period wasn’t the only clue that led her to making a stop at the drugstore on her way home from classes that night. She hadn’t been feeling well over the past couple of weeks, getting waves of sickness that would come and go, seemingly out of nowhere. She also felt exhausted, more than she ever usually was, some days going to her car between classes to take a quick nap instead of her usual homework sessions in the library. 

Making sure she had on her biggest pair of sunglasses and one of Finn’s hoodies that he had left at her place to cover her Cheerios uniform, she picked up a pregnancy test at a drugstore a little further out of the way than she would usually drive, hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone who might recognize her. She opened the box immediately, tossing it into the trash can outside of the store, knowing her mother would surely find it if she left it in her house. Slipping it into the bottom of her purse and burying it under her lip gloss and wallet, Quinn took the longest drive home of her life.

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

Quinn slid down the wall of her bathroom door, tears uncontrollably running down her face as she brought her knees up to her chest, hugging her legs tightly. 

Positive. 

Her life was over. Her reputation would be ruined. She’d have to drop out of college. Her parents would disown her. She couldn’t be a single mother. A homeless single mother. But maybe she could just…

No. She couldn’t. Quinn believed women were entitled to having rights over their own bodies, and that included her. Abortion might be the solution for some women, but not her. She could never do it. She’d have to carry the baby. That’s what she believed was the right thing for her to do. Then again, she also believed that celibacy and a faithful relationship the right things for her to do, and she could see where that got her.

And Puck. Would she have to tell Puck? Could she continue on without telling him? Surely he’d figure it out himself, unless he believed she was sleeping around having unprotected sex with other guys. And if he did think that…she wouldn’t know how to handle it. She had real feelings for Puck, but now she didn’t know what they meant anymore; not with her carrying his…

Finn. Oh God, Finn. He’s going to be so upset. Quinn still loved Finn. It wasn’t something she could just turn off like that. Sure, they were growing apart, he hadn’t treated her the best lately and that’s inevitably why they broke up, but she still loved him. She still cared about him. And she knew how this would make him feel. He’s going to know. He’s going to find out what she and Puck did. 

Quinn’s whole world was just flipped upside down, just by a tiny pink +. She had no idea what to do next; all she could do was sit on her bathroom floor, sobbing, staring at the test next to her. She wished she could go back to last week, two days ago even, anytime when she was blissfully unaware of what she knew now.

She was pregnant.

#self para #// whoomp there it is #abortion cw

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current (just after the road to hell) LOCATION: the grit pit SUMMARY: after his ‘discussion’ with wyatt and zane, leo decides it’s time to show felix a thing or two about consequences.  CONTENT: domestic abuse, emotional abuse

The call came in late. Felix had only just fallen asleep, exhausted after a particularly grueling fight at work. It had gone long — something their handlers and the audience greatly enjoyed, even if Felix themself hated it. It had been a pretty bloody one, too; they’d spent a good hour under the steady stream of water in their shower, trying to scrub the blood from their skin. By the time they finally crawled under their comforter, they’d almost stopped shaking. Their eyes were heavy, and it didn’t take long for them to slip shut.

But then the phone rang.

It startled them at first. The sudden jolt into awakeness sent their heart into their throat, the adrenaline they thought they’d left in the ring after the fight seeping back in and making their breath catch. It took a moment to pinpoint the source of the shrill sound, to remember where they’d left their phone on the bedside table. They fumbled with it for a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID before answering. There was really only one person who’d call with such little regard for Felix’s rest.

“H’llo?” They slurred, tongue still heavy with sleep.

For a moment, they were greeted with silence. There was deep, measured breathing coming from the other end of the line, but nothing more than that. Felix wished they could just hang up, but they knew it wasn’t a good idea. Leo had always had a temper; the end of their relationship didn’t grant Felix freedom from its consequences. 

Finally after a few more unsettling seconds of silence, the voice at the other end of the line spoke in a low tone. “I spoke with your friends tonight,” Leo said, and the cold anger was so achingly familiar. Felix sat up in their bed, their heart pounding. Instinctively, they looked behind them, as if Leo might manifest in their bedroom, as if he would crawl out from beneath the bed or stumble out of the closet like the monster every child knew haunted the dark corners of their rooms. But Felix’s room was empty. It was only them here. 

(This did nothing to ease the fear.)

“I, um… I’m not sure who you mean,” they said, and they hated how small they sounded. They hated that, with nothing more than a sharp word, Leo could undo every ounce of progress they told themself they’d made. They weren’t the warm, sometimes-funny person who had friends like Mona and Teagan and Anita, weren’t the helpful hand who’d volunteer to offer Wyatt assistance he didn’t need in the kitchen or try to carry more of Luci’s groceries than they had hands for. They were the person they’d been on the worst days of their relationship with Leo — the one who hardly came out from beneath the comforter because they knew they’d get something wrong, the one who had a panic attack because they forgot to pick up batteries for the remote even after they’d been reminded. 

“Of course you don’t.” Leo scoffed, and Felix could picture him throwing his hands up in the air in frustration the way he so often had. “God. You’re just as stupid as ever, aren’t you? I don’t know what would be worse — if this was an act you were putting on to fool everyone, or if you really were just this fucking useless. It’s humiliating, you know. So much of you is fucking humiliating. I don’t know how you manage.”

Felix swallowed. They shut their eyes, leaned back against the headboard. They were trembling, and they wished they could grow enough ot a spine to just hang up the fucking phone, but it was like it was glued to their ear. They couldn’t hang up and they couldn’t speak. Just like when they had shared a home with Leo, their job became to be still and quiet and do whatever was expected of them. Leo would let them know what that was; he always did.

And Felix never had to wait long.

“Come to the Pit,” Leo demanded.

“I… I just got off.” Felix’s voice was small, still. “I’m really tired. I was going to…”

“Come to the fucking Pit.” His tone left no room for argument now. “If you’re here in ten minutes, maybe I won’t be quite as pissed off.” 

It was an impossible task, and Leo knew it. Even if Felix hadn’t been in bed already, shirtless and shoeless and half asleep, there was no way for them to make it to the Grit Pit in ten minutes. They lived at least fifteen minutes away. Still, they found themself rushing, tripping over themself to try to meet an impossible standard. It took them seventeen minutes to get there; they were hyperaware of every second of it.

When they did pull into the parking lot and stumble through the doors, Leo was already waiting for them. He’d probably been there before making the call, probably been stewing in whatever was pissing him off. Felix still wasn’t sure what it was, though he knew he’d find out. Leo wasn’t particularly secretive about what made him angry.

“Jesus, about fucking time,” Leo grumbled, stomping over to meet Felix at the door. His hand shot out to grip the balam’s wrist, twisting it as he yanked them towards the offices. Felix stumbled to follow, closing the door behind them.

“What — Uh, what —”

“A little gator told me you’re unhappy with your contract,” Leo snapped.

Felix flinched. All at once, the pieces fell into place. Wyatt had been hankering to take action ever since Felix confessed the nature of their employment with the Grit Pit, but they thought — Wyatt said he wouldn’t say anything to Leo. Didn’t he? He said. 

But clearly, something had happened. Leo was steaming as he yanked Felix into his office, slamming the door shut behind them. Felix flinched at the sound, shrinking so far into himself that they were practically folded in half. 

“I — I didn’t — I wouldn’t —” Felix stammered, desperate to find some excuse that would save them without damning Wyatt. He’d only been trying to help. Felix knew that. He wouldn’t have done whatever he’d done if he hadn’t cared about Felix, and he didn’t deserve to be thrown under the bus for that.

“I didn’t — I wouldn’t — I — I,” Leo’s voice was shrill and mocking, and Felix’s jaw snapped shut quickly. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic. How much brainpower do you use trying to string a sentence together? It must be close to all of it. How do you make it through the fucking day, Fe, honestly? I really want to know.” 

But he didn’t. That was the thing about Leo — he asked questions, but he never wanted them answered. In their braver moments, Felix allowed themself to think about the way Leo just liked to hear himself talk, allowed themself to lament on the fact that he probably enjoyed the sound of his own voice more than just about anything else in the world. But this wasn’t one of their braver moments. There was no private joke to share with themself at the way Leo rambled, clearly only trying to be the loudest thing in the room. In moments like this one, Felix was an ant who’d found itself in the floor of a kitchen with the knowledge that it had just been spotted. The sole of a shoe was already hanging over their head; all they could do was wait for it to drop and crush them into nothing.

“Your buddy Lockjaw attacked me tonight,” Leo spat, and Felix flinched. “Had his hands around my throat. Do you know what he wanted?” There was a pause, though not one long enough for Felix to speak. They knew what was expected of them here — it wasn’t a verbal response. “He wanted me to let you go.” Leo punctuated it with a bitter laugh, and Felix tried not to start hyperventilating. It only ever made Leo angrier when they did. “Let you go! Like I’m not the best thing that ever happened to you. God, you’d still be living in the fucking woods if I hadn’t dragged you into society. You know that, don’t you? Everything you’ve got, you owe to me. You’re the one who fucked with my life. You, and all your pathetic fucking whining. It was suffocating. And then, I get you this job, and I think, hey, that’s the end of it. But it’s not, is it? It never fucking is. You’re still fucking shit up for me.”

It was a familiar tirade. Felix knew it by heart. They were an embarrassment, they were stupid, they were helpless. Leo was their savior, and they’d only ever made his life worse. They were lucky he’d put up with them as long as he had, should be grateful to him for it. He was kind and understanding and forgiving and they were foolish and useless and clingy. Nothing he’d ever done was wrong, and nothing they’d ever done was right. Most days, it was easy to reject it all. Or, at least, easier than it used to be. Felix still struggled to untangle things sometimes, but they had people in their life who made it easier now. Most days. Tonight, with lack of sleep lowering their inhibitions and anxiety thrumming in their chest, it was harder. Leo’s shirt was crumbled around the collar, and Felix could imagine Wyatt’s hands gripping it. They hated the guilt that sunk into their chest at the sight, hated the way all they wanted to do was apologize. They should have been stronger than this by now. They should have been better.

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out almost without their permission. They wondered if Wyatt would be ashamed of them if he heard, if he’d regret wasting his time standing up for someone who couldn’t even stand up for themself.

“You should be,” Leo scoffed. “He had your other friend with him, too, you know. The one from the boiler room.” Zane. Felix didn’t offer up his name, only looked down at their trembling fingers. “God, what did you do, Fe? Did you sell them some sob story? Convince them you’re a stray in need of rescue? Fucking look at me.” Fingers gripped their chin, jerking their head up and forcing their eyes to meet Leo’s. The grip was tight; they’d probably have bruises. It didn’t loosen, even as they held their head up to maintain the eye contact. “You know there are going to be consequences, right?”

Fear was a jackrabbit in their chest. It thumped its feet against the ground, it dug and dug and dug and tried to tunnel its way to some kind of safety. “Leo, wait a minute.” Their voice was slightly muffled, mouth unable to move around the words thanks to the hand still gripping their chin. “They didn’t — They didn’t mean it. They’re not… Please, don’t — They don’t understand. That’s all. I can tell them, I can explain it better, just don’t… They don’t deserve to be…”

“Relax, babe.” The pressure on their chin increased to something far more painful before disappearing as Leo released them. “They’ll be fine. I promised them they wouldn’t see any consequences. It’s not really their fault, is it?” 

Felix’s heart sank. They wanted to look down again, but they forced their neck to stay in its upright position. Looking away would only bring that vice grip back to their chin, and they knew it. They swallowed, chest tight. “No,” they whispered. “It’s not their fault.”

“Right.” Leo smiled, but there was no comfort in it. It was sharp and dangerous, and Felix felt sick. “You’re the one who fucked up. You know that, don’t you?” He waited for Felix to nod, bringing a hand up to pat the side of their face. “So, what do we do with you? Hm? I’ve tried so many things already. More fights? We could put you up against Razor again, another three night event. Less fights? It’d be a shame if you couldn’t afford to keep your stomach full. But we’ve done that before, haven’t we? Nothing ever sticks. You’re such a bad learner. It’s a little sad, really, just how fucking stupid you are. We need a good lesson this time. One that really gets through that thick, idiotic skull of yours. It’s gotta be something that really drills itself in there, don’t you think?”

Felix’s eyes slipped shut for a moment, burning. Leo must have calmed himself down a little, because he didn’t punish the lapse. When their eyes opened again — vision blurrier now — he was still smiling, sharp and dangerous.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I’d like to be able to keep a closer eye on you. Obviously you need a little bit of a chaperone. That’s my fault, really. I should’ve known better than to release a wild animal out on its own without any guidance, right?” 

Fuck you. They’d say it if they were stronger. Wyatt would have. Samir, too. But Felix was a coward, just as they’d always been, and they were silent, just as they’d always been. Whatever punishment Leo dreamed up, they probably wouldn’t get much of a say in the matter.

“First thing’s first!” Leo clapped his hands together, and Felix flinched at the way it echoed. “I did a nice thing for you tonight. I didn’t punish your friends for falling for your bullshit. Wasn’t that good of me? Aren’t you grateful?” He leaned in, so close that Felix could feel his hot breath on their throat. They knew what was expected of them here, too, but they didn’t want to give it. They pursed their lips, trying to maintain eye contact without falling apart. 

A hand came up, gripped at the back of their neck harshly. “Come on, Fe.” Leo’s voice was lower now, dangerous. “Mind your manners. I’d hate to stop being so nice.”

Their eyes slipped shut again, and the grip tightened. “Thank you.” It was as if the words had been clawed from their mouth, as if their throat had held onto them for as long as it possibly could before giving in. The grip loosened, the looming presence leaned back. Hands clapped together again, just as loud and terrifying as before. Felix’s flinch was just as violent.

“There we go. Now. To repay that thanks… I think we’re done with that apartment of yours for a while. You’ll be sleeping here until further notice. Think of all the time it’ll save you on the commute! I’ll throw a mattress in that boiler room you like so much. I don’t think the rats are too bad but, hey! You’re a cat. Think of it as enrichment, sweetheart.” 

It felt like the world was closing in around them. It was a small thing, their apartment. It was nothing fancy, it was sparsely decorated, the water heater leaked and the fridge didn’t get very cold, but it was theirs. It was a space they had that was their own, a space Leo had never touched and their father had never tainted. The idea of losing it pulled a shuddering breath from their chest. It would have been a sob had they not known firsthand just how much that would piss Leo off. 

“And another thing!” It felt like there was ice in their veins. He wasn’t done. Unsurprising, really, given Leo’s temper. He was never satisfied tearing things apart in halves. He needed to pull the goddamn world down. Felix forced their eyes open again, forced themself to look because they were supposed to. “Your fights have gotten sloppy. We’re going to fix that, too. From now on, I want to see less Felix in that ring, more jaguar. Your buddy made a great point tonight — people don’t want to see you looking human. They want to know what kind of an animal you are. If I see you in that ring less than… let’s say three-fourths shifted? You won’t like what happens.”

Something that close to a complete shift would give Felix next to no control in the ring, and they knew Leo knew that. They knew that was the point. But what could they say? The perimeters of their contract gave Leo enough control to tell them exactly how they ought to fight. Already, they swore they could feel the strings tightening, the noose around their throat. 

Leo smiled again. He stepped forward, invading Felix’s space with little regard for their comfort. His hand came up, patted their cheek like before. There was nothing fond in the gesture, though they used to mistake it for such. They did a good job not flinching now, but they couldn’t hide the grief in their eyes. Judging by the smug expression on Leo’s face, it was exactly what he’d been looking for.

“I think this was a productive little meeting!” Leo’s smile widened into a grin, and he took a step backwards. “Really, I had fun. Did you have fun?” Felix was silent, and Leo nodded as if answering his own question. “Yeah. All right! What’s say we get you set up in your new space, hm? You should try to get some sleep, Fe, really. You look like shit.”

(They certainly felt like it.)

#self para #good intentions #wickedswriting #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw

[felixsecada]

Heavy is the head..

Halloween, 2023. He hadn't dressed up, though he was sure that Gabe and Ash would tease him endlessly about it. The chill of the night called for his usual denim and fur-lined jacket. Something about the night and the invitation alone made him suspicious - but there was nothing concrete he could point to bring it up to his higher ups that could lead them to pulling out. So the night (the show) had to go on.

He should have expected how the night ended. The body of their queen hitting the floor, then being carted away. Shock and rage surged through his body, and he immediately turned away from the scene to go find the two men he knew he could talk to.

As much as he wanted to be king, he wanted to be the one wielding the knife - give Andrea a good death, let her know that he admired her for the time she'd been there.

A plan was formulating, though. And he spilled a bit of it to the friends who would stay by his side, fully loyal to his lofty dreams of making the Cartel a force to be reckoned with.

-

They were leaderless. And would continue to be. It would sow chaos, let them see who weren't quite as loyal to them as they should be, let them see who wanted the top spots for themselves. With his birthright within reach, he stood back and simply watched. In the time that they were without someone to look to for guidance - he started making his moves.

Ash was the first.

"I know I have you." He'd said. There was never going to be any doubt. "But I need your eyes. Double time, recruit a handful'a people y'trust. Encourage 'em to act up."

-

The next was more politics than Felix cared for. He needed people with authority and rank in his pocket - not just people who could pull seniority. With most of his time and life spent in Harlem and around Washington Heights, that was his focus. The region manager there was a good bet, at least.

"If I'm at the top -" He will be, with or without their help. " - You'll get more power." Everyone here wants it, it eats at them. It tears them apart from the inside. "Power means money funneled through y'neighborhoods." He slid over some of their product - provided for this specific purpose by Gabe. It's good quality, but Felix doesn't partake. He watched the manager dip their finger into the powder and rub it along their gums to assess it.

"Whatever focus we need to pull from th' others to get what y'need, it'll happen. Y'need more guns to protect your guys on the street? Done. Y'need pay increase? Protection for your family?" He leaned close on that, eyes narrowing. It's a thinly veiled threat, but they both know the game.

In the end, he has the region completely under his thumb with promises of the future.

-

After that it was under the table deals, exchanging promises and money while keeping an eye on key players who were also making moves. With all the information being fed to him, he knew he had enough fuel to confront a handful of others. It wasn't his favorite thing to do - but it was needed.

"Y'know." Felix hadn't shrugged off his jacket, standing in front of the man lounging on his couch. He'd invited him over for dinner, to discuss logistics. "You've been pullin' in some good money for us." He smiles, cheeks stretching a bit too wide. The fucker in front of him is chum in the water, too comfortable.

"But, uh." He pulls the toothpick from between his teeth, flicking it into a nearby trashcan. "Heard ya been skimmin' a bit off the top. Keepin' it for y'self." The man tried to deny it, but Felix interrupts. "Now, this don't gotta be too painful, I just need you make a few promises to me in exchange for y'keepin' your livelihood - we can negotiate."

The man seemed to have other ideas, though. The gun is pulled from his belt, and Felix doesn't give him time to pull the trigger before he grabs at it, and wrenches it from the man's hands. A shot goes off - hits neither of them (thank fuckin' god) - and in a quick flurry, Felix is able to unload it and instead of throwing it to the side, he uses it as a blunt weapon and brings it down repeatedly onto the man's head until he's left bloody and shredded. Still alive, but wheezing through blood bubbling at this lips.

"Y'see. I was--" He stands and heaves out a breath, brushing a bloody hand through his hair to get it out of his face. "I was gonna give you a chance. Just a fuckin' chance. Now - y'got this hangin' over your head." He holds the gun up - soaked with the man's blood. "All I was gonna ask was for y'loyalty. Now look - you're all fucked up." He crouches down and pats the shredded bits of his face. "You're gonna come callin' when I ask, y'know. Like a lil fuckin' lost puppy w' it's tail between its legs. And you're gonna do exactly what I fuckin' say or all of this? Ends with you dyin'. And between you 'n me? It ain't gonna be fast. I'm gonna drag it out 'til you're beggin' for me to end it. Y'get me?"

He'd agreed, in the end. And Felix had taken him to the medic, gotten him looked after - disfigured as he might be after.

-

New Year's Eve. Nothing happens, but he starts to hear and see signs of people acting out. Going off on their own, doing shit that - if he were in charge - would be looked down on and quickly put an end to. It's all shit that he's allowing to happen. Shit he's keeping in his back pocket.

-

The end of January is fast approaching, and Felix knows that if he lets it go for too long - there will be nothing left to take control of. So he calls a meeting at the warehouse. Those under his thumb know it's time to collect on what he's been asking of them for months.

There's no voting here, no one to appoint him - it's just him stepping up to the plate and telling them that he's the boss now. Plays it all friendly, plays it like it's what they need - shows them examples of shit that's going on without someone to ground them, bring them all together.

He asks if anyone has any objections, and there are murmurs - discussion of what to do with Felix. With the work he's done and the people he's got under his thumb, in his pockets, they don't do anything but speak his praises. He makes a show of accepting it graciously - telling them that all he's wanted to do was make the Cartel something to be proud of, to live up to his cousin's legacy. He mentions Andrea, spins some sob story for the people who were loyal to her. It's all rehearsed, and he plays his part on the stage well.

It's all going according to plan.

Even when someone finally speaks up - "We don't need no fucking leaders, man."

Felix's head snaps up, feigning surprise. "Yeah? Y'think we're doing just great? Fading away into nothingness - letting the fuckin' Brotherhood start to get a leg up on us?"

"Nah, we're finally fucking doing what we want." The person stands up, and Felix has to fight the urge to grin. How very fucking predictable.

"Seems to me like you're already doin' that, my friend." Felix starts, and plucks his phone out of his pocket. There's some video courtesy of Ash and he turns the volume up - plays it as loud as possible. It's a recording of the person in question meeting up with a lower rank Cartel member ( they've already been taken care of, made to look like an accident - some turf war gone wrong ) - there's talks of defecting, of ridding the city of the Cartel from the inside out. It's damning. The person blanches.

"If y'ask me, I'd say that warrants a punishment. What are we doing about that? Open to suggestions." It's an open floor, and he wants to hear. There's more murmuring, and he gives them a minute or so to talk it over. No one provides a concrete answer. He heaves a sigh, and then as if he's taking care of some task that he really doesn't want to do - taking out the trash, cleaning the dishes - he draws his weapon and fires three times. Two in the chest, one in the head.

"As I was saying, we need strength at the top. None of you willin' to do what needs to be done proves y'all need me. Right?" Murmurs of agreement. "All in agreement, Felix Secada as your new leader of The Cortázar Cartel? Say aye."

Resounding ayes, and Felix finds himself grinning - unable to help it. "Spread the word, then. If y'all need to talk, wanna shift ranks - come find me. We'll figure somethin' out."

-

Long after everyone else has left the warehouse, Felix remains, staring at the blood stained concrete. He laughs, bringing his hand to his forehead. Years. It had taken fucking years and now he wore the crown.

Laughter rings out, echoing through the room. He fuckin' won.

#self para #boss era??? #drugs tw / #blood tw / #guns tw / #murder tw / #i think i got everything - lemme know if there's anything else <3

[eleanorxshipley]

Self-para (Post Plot Drop).

Awards After Party.

At first Eleanor thought it was some sort of sick joke-- just a horror movie flickering on the giant screen. It only took her a moment as gasps and growls filled the air to realize this hell was all too real. She didn't even know the person that was butchered and tortured, but her stomach churned at the sight, and the thought of how their last moments on earth had been spent.

It reminded her that despite the bubble she had been exiled to when it came to the different factions of their city, there were some honest-to-God monsters among them. Some in this very room. Eleanor had always the mind-set that if someone were nice to her she had no right to not be the same unless given reason to be wary. That was now out the window. Even if she didn't have a target on herself, Eleanor wasn't sure who to trust, either.

Feeling like the indulgences of the evening were about to be all over the floor if she didn't leave, Eleanor swiftly fled the room, but tried not to cause a disturbance. The last thing she wanted was attention to her weakness. Finding the nearest bathroom that she could, Eleanor drew her hair up and out of her face, just in case.

Her hands trembled and her body felt too weak to even rid herself of the churning contents. Instead, Eleanor tried to calm herself with several splashes of water to the face; uncaring if it ruined the make-up she had spent so much time on just hours before. When she had been kind of excited for the night and the awards she was up for. When there was still a sliver of optimism that everyone could gather for once without any bloodshed.

Clenching the edge of the countertop in desperation, Eleanor silently prayed. She prayed that her and everyone else would get out of that place unharmed. Especially those she cared the most about. That footage would haunt her in nightmares to come, but even worse, it made her think about Henri.

Had his murderer killed him him in one clean shot? Or was he tortured until beaten to a bloody pulp? She had been spared the details of his death save from it being a gunshot wound, but had always wondered what really went down. The very idea that some heathen could have taken Henri's sweet soul in a similar manner brought Eleanor to her knees, sobbing. It was all her fault. Not even her hands were clean anymore.

The blonde's breathing escalated, making it difficult to even think, but Eleanor knew she needed to escape. Or search for her loved ones and make sure they were safe. By the time she slipped out of the bathroom, footsteps rattled the mansion. Some she was sure were scattering to hide - others may have been hunting. Hanging out in the small guest bathroom was not an option, even if no one cared to come after her. It was too far to slip outside, nor was it an option when her friends and family were trapped inside. She couldn't lose any others in her life.

Bright eyes misted over with the burn of salty tears, as Eleanor high-tailed it to the kitchen, hoping it might be a harmless place to make camp. That the worst she might stumble upon would be a pissed off chef barking orders at his staff. However the place was silent. Eerily silent. Spotting a kitchen knife on the butcher block, Eleanor quietly took the weapon just in case it was necessary. She really didn't think she would be on anyone's radar. Then, again, maybe the guy in the video hadn't been either.

Eleanor had always been told to never hide somewhere you couldn't escape. Not to allow someone to back you into a corner. Yet, at the sound of footsteps she realized there were only two options for her. The pantry, or freezer. Neither were a great choice, but as voices grew louder she knelt to the floor and crawled her way into the roomy cupboard, thankful for the door that hid her away from sight. The thin crack in the heavy wood allowed her a small peek of the shadows wandering around the room.

Unfortunately for Eleanor, she couldn't make out a word. They could have been civilian wait staff, or fellow innocents trying to hide like herself. Everything sounded like a rampant buzzing. But she couldn't chance it. Shaking fingers curled around the handle of the knife in preparation. The jolt of her phone vibrating with texts from Lara and Samar asking if she was alright made her jump slightly, and she fished her phone out of her handbag to respond and let them know not to come to the kitchen for her. She couldn't take a chance on losing either of them.

Both texts were unsent, for the slam of something in the kitchen (perhaps the freezer door or door to the room itself, she wasn't sure) slammed with impressive strength. Out of anger or frustration... or hell-- knowing this crowd, they may have hid a body in there. The force was so fierce that it not only literally shook Eleanor, but the pantry shelves as well, causing several of the cans and items to rain down on her. Eleanor narrowly dodged a jar of spaghetti sauce as it shattered to the ground, dousing the floor and her dress in what looked like blood.

Eleanor tried to avoid the shards of glass that now sprinkled the floor, which distracted her from one last scuffle of a few spare pans careening to the floor. The very last one, as if a magnet to her, rammed Eleanor into the head on the way down.

Eleanor's phone and knife skittered across the floor as her body slumped, succumbing to the shroud of temporary darkness and unconsciousness.

#tw concussion #self para #after party #2024mobawards #ooc: Just wanted some drama for her for once lol but she'll be okay <3 #ooc: I will get to pre plot drop replies asap! #post plot drop #queue

[oliviacoppola]

Pour a little salt, we were never here

Date: March 22, 2024 Warnings: none Where: Berkeley Estate, post plot drop

The fact that her first thought upon watching the video was to look for Giorgio absolutely disgusted Olivia. She wanted to wretch at the very thought. Part of his appeal was the fact that he was an absolute trash human being that wasn’t even worth developing feelings for. After all, she wasn’t even his only mistress.

And yet, here she was, scanning the rooms in the absolutely massive mansion as she was trying to make her way out, just to make sure he was still alive. Luckily, she wasn’t too far lost in the delusion to think they’d have some romantic reunion, or that he was sparing even a second to think about her in this moment.               She’d seen Patrizia glaring at her enough times over the course of the night to know where her boyfriend’s attention would be.

If Olivia was smart, she’d bow out gracefully. Theirs was not a relationship meant to last, after all. But, the siren’s call of her designer clothes, fancy apartment, and the white powder nestled in the very bottom of her purse that sustained her through long nights at the bar and even longer nights out on the town had what little soul she possessed in a vice grip. And that was enough to fill her soul.

So why was she acting like a lovesick little girl over fucking Giorgio Pecatti?

She’d long since lost track of just what room she was in when she saw them. It wasn’t long, just a quick glimpse of the two figures stealing a moment alone to reassure them. For the first time all night, something other than a frown or glare graced Patrizia Pecatti’s face. If she wasn’t mistaken, Giorgio looked almost tender with his arms wrapped around his wife and his face pressed into the top of her head. A sign of the love the pair once had, still had if she wasn’t kidding herself.

Olivia didn’t want that with Giorgio. She never wanted that with him. So why was the fact that she wasn’t even a thought in his mind stabbing her directly in the chest?

Olivia tore her gaze away and started moving along with the crowd once again. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Barely looking at the screen, she typed out a quick message to Alex and slipped it back into her purse.

[Olivia]: I’m not ready for the party to end. Got anything new for me?

#self para #character development #mobawards2024 #post plot drop

[magmahearts]

TIMING: current SUMMARY: cass comes home to find an unfamiliar face waiting for her in her cave. CONTENT: implications of emotional manipulation

It was a funny test of nymph abilities, wasn’t it? The question of which thing an oread would feel first — the presence of someone in her domain, or the familiar tingle of butterflies in her stomach that came with the arrival of another fae. Cass wasn’t quite sure how it worked, didn’t know if those two things raced against one another or not. She didn’t know if, had she been in this same situation months ago, the butterflies would have won out above the feeling of feet on the floor of the cave she’d called home for nearly a year now. 

She didn’t know which answer was kinder — the idea that her experience just outside the cave, with cold iron slipping into her skin and a cruel hand grasping her throat had fundamentally changed her body’s reactions to things, or the idea that it hadn’t, that nothing had changed at all and it was only paranoia that made one thing prevail over another. Both seemed cruel, somehow. Both seemed terrible.

But it was hard to focus on that. It was hard to focus on much of anything, really. There was someone in her cave, and they were fae. And of course, her mind jumped to obvious conclusions first. Was it Burrow, who often seemed a little clueless on social norms? She might drop by without thinking to text first. Or was it Dīs, coming by with some information she might need for work at the casino? (This one seemed unlikely; Cass didn’t think Dīs would drop by unless they absolutely had to, given how things had gone the last time they’d found themself in her cave.) Maybe it was Teagan, or even Regan or Siobhan, though those seemed increasingly less likely.

It was funny, almost; the idea of another fae in her cave would have filled her with dread or fear a few months prior, but she approached it now with a curious excitement fluttering in her chest. She liked the idea of Burrow dropping by, or Dīs, or Teagan, or any of the other fae she’d met in Wicked’s Rest. These fae who didn’t hate her, these ‘cousins’ (as Teagan called them) who liked having her around. It helped ease the vice grip that had been clutched around her heart since Alex left, put a salve over old wounds that she’d never realized were still healing. She had friends here. It was still a miracle to think about it.

She stepped into the cave, slipping her shoes off at the entrance so she could feel the stony ground beneath her feet. “I was thinking we could go to the Abnormality later,” she called out, figuring Burrow was the most likely culprit visiting her cave. “It’s been all kinds of weird lately, and I think it might be connected to —” 

Her jaw snapped shut as she rounded the corner, nearly colliding into a large, looming, unfamiliar shape.

He was unglamoured. It was the first thing that struck her, immediately followed by recognition as to the nature of his true form. Rocky skin with glowing magma beneath it, fiery eyes with a familiar shape. He’s a volcanic oread, her mind told her. And then, he looks like me. Still, she was hesitant. She fell back a few steps, eyeing him warily. Seeing another volcanic oread in a town with no volcanoes to speak of was certainly odd. Cass wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Cass’s throat felt dry, her heart pounding in an anxious, uncertain rhythm. Finally, the stranger spoke: loud, booming, crackling. (He sounded like her, too. There was the strangest sense of familiarity about him. She didn’t know what to do with it.)

“Why do you maintain the glamour when you are alone?”

It wasn’t really the question she’d expected. She didn’t know how to answer it, didn’t know why she even felt compelled to. It wasn’t his business, was it? This stranger, this intruder. He had no business being here, in her cave. Quiet anger flared up, though she wasn’t sure why. A very nymph reaction, she thought; a very volcanic one. 

“Why do you show up at other people’s houses and ask them questions?” She shot back.

There was a beat. And then, something shifted. The other oread’s face softened, his rocky lips stretched into a wide smile. He let out a low laugh, and it echoed off the walls of the cave like thunder. 

“You are so much like your mother,” he said. “You have her spark.”

The world seemed to stand still. Cass’s eyes widened, darting from his face to his rocky torso, taking him in. When she spoke again, it was hesitant; as if she was afraid of the answer. “You knew my mother?”

“Very well,” the man confirmed. “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m… new. To this sort of thing. My name is Makaio. Makaio Akamai.”

Cass drew in a sharp breath, chest tightening. Her voice was small now, so quiet that she thought it would have been impossible to hear at all anywhere but in the vast, echoing emptiness of this cave, where every sound bounced off the walls. “Akamai?” 

“Yes. And… You like human films, don’t you? Someone told me you did. I watched a few. I’m not very well versed, but I think I know the basics. Enough to say… Cassidy, I am your father.” He smiled as he said it, head tilting to the side, waiting for a response. And Cass —

Cass felt numb all over. She couldn’t pinpoint the feeling in her chest, couldn’t decide if it was a good one or a bad one. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed to make known. But all that came out was: “That’s not the line.”

“What?” Confusion furrowed the rocky brow.

“It’s misquoted. Everybody misquotes it. It’s — It’s like, a Mandela Effect thing. In the Empire Strikes Back, Vader never actually says ‘Luke, I am your father.’ Everyone just kind of… collectively remembered it that way. The actual line was a response to Luke saying Vader killed his father. Vader says, ‘No, I am your father.’ Then Luke does his big dramatic scream and everything. But he never actually says, ‘Luke, I am your father.’ So that’s not the line.” 

“Oh.” The man — Makaio, her father — shifted his weight, the rocky structure of his body moving like a landslide. 

He opened his mouth, clearly preparing to say something else, but Cass couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t keep the words from tumbling out between her teeth. “Why didn’t you want me around?” Makaio blinked, brow still furrowed as he prepared, again, to speak. Cass barrelled on before he could. “When I was a baby, I mean. My mom left me with the aos si, with your family, and you were never there. And I was — I mean, I was a baby. Right? It’s not like I’d done anything wrong. I was just a little kid. And I — Parents are supposed to be there. For their kids. That’s — That’s what everybody said. But I was a baby, and you weren’t around, and that sucked. And those people, your people, they didn’t even want me. I ended up all on my own, for the longest time. And I didn’t want to be. I wanted people around. I wanted you around! So, just — why didn’t you want me?” 

Silence fell over the cave, the last syllables of her rant echoing deep into the darkness and disappearing. Makaio stared at her for a moment, sucking his teeth. “Can I speak now?” His voice was hesitant. There was something clinging to the words, though Cass’s heart was pounding too loudly in her ears for her to notice it at all, much less to pinpoint it. She hesitated a moment, then nodded her head. Makaio offered her a small smile and a nod.

“The aos si your mother took you to was the one of my kin,” he confirmed. “No one lied to you about that. But… they may not have told you the whole truth. I did not leave our island because I desired to do so, keiki. The same people who cast you out did the same to me.” 

It was funny — his story was a sad one, but she felt some sense of relief at it, almost. It came with a realization that she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t belonged, and she felt a little less lonely. And still, even so… “You could have found me sooner. Years ago, decades. I was alone. I was a little kid, and I was all alone.”

The rocky surface of his features softened in a way that anyone not made of stone probably wouldn’t have been able to recognize at all. But Cass saw it for what it was. Grief, regret, longing. Her chest tightened, fluttered with something so much like hope. 

“Keiki,” he said gently, taking a step forward. He reached out a hand, and she didn’t pull away; she let his hand cup her face, taking in a quiet, shuddering breath. “Do you really think I would have stayed away if I’d known you existed? What sort of father would that make me? What sort of man?”

(She wanted it to be true so badly. It was the only thing she’d ever wanted. If it weren’t, maybe she would have recognized something in the way he spoke. She’d twisted the truth so many times without consequence just by answering questions with more questions. It was such an old trick; she fell for it all the same.)

Makaio — no. Cass’s father continued, giving her face an affectionate rub of his thumb before dropping his hands back down. “What sort of father wouldn’t spend every moment he knew of his daughter’s existence searching for her, trying to find her? I was lied to, and so were you. But they can’t lie to us now, can they? They aren’t here to reject us again. It’s you and me, pua. And I think the two of us will do wonderful things together. Don’t you?”

And she did. She really did. This was something she’d been missing all her life, something she’d longed for ever since she was a child in a community of people who had no idea what to do with her. She had a father, and he was here. She had a father, and he wanted her. She had a father, and he loved her. What more could she want?

Cass shot forward, wrapping her arms around him. Her glamour dropped as her rocky form met his, and he didn’t hesitate at all in returning the embrace. He squeezed her tightly, and she felt secure. She felt loved. 

And it felt good. 

She was sniffling as she pulled back, throat aching with tears that were shed not out of grief, but out of joy. “I have to introduce you to my friends,” she breathed. “To Ariadne, and Milo, and Metzli, and —”

Her father let out a small hum, shaking his head. “Maybe… not quite yet. It’s been some time since I interacted with anyone outside myself in a… positive manner. Hunters are more common than friendly visitors in the mountains, are they not? I think… For now, it’s best if you tell no one I’m here. Until we get better acquainted, and until I get my wits about me. Okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, nodding her head. It made sense, and her friends would understand. And when she told them, they’d be so happy for her. She imagined her father accompanying her to dinner at Metzli’s, or watching movies with her and Ariadne. Excitement bubbled in her chest at the thought. “Okay. I can do that, Makaio.” 

He smiled again, shaking his head. “Oh, Cassidy. You don’t have to call me that. You can call me dad.” 

A grin split her face, wide and excited and joyous. “Okay. Okay, dad.” The word rolled off her tongue clumsily, but she’d get used to it. Used to saying it, to hearing it, to feeling it. She knew she would. Her dad smiled back at her, giving her another brief squeeze before pulling away. “Come on,” he said. “You can show me around your domain.”

Still grinning, Cass nodded. She looped her arm through his, tugging him deeper into her cave. 

Outside, Wicked’s Rest was as chaotic as it had always been. But here, in the Magmacave, Cass felt safe. She felt warm, she felt loved, she felt protected.

It was a good way to feel.

#an introduction #self para #wickedswriting #emotional abuse tw #emotional manipulation tw

[yvonne-rutherford]

Mother's Day 2024, Pt 2

Yvonne was finally sitting down with a moment to herself. Lunch was spent celebrating with her own mother while dinner involved picking Maria up from her mother’s to join the rest of the Rodriguez family at her future in-law’s. The hustle and bustle of everyone preparing food together without fighting or making everything a competition was something she still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around. They’d arrived home just in time to get both kids into bed and once the last bedtime story was read and admonishment that there was school in the morning, so put the switch away was administered, Félix slipped into his office. The boxes that still contained the majority of their belongings taunted her, but Yvonne instead curled up on the couch with a book.

Or at least that was the plan until she heard footsteps on the stairs. She set the book onto the coffee table, expecting to see her fiancé turning the corner into the room, but instead she saw her ten year old, soon-to-be stepdaughter standing in the doorway. “I know, it’s a school night. I just…. I couldn’t sleep.” Yvonne’s expression softened and she patted the open seat on the couch beside her.

“What’s going on?” After watching her mother’s relationship with her siblings, Yvonne resolved to never have that kind of relationship with Maria. The kids didn’t deserve that kind of disfunction in their lives and Yvonne didn’t have the energy to live through another fractured family like that. Luckily for her, Félix was several years divorced and not a few months widowed. But that didn’t stop her breath from hitching out of fear any time she talked with Maria.

Maria flopped into the seat and pulled her knees up to her chin, though she turned her body to face Yvonne. “Things are just changing so fast. I have stepsiblings with Mamí, but with Papí it’s just been the two of us for so long…” Yvonne reached out to put a hand on the preteen’s knee.

“I know what you mean. It’s been a whirlwind for me too.” She took a deep breath and met Maria’s gaze. For a moment, it was like looking in a mirror at a scared girl who just wanted to make sure she had a place in the family. “I know there’s been a lot of changes lately between the engagement, a new stepsister, a new baby coming, and moving. But you’re still important to your dad. And you’re important to me.” She gave her knee a tight squeeze. “You’re always going to have a place in this family. I know I’m not your mom, but I want to have a relationship with you.”

Maria raised her head. “Your parents are divorced, right? How did you handle that? I’ve seen how overwhelmed you are at Abuelita’s.”

Yvonne nodded. “Yeah, they are. About a year and a half ago. And honestly, I was relieved. Theirs was a relationship that should have ended years ago. And you’re right, you’re abuelita’s house isn’t something that I’m used to.  My family doesn’t get along as well as your papí’s does. But, that’s something for the adults to worry about. Your only job is to keep going to school and to be yourself. And to know that even though you’re getting another brother or sister, there will always be a place for you here.” Yvonne held her arms out wide in an offer of a hug. Maria thought about it for a second before dropping her legs and curling up into the hug.

More footsteps echoed through the house and a second later, Félix stood in the doorway. He opened his mouth to say something, but Yvonne shook her head. The hug lasted a moment longer before Maria pulled away and wiped at her eyes. The moment she saw her father, she was standing up and walking out of the room to preempt any lecture. “I know, I know. It’s a school night. I’m going to bed now.” Félix stopped her on her way out for another hug and a kiss to the top of her head before stepping out of the way of his daughter. He walked over to the couch and pulled Yvonne in to rest her head against his shoulder.

“Is everything okay?”

Yvonne nodded as the hand he had draped around her came to rest on her bump. “Yeah. She just wanted to talk through all of the changes going on. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.” She leaned up to press a kiss against his lips.

Félix looked at her for a moment before relaxing and going in for another kiss. “Happy Mother’s Day.”

#self para #character development #npc: maria rodriguez #npc: felix rodriguez

[niragixpsych]

Self-para for Niragi: A glimpse through the cracks

Niragi bit back a sigh that dared to escape it while his back hit the wall and if anyone were to see his face they would be surprised. The expression on his face was one that he rarely displayed, simply because he had vowed to himself to never be a victim again. It was a glimpse at the human he was down deep inside even though he tried his best to feed into believes that he was nothing more than a monster. That he wasn't a human being, but a being with a darkness in its heart that only waited to make him attach everyone around him.

The dark haired male was painfully aware that he had stopped being a human a while ago. But because day goblin's were humans before their deaths in the depths of his heart he was still human. A really broken human being that had decided to embrace his inner darkness and simply letting lose. Niragi had vowed to himself ever since he found himself in the Borderland he would make sure people stayed away from him. If they saw a monster in him then he would be that very monster.

But during one of the many party nights at the Beach his mind began to quieten down and his heart started to soar. He became aware that even though he was in a sea of people he had never been as alone as he was now. His heart arched for a true connection, arched to be accepted for who he truly was. With all his good sides that did exist but he kept locked up and his obvious bad sides. But he had convinced himself a long time ago he wasn't deserving of anything good.

His dark brown eyes stared ahead without him really being able to take in his side. And the blasting music accompanied by the people partying seemed far away while the feeling of emptiness kept crawling through his body. The expression on his face and the look in his eyes gave away how lost he felt. He was tired of this all, he was tired of keeping up this act. Even though he had learned to accept being hated and do things to make others had him it was still hurting thing.

This time the small sigh slipped past his lips while he closed his eyes. His head moved forward before letting it fall back against the wall. He had to fight all the emotions that dared to well up inside of him. Niragi was only good to feel hatred and getting hated in return. The day goblin had to stop to feel.

#self para #niragi interaction #niragi alice in borderland #niragi suguru

[will-york]

Legacy Part 1 || Self-Para

"Mr. York? We're ready for you."

Will jumped up from where he had been looking through an already three months old edition of People magazine. He smiled at the woman and followed her back into the offices, feeling both too tall and too short as he took a seat in front of a desk. He kept adjusted his baseball cap, wondering if he looked as old as he felt sitting there.

"We're so grateful for your interest and that you were able to make it beyond our initial round. We just wanted to go over what we would need before we were to go any further in this process."

The doctor started to hand him paperwork, detailing what they'd need. A background check and full transparency about his and his family's medical history. He felt his heart sink as he thought about it. Yet he still nodded along, answered all the questions, smiled at the right parts and shook her hand as he told her he'd try to have all of the information to her as soon as possible. He didn't bother to tell her about the obstacle, about the fact that he was adopted. He didn't want to see the shift in her body language or her expression. She had been so upbeat with him, Will just wanted to hold onto that and believe it was true.

He rolled the windows down as he left the parking lot, the early signs of evening giving him comfort as he drove back towards Tonopah Valley. He thought about driving in the opposite direction, maybe spending a couple of days in Vegas to get his head straight. But he knew this would only weigh on him. And if he didn't talk to his father's about it now, he wouldn't have the courage to later. So instead he turned on the playlist that Logan had made for him and tried to drown out his own thoughts as he drove the familiar roads and thought about a future for himself that seemed so out of reach.

His father's were of course together in the kitchen when he got there, getting things together for dinner. He smiled to himself as he watched them for a moment. Always so in sync. He wondered how their conversations had gone before they found him. How they had decided together that they were ready for kids. How they had found the love in themselves to love him. It was evident when they turned and noticed him and both of their faces lit up.

"Well don't just stand there, William, come give these old men some help."

Percy scoffed, "Old men where?"

"I only see a bunch of young men here," Will added as he kissed them both on their cheeks. "But uh before I help there's just..there's something I really need to talk to you both about."

It was clear he was nervous and Simon put down what he was doing to put his hands on Will's arms. "Of course, of course. Are you okay? Please tell me something else hasn't happened with the MC. Because I am ready to throw hands if needed."

Will laughed and shook his head. "No, no it's nothing like that. It's me, it's um," he paused and cleared his throat. "It's about me." He hesitated before handing them the paperwork he had just received.

"William..." they booth took a moment to look at it, Percy making sure to grab both of their glasses so they could look together. "We had no idea you wanted to be a father."

"Well I mean, I do and I don't, it's just..it's just donating sperm, you know? It's not like I'm gonna know the kids unless they wanna know me but I-I've been thinking a lot lately. For a long time actually. And then when everything with Landon and watching my friends have such...shitty parents, I kind of thought, well maybe I can help someone who really wants kids have what they need, you know? Especially if it's a queer couple because I mean look what you guys have done for me."

It made them all get a little teary eyed but Will pressed on as he pointed at the pages that concerend him the most. "But I can't do it if they don't know the truth about my family medical history. A-and I know that we don't talk about it a lot. I know I said when I was younger that I didn't care but," he cleared his throat again and shifted his footing. "I think it's time I know more about my birth parents. M-my birth mom in particular," he said, afraid that speaking it out loud would suddenly shatter some unspoken bubble they had kept intact.

Simon and Percy both looked at each other, at the papers and then at Will before they shared a smile and both reached out to place their hands on Will's arms. "Well, we'd say it's about damn time, honey."

Will felt the weight leave his shoulders and he laughed before his eyes were teary again. "R-really? You guys aren't mad? I mean, it's been so long. I don't know if we could even find them. But I figure we could try."

Percy spoke first and reached up to brush some of Will's hair from his face. "We have always felt that we would do it on your timeline. There's never been any rush and we never wanted to pressure you. It's your choice. You're our boy no matter what. But that doesn't mean we wouldn't want you to know the truth. And that doesn't mean we can't help you find out what's going on."

Simon cut in then and gave Will's arm a squeeze. "We do know more than we let on. Meaning it won't be as hard to find them as you would think, at least her." The two fathers shared a look again, as if they were letting Will in on a whole new secret. "She was very clear about keeping her distance but that doesn't mean we didn't have any contact. We were just waiting for you to be ready."

This information hit him like a wave. To know that not only was his mother out there but that she had been in contact with the two of them. That she knew where he was caused a wave of conflicted emotions to run through him. But his father's were looking at him with such clear intention and love that it was hard to even get upset.

So instead he took a deep breath and opened his arms up for a family hug. "I'm ready," he told them as they wrapped him up and they all finally let their tears fall.

#sp #self para #legacy #just a lil smthn #also proofread? i dont know her!