#tw:child death

[dragonagecompanions]

hello, this is my first request :) unsure if your still taking requests but I was wondering how the companions (maybe romanced maybe not) would react to finding out the Inquisitor has a dead kid? I think the only way the party would find out is in the fade via the fear demon, and then maybe the advisors find out on their own ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠∵⁠ ⁠)⁠┌

idk but I would be truly honored to see you answer this request, and even if not than thank you for reading over it <33

- 🍡

WARNINGS For CHILD LOSS YOI HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra: When the fear demon, gleeful in it’s telling of their leader’s loss, reveals the truth the Seeker is…well, there are no words. Forcibly she is reminded of how they swayed, pale and weeping, when she had said there were no other survivors. Guilt churns low and deep at her own words, a year and more gone now, throwing that fact in their face as accusation. Throwing such a loss in their face and then demanding answers.

Throwing a calling at their feet and demanding leadership, never knowing what a loss they struggled through.

She fights all the harder for them, as if every enemy batted away from them is attempted absolution. Cassandra Pentaghast thought she understood grief in all its facets, but what does the loss of older brother and parents- expected losses if come too soon- stand before the loss of a child? Maker, how do they still breathe through it?

When they are free of the fade, she approaches only to offer apology. If they wish to speak of their loss she will listen, but only then. She has forced enough from them.

Varric: Shit. Just…shit. Here he is, going on for months about how this story is bad for heroes and how the Inquisitor is the main character and blathering on, and never saw it. Never saw the aching grief, because it was never shown. The only example he has, or is at least intimately familiar with, is Leandra Hawk and his own mother.

And as the Inquisitor had never fallen into drink or taken to blaming whoever was closest to them for things outside of anyone’s control there had been no sign for Varric to catch on to. And it makes him feel…almost dirty. Stained with his own intentions, blithely going on while their leader had lost their kid.

He doesn’t bring it up to them, doesn’t know how, but Skyhold’s resident author is absolutely the own who tells Josephine as soon as they tumble out of the fade. That raven missive is a short and brutal telling, far from his normal goings on, and his guilt is manifold in it.

Solas: The Dread Wolf is not so unattached from the world as to not consider the losses suffered at the conclave, but for the most part -when he did turn his mind to them- they were mostly academic. A balance of power, and the loss of so many leaders among both chantry and mages a destabilizing force for his future efforts. Numbers laid cooly on a chart, beads on an abacus. The fortunes of war laid bare.

But more than one parent lost a child in that terrible moment, and siblings mourned. Children bereft, friends torn asunder, lovers left to weep alone for their loves. Listening to the fear demon enumerate the inquisitor’s loss magnifies the enormity of what happened, and though he will undoubtedly be the source of much worse for a moment the Dread Wolf cannot breathe.

It passes, of course, and when they leave the fade the rift mage dies his best not to carry those emotions out with him. This world is not to blame for his actions, for the destruction of his world, but he must restore it and so they must bear the cost. It is not fair to them, and it will be long months until he can be east about his plans.

In the interim, he dares to approach the inquisitor only once about their loss. He is there as a listening ear in the silence of his rotunda if they wish to speak of their sorrow. Or if they wish only a silent companion, he will direct the kindest spirits he can find to guard their dreams and remain at their side as long as he can.

Blackwall: Maker forbid. For a moment Skyhold’s would be warden is swamped by the images of Callier’s children, dead under tiny shrouds beside the ruined carriage at his command. Too many children fall victim to the machinations of their elders and with none to protect them from the fall out, but for all that most of Blackwall’s experience has been from the other side.

Being confronted with the parent who had lost a child, confronted with the knowledge that they had told none of them and had suffered under the burden alone was staggering. Damn it, they had all laid burdens at the Inquisitor’s feet and expected answers, demanded decisions and leadership in a word gone mad— and none had known what they had lost.

He doesn’t know what to say or how to act and instead channels everything into the fight to flee the fade. Rainier would be too much the coward to speak to their leader in the aftermath, but Blackwall- older and hopefully wiser from his own griefs- will offer quiet condolences and whatever aid he can. If they need to speak of it be will listen. And if not there is soft wood and chisel enough to grind out any feelings if that is what they need.

Vivienne: Children had never been in her destiny. As a mage, even one so elevated as to be all but free of the constraints of the circle, motherhood was forbidden to her. Any child of her womb would be sacrificed to the Chantry, given to a family deemed ‘more worthy’ to raise it.

And as a mistress, no matter how deeply the love between them bloomed, Bastian could never have given her such a blessing. He had children— an illegitimate child, and a mage child at that, would have been too great a weapon against him.

And so she had put it out of her mind, never allowed herself to consider or imagine what a son might look like, how a daughter might smile. To think of it would be a loss too great to contemplate—or so she had thought. Met with the active loss and overwhelming grief that their leader must feel, Madame de Fer is suddenly glad not to know how such a burden might rest on her soul.

Could she be so calm a leader as the Inquisitor, while bleeding out inside? Vivienne does not know, and that…well, terrifies her in a way little has. But she is not called iron for nothing, and so when all is calm again she will go the Herald and ask simply and plainly what she might do for them. If the answer is nothing she will abide by it. And if there is something that might in any way assuage their grief then she will ensure they have it.

Dorian: Well, that at least explains the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristically violent outburst, when Halward Pavus had made his way to Ferelden. Upon hearing the possible consequences of the blood magic ritual the Inquisitor had laid into the Magister, flaying with words when they could not use violence. Even the Pavus paterfamilias had seemed shaken by the diatribe, and Dorian had felt championed.

He is not so shallow as to feel betrayed by the knowledge of what terrible grief must have driven such an impassioned defamation of character, but can instead only ache for his friend’s loss. They must have been a wonderful parent, and in a quiet time later will gather his courage to tell them so.

Sera: It doesn’t really register in the moment, so great is her own fear of the Fade and it’s denizens, but later it will simply break the Red Jenny’s heart. Their leader lost a true little one, and still managed to bring themselves to protect the rest of the little people no matter their age.

Like Blackwall she will either offer distraction or uncharacteristic silence in comfort, baked goods an offering that feels too…personal for such a gaping loss. But her admiration for them grows exponentially.

The Iron Bull: Public, corporate grief is rare among the Qun. Not forbidden, exactly, but when everyone is given a role it also implies that every person is inherently replaceable in that role. As Koslun said, the tide rises and falls and things must work forward toward peace.

But the death of a child is different. Whether disease or violence or simple accident, losing an imereki is a tragedy. The Tamassran mourns, the others in their care mourn, and all those in the sphere of the lost one are permitted some little allowance for the loss. Things cannot grind to a halt- this is why parents are separated from children, to ensure the deep emotional bonds that are anathema to the Qun- but there is not simple acceptance without acknowledgement of the loss.

Not even that was given to the Inquisitor. It’s east to see the shock of the others even through his own fear, and the knowledge infuriates Bull enough to get him through the Fade. Their leader lost a child, and no one was there for them. Instead piled on the whole world and its imminent loss on their shoulders. It’s disgraceful.

Later, when Adamant is pacified and they return to Skyhold, he will pull them aside. It will be painful and it will be slow, and whether they need alcohol or pain or even the clinical breakdown that bondage and sex can only give-with their explicit consent- he will help them bleed the pain and begin the grieving process.

Cole: The pain was too big for him to help, the threads caught up in pain and joy and guilt and anger and terrible despair. He didn’t even have the words to describe it to others, and so had kept silent.

If they need him later he will help, but this loss is too big for a spirit unsure of how to act.

Cullen: Maker’s breathe. How could they…why did they not…Damn it, how could he not realize?! He had all but thrust the entire inquisition on a parent who had been robbed the chance to even bury their child, let alone mourn them.

Varric’s report rocks him to the core, and the commander in truth does not know what to do. If the rest of the inner circle has it well in hand he will simply work to make sure their leader has less in their plate. If they wish to discuss it with them, he is there and if not…

He hardly has the words anyway.

Josephine: She weeps over the missive, when it arrives. Their inquisitor has been hiding the worst of loses from them, putting on such a brave face to do so much. Like Cullen she works to make sure they have less to do when they return, but does pull them aside briefly to awkwardly hug them and ask if they want a memorial somewhere private in Skyhold.

Leliana: She knew. She knew from only a few days after, when her spies brought her everything there was on the Herald. And even The Nightingales Heart could ache for such a loss, but Leliana took her queues from the Herald and simply never discussed it. That does not change now— she will follow their lead.

Mod Fereldone

#cassandra pentaghast #solas #dorian pavus #varric tethras #the iron bull #sera #madame de fer #warden blackwall #cole #tw:child death #tw: loss #tw: death #cullen rutherford #josephine montilyet #leliana #dragon age inquisition

[chickensarentcheap]

In a Heartbeat- Chapter 6

Fandom: Extraction

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

SUMMARY:  Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began.  In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be.  And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.  

Warnings: mentions of childhood cancer and death (canon), spousal abuse, miscarriage

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @munstysmind @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @thebejeweledwatercat @karimac @theesirenteller @kmc1989 @alisbackalleybbq @asirensrage @ninjasawakenedmystar @residentdormouse @themaradwrites @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciation @occommunity

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/129945505

My tag list is OPEN. Please just let me know if you want to be added :)

****

He wakes at two a.m.; confused and disoriented. After three-quarters of a year, he’s no longer engulfed by the sights and sounds within his hospital room. While stark white walls have transformed into dark wood panelling, the overwhelming and nauseating combined stenches of antiseptic, sickness and death have been replaced by the fire that keeps their little home warm. Gone is the cramped, single bed with its metal safety bars and pristine, uncomfortably stiff sheets; he’s graduated to a double king covered in layers of colourful quilts and blankets. At last able to share a bed with the woman he loves; finding himself caught up in her familiar smell, the brush of her body against his, and the sighs, murmurs and giggles that she emits in the midst of the deepest of sleeps.

It was during the first hours in Dhaka that he’d discovered an ease and comfort with her that he’d never experienced before. He had smiled and laughed for the first time in what felt like forever; a pure and genuine contentment that he hadn’t experienced since childhood. When his father was away on one of his infamous week-long benders and his mother ‘ruled the roost’. For seven days, there’d been no fear lingering under that roof; he felt safe and secure, and he was able to enjoy the company of his mother without having to worry about his old man ruining every single moment. Forever wanting him to ‘harden up; degrading his only child for showing emotion and both accepting and handing out affection.

With Esme, he’d felt very much like that little boy again. Realizing through every kiss and every brush of her hand and the press of her body against his that he’d been living for years…decades…completely and utterly touched starved. Even with Mia, his wants and needs were kept frustratingly out of reach. Outside of sex, she had zero interest in physical intimacy; she preferred he didn’t enter her ‘personal space’ and let him know from very early on that she disliked even being embraced. Esme however, simply couldn’t get enough of it; she loved everything from the simplest, most innocent of touches to the most invasive and raunchy of sexual encounters. In turn, he had thrived alongside her; enjoying the fact that she needed and wanted him and wasn’t afraid to show it.

In turn, she’d made him realize that he was still very much alive; he could still FEEL. Not just intense desire and animalistic lust, but complete and utter devotion; quickly smitten by her bubbly personality and these enormous dark eyes, the way she chewed on her bottom lip while immersed in deep thought, and how she would give a tiny squeal and a bounce of her heels whenever they received good news or something appealing caught her eye. She was strong in ways that were solely her own; not business savvy or a physical powerhouse like Nic, nor cold and calculated like Mia; years spent working in the law field had made her incredibly jaded and cynical. But a strength that seemed to come straight from her soul; seeing the beauty in the world despite years of torment and punishment that had been dumped in her lap. Everything that had been down to her at the hands of her ex, and she still saw the good in everyone; perhaps naive and childish at times, but both utterly appealing and highly addictive.

She was the first person since his mother that he’d allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with; permitting her past the walls he’d long ago built up to contain the immense heartache, guilt, and regret that he’d burdened himself with. And she hadn’t looked at him like a monster when he told her about his biggest mistake; fleeing when his son was at the tail end of his courageous -and extremely painful- battle with cancer. Admitting that he’d gone to the hospital just hours before being shipped off on his third tour of Afghanistan; brave enough to put his own life on the line but too weak to stay behind and hold his son’s hand until the bitter end. And speaking the truth had been both incredibly painful and cathartic. Revealing that he’d simply stood at the window of his son’s room and watched the six-year-old colour; not having the courage to step through the door and give a ‘face to face’ goodbye and instead simply turning and walking away.

His little boy watching the entire time.

Esme is the only living soul who knows THAT part. He’d never been brave enough to say it out loud; the heights and the depths of his brand of cowardice. While she immediately held him accountable and agreed that, yes, it was a horrible mistake, she also sympathized with him; the loss of a child was extremely difficult and nearly impossible to bear for even the strongest of souls.

And she’d cried along with him; feeling his grief and his sorrow so profoundly. “I’m sorry, Tyler,” she had managed through a flood of tears and sobs that wracked her entire body. “I am so sorry you lost your little boy.”

It would be the first time, and the last, that they’d speak of Austin. She refused to press him for any more information and strayed away from asking anything about his former life. Instead, giving him the space and respect he needed on his journey; acknowledging his boundaries and refusing to trespass against him. She knew that if he needed and WANTED to, he’d approach HER. And in response, she’d be a safe person…a safe PLACE…for him. More than willing to help him carry his baggage; lend an understanding ear, a shoulder to cry on, or someone to merely vent to.

Yet somehow, over the course of five days and while allowing him space, they became messily and irreversibly tangled up in one another. Two broken, world-weary people finding solace in one another; finding comfort, pleasure, and safety in one another’s arms. And laying the foundation for a bond that was far stronger and ran much deeper than anything they’d ever experienced before.

*****

She sleeps soundly beside him. Tightly wrapped in one of the patchwork quilts; only the top of her head and her toes visible. It’ll take some getting used to; all the quirks and habits that make Esme who she is. Her tendency to steal every blanket, the way she quietly hums while working in the kitchen, how the labels on cans of food have to be perfectly lined up in the cupboard, and the towels and face cloths in each bathroom have to be an exact match. And he wonders how much of her idiosyncrasies come from the years spent under Mark’s extremely volatile and controlling behaviour; forced to have even the tiniest of details picture perfect.

The damage runs deep. It’s evidence existing even in the most innocent of moments. When he raises his voice or looks at her a certain way; noticing the way her entire body stiffens, and her lower lip and chin begin to tremble as she struggles to rein in her emotions. How she flinches if he moves too quickly beside her or simply reaches overhead. It’s what he hates the most: seeing the fear and the trepidation that immediately takes over. She had taken countless beatings over the course of three years, resulting in multiple trips to the ER, split lips and broken bones, a busted eardrum -and mild yet permanent hearing loss- and two stays in the Intensive Care Unit. Being treated as a punching bag stays with you; the trauma and lingering anxiety are both deeply rooted. And to have her react that way with him is a kick in the gut; the knowledge that while she claims to feel safe and protected in his presence, the ghost of her ex is always hovering close by, ready to make an appearance.

He’s unsure how long he stays in bed. One forearm slung over his eyes, the other across her pillow; his palm on the top of her head as his fingers continuously skim through her hair and his thumb repeatedly brushes against her brow. Hoping to be lulled back asleep by her soft, warm skin and a combination of noises; Lucy’s sot snoring from her spot at the end of the bed, Esme’s occasional murmuring and giggling, the whistling of the wind and the rattling of the windows. But when rest continues to evade him and discomfort begins to settle in his shoulder, back, and knee, he forces himself to move. Wincing as he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed; briefly closing his eyes as fights off the pain and blindly reaches for the cane he’d stashed by the side of the nightstand.

It’s easier now; taking only one try -and tremendous trust in both the assistive device and his good leg- to get himself up onto his feet. His confidence slowly returning as each day…each minute…passes since he came out of his coma; he feels stronger and more optimistic and views each step as a tremendous milestone. Now able to walk small distances without the brace or the fear of the unsupported knee giving away underneath him; taking is slowly and easy as both strength and stamina begin to slowly return. And the pain is tolerable; relying solely on the prescriptions written by the specialists and adhering to the strict schedule they’d constructed and presented him with.

A hell of a feat for a guy who, just ten months ago, was a hard-core alcoholic and addict.

While the cravings remain and come out to play when he’s feeling his lowest and most defeated, he’s managed to keep his demons at bay; managing to find much healthier and productive ways of coping with the amount of guilt, grief, and self-loathing that still weigh him down. Reminding himself at the start of each day that it’s no longer ‘just him’; that there’s someone not only relying on him to stay clean and sober, but who vehemently BELIEVES in him. There’s too much to lose now; a new life that he’s building with a person that doesn’t necessarily need him, but WANTS him. Who admits to being safe and secure in his presence; two things she’d never experienced before and never realized how much she needed to feel them. And it was her that he fought his way back for; hearing her voice and feeling her touch and desperately wanting to see her again. To once more experience those feelings she so easily and effortlessly managed to bring to the surface. Love and lust. Want and need. And so many damn things in between.

Dressing himself is what takes the most effort; having to fight through the pain that inhabits his surgically repaired left shoulder to even slip a shirt over his head and do up his pants. Esme, despite her tiny size, usually helps out; making him sit in a chair so she can properly assist him; patiently tending to things like zippers and buttons while never treating him like he’s a burden. Refusing to let feelings of frustration or helplessness fester inside of him; consistently reminding him -in the tender, loving way of hers- that this was all just a small bump in the road. Pointing out that he’s lucky to even still be alive; lesser men would have perished on that bridge, not fought their way back, especially for a woman they barely knew. She had been the only one who had seen him at his lowest in the hospital; the person that he could be completely vulnerable with and not live to regret it. Such a small and seemingly fragile woman that was tougher than any soldier or mercenary he’d ever known; putting her own ass on the line in order to save his. And then putting her entire life on hold in hopes that she’d be able to create something new with HIM; a man with mountains of baggage and addiction issues and a six-year-long death wish.

Planting his palm on the mattress, he leans over the bed; his eyes briefly closing as his nose nuzzles her temple with the tip of his nose. Breathing in that familiar scent: milk and honey and coconut. A smell that isn’t particularly unique, but represents everything that is good and beautiful that continues to thrive between them. They’re both a mess; they willingly and easily admit to that. But they hold onto the hope that maybe…just maybe…two broken people CAN come together to make a slightly tarnished, dented whole.

Limping out into the dimly lit kitchen, he makes himself a cup of coffee before retreating to the sofa; wasting half an hour alternating between watching the local news channel on mute and browsing the web on his phone. Boredom quickly sets in and he renders him anxious and fidgety; the frustration growing over the reality that none of his usual activities -all centred around keeping his body busy in hopes of distracting his mind- are unavailable to him.

It’s a difficult and bitter pill to swallow; used to leading an active lifestyle, yet now relegated to doing little more than limping around the house and feeling sorry for himself. The latter is what he’s desperate to avoid; warned before his release from the hospital that he was very likely to experience some level of depression. The deep and profound sadness that comes with remembering what your life was like…what YOU were like… before landing in their care, precariously teetering on death’s door. He had wanted to laugh in their faces; he didn’t WANT to remember the man he was prior to the events in Dhaka. That guy had died on the bridge; succumbing to multiple gunshot wounds and severe blood loss. And he no longer wanted to be HIM. Instead, determined to be the kind of man that Esme needed, wanted and deserved. It wasn’t the loss of his previous life that he mourned, it was what he couldn’t yet do with the new one he’d be given.

Unable to get comfortable on the couch, he makes a second cup of coffee and walks down to the lake; a mere fifty yards that may as well be fifty miles. It’s an incredibly slow and tedious journey; the combination of the ache in his knee and across his lower back, his diminished muscle tone and stamina, and the amount -and thickness- of the snow that has fallen over the past several hours. But once down there, it’s a hell of a view; the sky as black as freshly poured ink and embedded with a multitude of stars, the shadow of the mountains looming on the horizon. And the enormous full moon reflected on the body of water that has yet to freeze thoroughly.

It’s peaceful; with no neighbours for miles, and far enough away from the hustle and bustle of Vienna. And what could have easily been an incredibly isolating and lonely place to seek rest and refuge in, feels anything but. Just the mere thought of the comforts of home just yards away: good food, a loyal dog, a warm fire and a comfortable bed.

And the love of his life.

He’s not afraid to admit it. At least not to himself. But a fear lingers just under the surface; the worry that if he speaks the words aloud and puts them out into the universe, something will go disastrously wrong. As if it’s all too good to be true; surviving what would undoubtedly kill many and living to tell about it. Finding someone in the midst of all of the messiness and madness; someone willing to help shoulder and carry his burdens and who accepts every broken piece of him. Guys like him don’t deserve that kind of life; the blood they’ve spilled and the ‘body count’ that they’ve racked up. Most are proud of what they’ve done; the tallies they keep, the stories they share, and the memories of all the gruesome and painful ways they punished people. The thought of that life leaves him feeling hollow. Ashamed. He’s not proud of the things he’s done; the lives he’s taken, the families he’s ruined, and the money he’s taken in the process. But it was all he’d known; a soldier from the time he was eighteen years old. Strength and agility and speed and immense power and skill.

Since the moment he’d been lucid enough to comprehend what had happened and the toll it took on his mind and body, he’d wondered where he’d go from there. If retirement was truly the only option. He didn’t feel defeated; Esme made sure of that as she served as his one-woman cheering section. She kept him going on the days he didn’t think he could; reminding him of how far he’d come, how many people he’d proven wrong, and just how strong and resilient he is.

“You’re stronger than you think you are, Tyler,” she’d informed him, shortly after a more painful and tedious than usual physiotherapy session. “You shouldn’t even be here, but you ARE. Don’t let Dhaka win. Not now. You’ve come too far to give it that satisfaction.”

So he keeps going. For her.

Taking one last swallow of coffee, he carefully gets to his feet; dumping the remains in the lake and then turning towards the house. Facing the lone, now empty chair on the edge of the deck.

He’ll have to change that. Add to it. Get her a chair of own. In her favourite colour, if he can find it.

After all, it’s not just him anymore.

****

“Tyler?”

He gives a small start; her voice quiet and tired as she stands on the threshold between the master bedroom and kitchen. Unsure of just how long he’s been sitting at the table; feeling empty and numb as he stares at the black, blank screen of his laptop. Has it been just minutes? Hours? How much time HAS passed since he returned to the cabin and stumbled upon the box Nik had brought from his old place? The moment he’d stepped inside, he’d come face to face with his past. Sitting right where he’d left it; on the table by the door, surrounded by car and house keys and cell phones and various items to throw into the recycle boxes out on the porch.

He doesn’t even remember picking the box up. Never mind sitting down to rifle through it. Everything is muddled and running together: the sound of his son’s voice and giggle, the sight of unruly, blond hair and enormous hazel eyes and a beautiful smile. Images and memories that have been fading with time; adding more pain on top of the grief, regret, and guilt that he can’t seem to shake.

“Go back to sleep, babe.” He tries to keep his voice even. Emotionless. But his throat burns, and his chest feels tight, and he’s not sure he can be convincing in the slightest. “ It’s late. Or really early. Whatever way you want to look at it.”

“I woke up, and you were gone. It scared me. I got worried.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

“Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream? Like the ones you had in the hospital?”

“I just woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I think it’s just a matter of adjusting; to how damn dark and quiet it is here. It’s like night and day.”

“It is kind of weird,” Esme admits. “I noticed it right away, too. It wasn’t like this. There were always lights on and always some kind of noise. Or people waking you up. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I was just watching something. On the ‘net.”

“Are you okay? Any pain? Do you need some meds or…?”

“I’m fine,” he assures her, tone more curt than it needs to be. She doesn’t deserve that; her fears and concerns come from a place of genuine love and adoration. And she’d spent the better part of a year by his bedside; not only fighting for the best possible care but refusing to give up long after everyone else had all but ‘pulled the plug’. “But thank you,” he quickly adds, glancing over his shoulder to where she lingers in the bedroom doorway. A tiny figure illuminated only by moonlight and the glow of the bedside lamp; diminutive frame all but swallowed by a pair of blue and red plaid pyjamas. “For worrying about me.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“I can think of a few things you do best. Better than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

She gives a small laugh. “That’s a hell of a compliment coming from a ‘total male slut turned one woman man’. Unless…”

“Don’t even finish that. There’s only you. There’s only EVER going to be you.” It’s the truth; knowing in his heart that this is it. This is the ‘one.’ And it’s going to move fast. Taking on a breath-stealing, almost terrifying pace that is impossible to stop. Not that he wants to.

“Do you need some company? I could make some tea and…”

“Just go back to bed. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Okay,” she relents, and then hesitates. Chewing anxiously on her bottom lip, her hand remaining on the doorframe as she watches him from across the room.

He wants to tell her. He NEEDS to tell her. Fill in those last remaining gaps that separate his former life from his present; unable to fully move on until he closes the final chapter. And it’s something he so desperately desires: the ability to completely concentrate on what he has in front of him. Those things that are real and tangible; the sound of both her voice and laugh, the familiar scent that clings to her body and hair, that special little smile that is reserved solely for him, and the way she cradles his face in her hands and kisses with a softness that takes his breath away. They…SHE…deserves all of him. And he can’t give her that, unless…

“Esme?”

The soft creak of the floorboards again. And out of the corner of his eye, he sees her in the doorway once more.

“Will you do something for me?”

*****

She sits at the kitchen table nursing a mug of tea, the laptop open and waiting on the tabletop. And she gives him a smile when he joins her, unzipping his hoodie and draping it over her shoulders before sitting down next to her. Tightly huddled together; both shoulders and the sides of their legs pressed against each other.

His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. “Before I show you this, a word of warning: my ex is in it.”

“Okay…”

“I just didn’t want you to be surprised by it. Or have it upset you. To see her.”

“Why would it upset me? You had a life before me. Just like I had one before you.”

“If I’m honest, I’m not exactly thrilled at ever seeing what your ex looked like.”

“It’s not like you can compare the two. I know things weren’t perfect; you guys had your problems long before your son ever got sick. But Mark is in a league all of his own. He’s his own brand of evil. No one can even come close, believe me.”

“Maybe it’s better I NEVER see him. Or find out where he lives.”

“If anything…” She sips at her tea. “...it’s better for HIM if you don’t.”

“My son’s in it too. He’s the reason I want you to watch it. Because he was my life, and now you are and…” Tyler swallows around the lump of emotion that sits square in his throat. “...and I need you to see him.”

“Alright.”

“But only if you WANT to. See him. I don’t want you doing it because I’m bullying you into it. I don’t…”

“I’d love to see him. I WANT to see him.”

It’s just as painful -if not more- to watch the second time. The emotions heightened. Flooded by the memories of his son and overwhelmed by the added element; Esme beside him as he shares an enormous part of his life BEFORE her. He’s filled with a level of anxiety that he can’t quite explain; teetering on the threshold of fear as he anticipates her reactions to the things she’s seeing and hearing. The image of him twirling his son high in the air, his ex-wife smiling and talking to the camera as she splashes in the surf, Austin with his shrieks and his giggles, and his shaggy hair and enormous eyes as he races towards the camera.

She’s the first person he’s ever shared his son with; others in his life not caring to get that ‘attached’ to him or his past. And if he’s honest, he can admit that he’s never been with someone he WANTED to share those memories with. Nik viewed him -at times- as nothing more than a nuisance and a way to scratch her own itch, and Yaz and him have never been close enough to consider each other friends. And all the women he’d bedded after his divorce were nothing more than conquests; opportunities to be physically satisfied without the added strings attached.

Although he’s vaguely aware he’s holding his breath the entire time the video plays, he hears every little laugh she gives and sees -out of the corner of his eye- every smile that curves her lips. And when it’s over and he can finally breathe again, the silence in the cabin is deafening; somehow eerily drowning out the howling of the wind and rattling of the windows and the crackling of the fire. He finds himself unable to move or speak for what seems like a lifetime; frozen and rooted in place. Unable to speak or form even a coherent thought until Esme gives a choked sob beside him; her entire body shaking as tears spill down her cheeks.

“Hey…” Laying a hand on the back of her head, Tyler gently pulls her towards him. “...don’t…”

“It’s not my place. To be feeling these things. It’s not my loss or my grief. I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know him. I didn’t…”

“It’s okay…” He presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose, then rests his forehead against hers. “...you don’t have to explain. You don’t…”

“It’s because of how I feel about you. I hate that you went through this. That you lost your son. And I’m so sorry, Tyler. That this happened. That he got sick and he died and…”

“Shhh…” Pushing his fingers through her hair, he gently kneads at her scalp. “...just breathe, Esme. Just breathe…”

“You didn’t deserve that. None of you did. Not you, not Mia, and especially not your son. And if there was any way I could go back and fix things so it never happened…”

“Listen to me,” Pulling away, he takes her face in his hands; voice stern, eyes locked on hers. “Don’t you EVER say that. I don’t want you even THINKING it. Because if you change one thing, you change everything. That means you wouldn’t exist. We wouldn’t exist. And I wouldn’t give this…YOU…up for anything. Or anyone.”

“Really?”

“I know that probably makes me sound like a really shitty person. A really shitty DAD.”

“It makes you sound honest. Even if it were possible, you wouldn’t…?”

“Even if it were. I still wouldn’t change a damn thing. ‘Cause I’m in way too deep. With you. And it’s fucking terrifying.”

“It is. But not in a bad way, you know? Not in a way that makes me want to run away from it. Because I know I’m okay. I know I’m safe. With you. And you’re the first person to ever make me feel that way. And I never realized I NEEDED to feel that.”

“I don’t know what good I’d be right now. Can’t do much when it comes to the whole protecting thing.”

“If you had to, you’d find a way. If there was some kind of threat or I was in any kind of danger, nothing would stop you from keeping me safe.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

“Someone has to. And it’s not just a physical thing. Feeling safe with you. I can’t explain it. I just know that I’m okay. That nothing bad is going to happen to me. No one is going to hurt me. I don’t have to worry about having my heart broken. Or my face, for that matter.”

“Not all men hit.”

“I know. And for the longest, I always thought they did. That's all I knew. About love. I thought it was ugly and painful and that I didn’t deserve anything better than that. And then I met you. Now I’m not scared anymore. At least, not of that.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared you’re going to run. I mean, you just said it was terrifying; all the things you feel for me. What if it becomes too much? What if…?”

“I’m not that guy anymore. I haven’t been him since I met you. Do you think we’d have gotten this far…that we’d be here right now…if I were still him?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s all going to be okay. It’s not a bad scary. Not in the slightest. It’s just…”

“Overwhelming.”

He nods.

“But like in this amazing way. It’s scary, but it’s not a horrible scary. Does that make sense?”

“To me, it does. If you were to tell anyone else that, they’d probably think you’re nuts.”

Giving a small laugh, she uses the sleeves of her pyjamas to wipe away her tears; a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she regards the now blank computer screen. “Your son was so beautiful, Tyler. He looked so much like you.”

“Everyone used to say that. He had his mum’s eyes, though.”

“This might be way off base, but why did you only have one? He was six when he died. How come you and Mia didn’t have another baby? I mean, it’s hard to judge off a three-minute video, but you both looked like great parents. Why…?”

“We realized that we were better as friends than as husband and wife. It’s pretty much how we lived. For the last couple of years before he got sick. We weren’t bringing another kid into that. It was hard work; keeping up appearances for him. We didn’t want him to know that we were sticking together for him. Maybe when we got a little older, he could have handled knowing that, but…”

“Why did you get married? If you weren’t that compatible, why…?”

“I thought we were. I thought I loved her. I mean, I did. I DID love her. But not the kind of love that’s enough to have more kids and keep a marriage going. The funny thing is, it took me until I was thirty-five to realize all that.”

“What happened when you were thirty-five?”

He stares at her pointedly.

“I’m kidding.” Pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose, she turns back to the laptop; chewing on her bottom lip as she drums her fingernails on the lid. “Did you go to the beach a lot? Was that a favourite thing to do?”

“Once we moved to Australia, we went there quite a bit. He loved it. Anything to do with water.”

“You didn’t live there? When you got married?”

“We got married in Brussels. I was stationed there. When we met. And it made sense to extend my posting; her career was there, and I didn’t have any family or anyone else waiting for me back home, so…”

“How long did you stay?”

“Seven years. My boy was three when we moved to Australia.”

“Took you guys long enough to have kids. Why…?”

“She wasn’t sure she wanted any. Mia was always about her work. It always came first. Even after we got married. Even after my boy came along. We were both bad for that; putting other things and other people before each other. That was probably one of the biggest issues. Other than me being a fucking asshole.”

“There’s no way you were THAT bad. You’re not a horrible person, Tyler. You’re a good person who made a bad mistake. So I highly doubt you were some evil being while you were married to her.”

“I wasn’t a good husband. I didn’t know how to be one. I told you about my dad. I didn’t exactly have a role model growing up. When it came to how I should treat a wife.”

“You didn’t…”

“Hit her? No. Fuck, no. I’ve never been THAT messed up. I just wasn’t present. Like I should have been. And maybe part of it was because SHE wasn’t? So I figured, why should I be? I don’t really know. All I DO know is that she deserved better. And that she was worth a lot more than I was ever willing to give her.”

“Where is she now?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“Do you ever think about finding her? Contacting her?”

Tyler shakes his head. “That chapter is closed. And trust me, I’m the last person she wants to hear from.”

“Do you miss her?”

“No.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I love YOU.”

“You feel nothing for her?”

“I don’t think I ever really did. Not if I go by what I feel now. For you.”

“Do you ever think about having another kid? About being a dad again?”

“I’ve thought about it a couple of times. In the last few weeks, anyway. Before that? No. I mean, I fucked it up once. Why would I want to fuck it up again?”

“You weren’t a horrible father. You were a really good one who found himself in an awful situation.”

“It was the worst mistake I ever made. Abandoning him.”

“If you could go back…”

“Esme…”

“Just hear me out. IF you could go back and change just that one thing? If you found a way to rewind the clock and stay until the bitter end, do you think things would have been different? For you and Mia?”

“No. Because we ended a long time before his life ever did.”

“And that was a mutual thing or….?”

“We had already talked about it: getting divorced, custody, support. We were ready to start the process. And then he got sick and everything changed. We decided to stay together for him. First, it was until he was finished treatment and he was cancer-free. And then when we realized he wasn’t going to get better, it was until he died.”

“Are you angry? At her? For things not turning out the way you wanted them to? Relationship wise?”

“I have no reason to be angry at her. We both made mistakes.”

“I can’t imagine going through all of that. That’s a parent’s worst nightmare. Their child getting sick and seeing them waste away, and then watching them die. I…” Taking a long, quivering breath, Esme swipes at her tears with the back of her hand. “...I feel sorry for her. That she lost her baby. I know what it was like to lose one in the early stages; before I ever got to know if it was a boy or a girl or even plan a nursery or think about names. I can’t imagine having a child…this little being I carried inside of me for nine months…and losing them.”

“Just because you didn’t go all those months and give birth, doesn’t mean you weren’t a mum.”

“It was so early into things. I didn’t even get out of the second trimester. And it’s not that I did anything wrong…”

“That thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

“...it’s just that the baby was sick. They did some tests after I miscarried, and they admitted they missed a lot of things. During the ultrasounds. The baby had a lot of things wrong with it. That it couldn’t possibly survive even if I DID carry to term. Not compatible with life, they said.”

“I’m sorry. That you went through that. That you didn’t get to see your baby.”

“I would have had it anyway. Or tried to. Had things been different and I’d been able to carry to term. Or close to it. He blamed me, you know. Mark. He said it was my fault. That I was ‘paying for my sins’. That it was because I was a terrible wife and I was being taught my lesson. That I needed to be a better person and listen to what he said and do what I was told…”

“The more you tell me about this guy, the more I WANT to find out where he was. So I CAN kill him. But not before I torture him. Slowly and extremely painfully.”

“I believed it. For the longest time. Even after I’d gotten away from him. It took me longer than it should have to realize he was the problem. Not me. And I’m not perfect. By any stretch of the imagination. But I’m not the things he said he was. I’m not.”

“I know that. You don’t have to convince me.” And if you DO want me to track him down and kill him…”

“I want him to stay in the past. It won’t do any good, Tyler. Letting him in here. To this place. To this life. That we’re making together. He doesn’t deserve to be part of it.”

“But you know you can talk about it, yeah? When you need to? Because keeping that in? That’s not good. Esme. And it won’t lead anywhere good. Believe me, I know.”

“There’s not much more I need to say. I’ve told you everything. Even the ugliest and most brutal of parts. Yet you’re still here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A lot wouldn’t stay. Most men would see how big of a mess I am and cut their losses and take off.”

“Well, what can I say? I’m not like most men.”

She manages a laugh. “You can say that again.”

“And you’re not that big of a mess, trust me. You’re talking to a pretty big one.”

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? What was it that Nik said? About the blind leading the blind?”

“What the fuck would Nik know? She doesn’t love anything but her work. I don’t think she’s capable of it.”

“She loves you.”

“Don’t start with that. Don’t…”

“I don’t mean in THAT way. She could, for all I know. But it’s not like she’s ever confided in me about it. I just meant that she cares about you. She wants what’s best for you.”

“She wanted to pull the plug.”

“Well, lucky for you, I wouldn’t let her. And she knew better than to fight me about it. She knew it would be a losing battle.”

“You are tough for a little thing.”

“I have five older brothers. Believe me, I HAD to be tough.”

“Yeah, well, even the tough ones need someone else to baby them from time to time.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“I only admit to that if it stays between me and you.”

“Another secret I have to keep for you? Jesus! It must be exhausting having to keep up your reputation.”

“It’s a twenty-four-hour job.” Cradling her face in his palms, he uses the pads of his thumbs to clear the last of her tears away. “Do you ever think about it? Trying to have another baby?”

“I’ve only thought about it every day. Since it happened.”

“And is there a reason maybe you can’t? Some kind of health thing that says maybe you shouldn’t or…?”

“It had nothing to do with me. I CAN carry to term. Or so I’ve been told. My body is fine. Everything is in working order. It was one of the first things I asked; if there was a reason I couldn’t be a mom.”

“And you want to be, yeah? A mom?”

“I’ve only wanted to be a mom since I was a little girl. Probably for the lack of a decent mother in my life. Why?”

“Just curious. Something I thought was important to know. I mean, I’ve thought about it. Us. Babies.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t?”

“A couple of times. Here and there. I wouldn’t object to it…” She pushes a hand through his hair; holding the longer top strand off his brow. “...you putting your big-headed, big-footed babies in me.”

“Excuse you?”

“You have a big head. And big feet. REALLY big feet, actually.”

“You’re just abnormally tiny. Maybe our kids would be, too.”

“One can hope. For my poor vagina’s sake. And you have to admit, we’d make really beautiful babies.”

“If they look like their mother, yeah.”

“Do you not look in the mirror? How do you not realize how good-looking you are? I don’t understand it. Why is it that some of the most beautiful people never understand just HOW beautiful they are?”

“I’ve lived with this face for thirty-five…’

She noisily clears her throat.

“Thirty-SIX years. I know what I look like. I know my shortcomings.”

“Baby, there is nothing short about you in the slightest.”

“And you have the nerve to call ME the dirty one?” Pushing wayward strands away from the sides of her face and out of her eyes, he holds her cheeks in his palms and presses a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. “You okay?”

She nods. “Are you?”

“I am now. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything, Just…everything.”

Smiling, she pecks the tip of his nose. “I should be thanking YOU. For sharing your son with me. For letting me see him. It means a lot, you know that. That you trust me with that. With HIM.”

“Like I said, he was my life. And now you are. It was important to me. That you saw him. And found out more about him.”

“I know how hard it is for you, Tyler. Talking about him. Never mind letting me see him. So for you to do that? To WANT that? That’s huge. I’m proud of you.”

“Now you’re going to make ME cry.”

“Well, that’s another thing you’re learning. That it’s alright to do that. It’s okay not to be the big, bad, mercenary man all the time.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Wrapping her arms around his torso, she rests her head upon his shoulder, her nose pressed against his neck. The boss.”

“If it helps you sleep better at night….” Repeatedly running his hands along her sides, he places a kiss on her temple. “...you should try getting some more.”

“Only if you do.”

“I’ll be in a few minutes. After I tidy things up out here.”

“Alright,” she reluctantly agrees, and slides off her chair. “Will you check the doors again? And the windows?”

“Babe, we live in the middle of normal. So unless the bears know how to open shit…”

“Please? Just check again? For paranoid little old me?”

“Just for you.”

Tugging affectionately on his ears, she drops a kiss on the top of his head. “Thank you. Don’t be long, okay? I don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Believe me, neither do I.”

He watches as she goes; listening to the patter of her bare feet and her tiny yawns and seeing the way she pauses to stretch while on the threshold between kitchen and master bedroom. It’s the first time he’s ever really ‘noticed’ someone; the things that make them tick, their quirks and eccentricities. All those little things that make them, THEM.

And he loves every single one.

****

It’s daylight when he wakes; sunlight streaming through the curtains, the snowstorm having stopped in the wee hours of the morning. He can’t recall the exact time he returned to bed, but Esme had immediately responded to him slipping under the blankets, squirming her way across the mattress and snuggling in as close and as tight as she possibly could. Her face buried in that favourite spot of hers between the side of his neck and shoulder; arm over his chest and a leg over one of his. And the last thing he recalls before once more succumbing to sleep is wrapping both arms around her; chin resting on the top of her head, his joined hands at the small of her back.

Now he wakes to an empty bed; the pillowcase and sheets on her side wrinkled, yet all the blankets pulled up to his chin and tucked tightly around him. And he immediately regrets tossing off the mound of quilts and comforters; violently shivering as reaches for a discarded pair of sweatpants slung over the bedside chair. It’s easy to slip into them, but getting to his feet is an entirely different story; a throbbing, stabbing pain in his knee on the initial bearing of weight. But it thankfully doesn’t threaten to buckle. That’s a good sign. He’ll take that as a ‘win.’

He finds her in the kitchen. Standing at the table, making him a cup of coffee with the French press, and still clad in her pyjamas, woolly socks, and one of his hoodies. Her hair twisted and piled onto the top of her head; crafted into a makeshift bun held together by two ballpoint pens. And her own laptop now sits open in the middle of the table, accompanied by a pad of paper and a pencil

Sanding behind her, Tyler lays a hand on her stomach and leans down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Mornin’.”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she cheerfully greets, and tilts her head back to smile up at him. “Good news! We won’t have to make coffee like we’re in the Stone Age for long! I ordered a coffee maker AND an espresso machine.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Spending money. Well, YOUR money, technically. Sorry. I’m still having issues getting everything from my US account to the one here. As soon as it happens, I promise I’ll get that money back to you.”

Dropping two spoons of sugar into his coffee, he stirs vigorously. “Why would you need to do that?”

“‘Cause that money is yours and…”

“That money is in an account with BOTH our names on it.”

“But it’s all YOUR cash that’s in there. None of it’s mine and…”

“And what? That’s OUR money. Not just mine.”

“It’s the payment you got from Mahajan. Or part of it, anyway. You’ll never see the other half.”

“It’s OUR money,” he forcibly repeats, then fills her mug of tea from the pot on the stove before sitting down across from her. “Don’t ever call it just my money again.”

“You’re bossy.”

“Just telling it like it is. There’s nothing separate. Not anymore. Everything’s ours. There’s no yours or mine.”

“What about my cramps, my cravings for chocolate, and my pimples?” She gives a dramatic pout. “ I break out when my period is coming.”

“Okay, so all of THAT stuff is yours. How long have you been up?”

“A couple of hours. I did my yoga, took a bath. Then Lucy and I went for a walk; just down to the lake and back again. It’s not that cold out; it shouldn’t be too bad for walking around town for a bit. If you’re up to it.”

“I’m up to it. The knee’s feeling pretty good; didn’t try to give way when I put weight on it. That’s a good sign.”

“You still have to wear the brace, though. At least for a few more weeks. Give it a chance to toughen up some more. And the sling…”

“I promise I will put both of them on before I leave the house.”

Stretching her legs out under the table, she jabs him in the stomach with one of her feet. “I nag you because I care.”

“And I put up with it because you’re insanely hot and give fucking amazing head.”

“Jerk,” she grumbles, then aggressively presses her heels into his crotch. Giggling when he softly tickles the bottoms of her feet before taking them both in one hand and settling them in his lap.

They easily and comfortably lapse into their usual morning routine. Something they’d established in Dhaka and had continued when he’d woken from his coma and could stay awake for prolonged periods of time and hold a lucid conversation. Him grumpy and silent as Esme -her ever cheerful, bubbly self- talked his ear off about everything under the sun. And while it had initially annoyed him and at times -in the midst of horrendous pain- he found himself praying she’d just ‘shut the fuck up’, he’s grown to enjoy it. Knowing that living with her chattiness and enthusiasm is a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Not living with her at all.

“And I started a list!” She announces as she switches from one topic to the other; making the effortless switch about having to shovel out the truck to her plans for the cabin. “Of things that we can tackle first in here. That won’t require too much manual labour.”

“Like…”

“Well, it’s really just ideas. For paint colours and flooring and if not new furniture altogether, at least covers for what’s already here. Modern it up, a bit.”

“I think we should go new everything. If we’re going to make this place a home, might as well go all out.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Which means we’re going to need a stove. Right now, we’re just dealing with two hot plates and a toaster oven. And I’m sorry, but those just aren’t going to cut it. I can’t bake in a toaster oven.”

“You bake?”

“I thought I told you that. I DO bake. And not to toot my horn, but I bake VERY well. I actually held a record in Colorado! Voted best pecan butter tarts in the entire state FIVE YEARS running!”

“I’m banging a celebrity.”

“A small-time celebrity, mind you. But yes, I do bake. And I LOVE doing it.”

“What else do you make? Besides these butter tarts?”

“Anything and everything. Cakes, pies, dessert squares, bread. Nothing is off limits.”

“Boston Cream pie?”

“That was my dad’s absolute favourite. He’s the one who taught me how to make it. I still use his recipe.”

“I’m going to gain a lot of weight, aren’t I.”

“You might. Although you’re a pretty active guy. You work out a lot and run and….”

“I’m not doing any of that right now.”

“Maybe not, but you’re not feeble. I can think of other ways…” She once more digs her toes into his crotch. “...that you can work up a sweat. Keep the pounds off.”

“You mean my favourite form of cardio?”

She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, laughing when he reaches further under the table and tickles the back of her knee. “You would have liked him. My dad. He was a good guy.”

“How could he not have been? He raised you, didn’t he?”

“He did a lot more than my mom ever did, that’s for sure. We were a lot alike; we were both outgoing and chatty, and we enjoyed meeting new people everywhere we went. And we loved the same things; hockey and dirt biking and rock climbing. Fishing. We were ALWAYS outside. And we used to take trips, just the two of us. We’d rent a trailer and drive all over the state and visit all different kinds of different RV parks. Sometimes we even went further. Right into Kansas or Oklahoma or Nebraska. Even New Mexico. We did it just do it. Get away from it all. And especially to get away from my mother and brothers.”

“Yeah, she sounds like a real piece of work.”

“You remind me of him. In a lot of ways. How much you love the outdoors and animals, how far you’re willing to go to protect people. You’re all about rooting for the underdog. Sticking up for them when no one else does or when they can't do it for themselves. He was the same way.”

“That’s a hell of a compliment. Being compared to him. Considering everything you’ve told me about him…”

“I think he would have liked you. Maybe not a first; at first, he might have had a hard time. I mean, you being the one that managed to scoop up his baby girl and take her all the way to the other side of the world in a quest to make an honest woman out of her.”

He grins. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“But he would have warmed up to you. Eventually. Not sure how he would have felt about the mercenary thing…”

“That might have been something to keep quiet. Spare him from having a heart attack. Your mother, on the other hand…”

“She has been leaving me all kinds of messages; voice mails, texts, emails, even. She is not buying the whole ‘meeting someone on a business trip and deciding to shack up with them’ story I handed her. I guess I’ve underestimated her; she IS smart enough to put the pieces together.”

“You’ll have to talk to her sooner or later.”

“Can I choose later?”

“Not unless you want her to keep calling and bugging the shit out of you.”

“I just don’t know what to say. What more does she need to know? I met someone, and I’m not coming back to the States. It’s as simple as that.”

“As evil as she is, and I’m in no way on her side, I think you owe her more than that.”

“I can’t tell her how we met. I can’t tell her what I really did for a living. And I definitely can’t tell her that you’re a mercenary. Because that will go through the family like wildfire, and believe me, that is not drama either of us deserves to deal with.”

“I’m not a mercenary. Not anymore. I WAS one. Is there a reason you don’t want her to know that? Does it embarrass you, or are you ashamed of it or…?”

“Oh my god, no! No! It’s nothing like that. I’m neither of those. Not when it comes to you or what you do for a living. It has nothing to do with you and EVERYTHING to do with her. She will raise hell. And then she’ll get my brothers involved and…”

“What can they do? They’re in Colorado. We’re in Austria. It’s not like they’re going to show up on our doorstep.”

“I just know what she’s like. How she blows things way out of proportion. And right now? I just do NOT want to deal with her shit. I don’t want her causing issues and then having it trickle all the way here and cause problems with us. That’s all I’m concerned about. You and me. And this happy little bubble we’ve locked ourselves into. Can’t we at least try and keep it intact?”

“You’re going to have to tell her sooner or later. The WHOLE truth. Because it’s going to get it one way or another, and I just think it’s better if you’re the one that tells her. She’d lose it more if she found out from someone else.”

“She’s just so evil. And if you never meet her, trust me, it’s for the best. You don’t deserve to put up with her shit.”

“How worse could it get? She already hates me, doesn’t she?”

“She doesn’t even know you.”

“I’m the one that stole her little girl away. By gunpoint, if you go by her reaction. She probably thinks I’m holding you hostage. That I don’t let you leave the house. Or…in your case… answer the phone.”

“I will talk to her. I promise. Just not right now. Not for a few days. Can’t we settle in? Somewhat, at least?”

“You know I’m going to nag the shit out of you until you actually DO contact her, yeah?”

Esme sighs. “I know. In the same way, I will consistently nag you about taking care of yourself. What’s that saying? All is fair in love and war? If you have to put up with me, I guess it’s only fair I put up with you.”

“We both know that I’m the one suffering the most.”

She once more digs her toes into his stomach. “As if!”

They once more fall into a companionable silence. Even from the beginning, there’s never been a need for mindless chit-chat; both extremely comfortable in the other's presence. No feeling of awkwardness or the need to put on airs and hide even the messiest and most complicated parts. While living with someone will take a considerable amount of both work and sacrifice, the foundation has already been laid: an ease and trust that should make any hurdle easier to get over.

There’s contentment in merely sharing the same space with her. Whether it be sitting across the table from one another or lounging on separate ends of the couch, or listening to her hum as she busies herself in the kitchen or the bedroom. Even seeing her belongings nestled beside his on the bathroom counter or her clothes hanging near his. And he’s discovered that he’s plagued with a constant need to touch her in some way; whether it be their toes against one another under the table, sides of their legs pressed together while watching TV, or brushing up against while she stands at the sink or the stove DESPITE there being room for not to even come in contact with her. Perhaps it’s to prove to himself that she’s indeed real; she truly HAS become a part of his life. She’s there willingly and happily. And while she doesn’t necessarily need him, she WANTS him.

He watches her now as she alternates between scrolling through a webpage on her laptop and jotting notes in her memo book; the way she chews on the inside of her cheek or taps the pen against the paper, those freckles -in all their glory- that are splattered across the bridge of her nose and travel onto the tops of her cheeks. Fresh-faced and beautiful; she seems years younger with her wild hair and the piercing just below the middle of her bottom lip, and the small, silver hoops and various sparkling studs that travel from the lobes of her ears to the very top of the cartilage. She’s both girl next door and filled with oddities and eccentricities; a mix of both polished and ‘rough around the edges’.

And to him, she’s perfect.

“You feel like going out for lunch today? When we’re in town?”

She looks up from her notebook, dark eyes gleaming. “Are you asking me out on a date, Tyler Rake?”

“Guess it’s about time. Didn’t exactly get the chance to nine months ago. And I’ve been a little…busy…between then and now.”

“Where are we going to eat?”

“Anywhere you want. Mind you, I’m not sure how many options we’re actually going to find, but…”

“What do they think they eat here?”

“Probably what people all over the world eat. All different kinds of things.”

“But I wonder what their specialty is. What they’re known for. There must be such a thing as Austrian cuisine, right?”

“I guess we’re going to find out, aren’t we? So is that a yes, or….”

Sighing, she sighs dramatically and returns her attention to her notepad. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

Scowling, he pinches the back of her calf.

“Of course, it’s a yes! Did you honestly think you’d get a different answer?”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“It comes in handy.”

“I bet you get away with an awful lot because of it.”

She smiles mischievously and then reaches for her tea, winking at him from over the brim as she presses it to her lips. “That’s something YOU’RE going to find out.”

#tw:childhood cancer #tw:child death #tw: miscarriage #Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fic #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Extraction fanfic #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Esme Drummond #Tyler Rake x OFC #Esme Rake

[lazyroseart]

Imma about get angsty.

Btw I'll be using my headcanon names for Gascoigne's daughters which are Aoife (Older Sis) and Sorcha (Younger Sis)

Warning:Child(ren) Death

You know Father Gascoigne's daughters and how you can get both sisters killed right?

So imagine Father Gascoigne somehow survives the fight maybe regaining himself enough to try and get back to his children hoping they're at least safe but instead finds his older daughter Aoife dead on the ground outside of their family. Gascoigne then finds out his younger daughter Sorcha is also dead through the bloody hair ribbon that was on Aoife's body.

How he knew that it was Aoife there and that the ribbon was Sorcha was their scents.

Then the Hunter returns to home concern about the newly "orphaned" girl to see Father Gascoigne grieving the lost of his family.

#tw:Children Death #tw:Child Death #Bloodborne #Father Gascoigne #Father Gascoigne's daughters #angst #tw:Death

[boliv-jenta]

Din x f!reader

WC:5.9k

Warnings: Unprotected P in V sex. F/F/M threesome. Oral. Cum eating.

TW: Child abuse. Neglect. Death of parents.

Summary: Din's background was mystery to the other men at the motel, but you, he gives his past and his future.

And It Just Keeps Getting Better

Part 5: The Masks That We Wear

Din forgoes his usual full face mask in favour of one that just covers his eyes.

It's been a long day for him already and while he is still perfectly capable of giving the two women he brought back to his room his all, with one of them asking to ride his cock it made sense to let the other ride his face. Both of them make such pretty sounds as they use his body. He offers up his tongue and a few thrusts of his hips yet they are too far gone to notice. They're too wrapped up in their lust for him. It happens. 

He's had women practically throw him on his bed to give him the sloppiest, most enthusiastic head, only to come to the point of overstimulation just by being filled with his thick fingers. Or women who nearly pass out from him going down on them. Or women who were just too intimidated to take his cock. He always offers to give these women a discount. No one has ever taken him up on the offer as they've still been more than happy with his services provided. 

The folds of the woman on his face tremble across his lips as she comes. Din can't resist swiping his tongue through her creamy release. She gives out a giggle as he does. He can feel the warm pussy around his cock tightening. He gives a few sharp snaps of his hips to get her to her peak. She wails and claws his chest as she stumbles over it. Then slides down the other side into bliss. The two of them slip down into it together kissing each other softly. They slip off of him until they are either side of him. Their warm naked bodies drag down the side of him until their wet mouths take turns in meeting his cock. Their tongues swirl over each other's just as much as they do his stiff length. Eventually, working in tandem they get him over the edge. One of them swallows his load. He couldn't tell which one as the only face he could see as his orgasm took hold was yours.

"Daddy!" The word bursts in Din's heart. He swears it does every time. The one steadfast rule he has in his work is that no one calls him daddy. That word is reserved for his son. 

"Grogu!" He catches his son as he throws himself into his father's arms. Din swears he gets bigger every week. He was just a toddler when Din…Din screws his eyes shut, chasing away the memory. The memory of the little boy toddling around a filthy house crying for a mother whose ears would never hear his cries, or anything else, again. The child's cries stopped when Din picked him up. His little hands found Din's face as he cradled him. 

"Hey, Son. How have you been? What did you learn this week?" Din huffs with effort as he stands with the boy in his arms. 

"We learned some Spanish. Uno, dos, tres." Grogu counts the buttons on Din's jacket. 

Din laughs as he sweeps his son up almost above his head. "That's amazing!"

The sound of the main gain opening drew you attention to the camera feed. Din. The man that you had to stop having inappropriate thoughts about. It was completely unprofessional to have such thoughts about a parent of a child in your care. Thoughts of your legs draped over those broad shoulders as his patchy stubble burns the inside of your thighs. Those full, pretty lips sucking on your clit until you cover his strong nose with your slick. You'd thank him by dropping to your knees until he came across your face. By the time you find him, out on the quad with his son, you're embarrassingly wet.

"Mr Djarin." You nod a greeting to him.

"Good morning." The smile he gives you is warm. Din always has such warmth for you.

"Grogu has done so well this week. As always." You grin at the boy.

"That's great to hear but I wouldn't expect anything different. He's such a good kid." Din squeezes Grogu closer and presses a kiss to his son's mop of curls.

"He is." You take the beautiful family moment in briefly before excusing yourself.

Unlike some parents, Din comes every weekend without fail. As well as during the week more often or not. One weekend a month he only comes by for an early visit. He explained that he works away overnight. You wondered what a bail enforcement agent does overnight every month. Sometimes you wonder if he has a girlfriend that he visits. Given how handsome he is you wouldn't be surprised. Everyone notices how handsome Din is. You were the lucky one who also got to see how sweet and funny he is. Din was pleasant enough with the other staff and parents but with you he really opened up. He was happy to chat to you. One morning in your office, over coffee, he gave you more details of their story than you'd read in Grogu's file. 

Din was adopted himself. He lost his own parents in a home invasion. A man that was struggling to put food on his own family's table had broken into their home. He'd held Din's father at gunpoint when he found him ransacking their home office. Din's mother had hidden him in the hall closet when she heard what was going on. Din heard the shots and stayed hidden until a police officer carried him out. Your heart had broken for him as he retold it so casually. It had been a long time for him to process it. From the sounds of it he'd done it well. He found the man who killed his parents years later in prison. The man explained that he was desperate for money to get his daughter medicine. A bogus charge from a corrupt cop had landed him in prison and he couldn't get work. He hadn't meant to shoot, the gun just went off. He sobbed an apology as Din gave his forgiveness. 

The family Din was placed with was a strict one, they were very religious. They were caring in their own way and Din grew up surrounded by other kids. When he was old enough, he joined the army. After a few tours he came home to see how he could help others like him. Giving them a second chance his own way. With his skills, experience, and morals, there weren't many options open to him. There was no way he would become a cop. Bonds enforcement seemed like a better option. Better him chase down someone innocent and scared than a trigger happy cop. The system was far from perfect but at least he could get them their day in court and hope that a jury of their peers did the right thing. 

It was chasing down a not so innocent guy that led him to Grogu. The poor kid had been wandering around with a soiled diaper hanging off of him. His cries rattled his chest and around his hollow belly. Once he'd calmed him Din placed him in his playpen to check the rest of the house. When he was sure it was clear, he called the cops and set to cleaning the boy up. He put water on the stove to warm while the oven warmed the room. While he waited for the water, he cleaned him as best he could with some wipes. The kid didn't say a word the whole time. He kept expecting the kid to call for his mother. Din slipped him into the warm water in the kitchen sink to clean him further. The boy giggled as Din poured water over his head. The water turned a muddy brown as weeks of dirt ran from it. Din's heart broke at how some could leave a child like this. From the looks of it, his mom had only been dead for less than a day. This neglect went a lot further back. Din thanked God that he'd chosen to come here first rather than the other lead that he had. 

By the time the cops showed the boy was peacefully asleep in the back of Din's car, swamped in Din's sweatshirt, his stomach was full of the sandwich Din had bought for his lunch when he stopped for gas earlier. When CPS came for the kid Din lifted him out gently. His arms seemed to become heavy as carried the kid to their car. Then his whole body became heavier with each step. It became hard for him to push himself forward. Especially after two big, brown sleepy eyes blinked up at him. Even as he placed the boy in the car seat and was reassured they'd take care of him, he couldn't bring himself to let go of him completely. He kept a check on the boy until he could apply to adopt him. It took nearly two years all in all but Din got him, Grogu, back in the end. Things were good for the most part, until Grogu was upset. Then someday there was nothing Din could do to console him. Grogu would throw things, trash his room in anger. Din was at a loss as to how to help until you had stuck up a conversation with him in a parking lot. 

Din paced next to his car with Grogu locked inside.

"Are you okay?" Din was startled by your voice in his panicked state. 

"We're fine. He just doesn't want to get his hair cut so of course he locked himself in when I got out." Din tried to make light of it while part of him died inside. What type of father lets his kid lock themselves in their car? 

"Smart kid." You commented with mirth in your voice. No judgement for him, just amusement. "Sorry. I work with kids. I have a lot of kids who have very creative ways to control their environment. It's a lot easier to deal with the issue once they feel safe." Reaching into the grocery bag on your shoulder you pulled out a bag of fresh baked cookies.

Din watched as you began to pop pieces of one in your mouth before offering him one.

"No. Thank you." When he declined you moved to the car.

"Cookie?" You offered the bag to the small angry child sitting in the front passenger seat.

"I'm not getting out!" He shouted.

"I didn't ask you to. I asked if you wanted a cookie. I can slide it through the window if you lower it a little. Here." Holding a cookie up to the top of the window you waited for him to lower it. When he did, you posted the cookie into his waiting hand.

"Double chocolate chip are the best." You hummed happily taking another bite.

"My dad's cookies are the best." A little voice came from the car. It was much calmer than the one that shouted at you a second ago. 

"Oh, yeah? Why?" You asked.

"They have sino…simmer…" the boy looked to his dad.

"Cinnamon." Din supplied, cautiously stepping forward. 

"They do sound good. Does your dad make them often?" 

"When he's not busy. More now that Miss Mary won't look after me anymore." The kid looked forlornly at his cookie.

"Oh? Why doesn't Miss Mary look after you anymore?"

"I got mad. I broke her things but she hurt my head."

The man took a sharp intake of breath. The last part was clearly new to him. 

"How, Sweetie?" You pressed. 

"She brushed my hair and it got stuck. It hurt. I don't want my hair cut!" He shouted to his dad.

"I didn't know." He looked at you before talking to his son. "You don't have to get your haircut today, kid. We'll talk about it another day. Can you open the door for me?" 

The lock popped open and the dad reached in to hold his son. Not wanting to intrude on their moment you backed away only for the man to call you back. 

The kid was buckled safely in the back of the car as the man approached with his car keys firmly in his hand. "Thank you for that. He gets a little worked up sometimes. He's a good kid, he's just been through a lot. He's adopted and…you don't need to hear all this. I'm sorry…I don't even know your name."

Once you gave him your name he introduced them to you. "Well, thanks again." He turned to leave.

"Din. It's none of my business but if you think Grogu could do with some extra help I might be able to point you in the right direction. Here's my card." You held the card delicately between your two fingers. 

His hand touched your briefly as he took it. The electricity of his touch lit a light bulb above your head. It illuminated how attractive he was. Genuinely, you had never seen a more beautiful man. His beauty was only accentuated by the gratitude in his expressive eyes. 

Weeks went by without a call from Din. You'd almost given up on hearing from him until your phone rang one afternoon. 

"It's Din. We met a while back and you told me to call if I needed help." His deep voice came down the phone. 

The stress was clear in his voice. If he was calling you after this long it must be bad. Din explained how Grogu's behaviour had worsened, he was acting out at school, he'd hurt other kids, he'd threatened a teacher with scissors. They'd permanently excluded him after that. If he kept it up Din was worried he would lose him. 

By the end of the call, you decided to pull some strings to get Grogu into your school. You'd informed Din that it would still cost quite a bit to have him there, even with any support you could give him.

His simple reply was "I'll get the money."

That was seven months ago. Grogu had settled in nicely after Din's reassurance that all the staff were there to help him. The school was set up to nurture children that were having a hard time. They came from all walks of life. Some had trauma. Some were dealing with a new diagnosis. It turned out Grogu was both. The trauma from his early years had had an effect on his brain development. With that as an excuse for his behaviour no one bothered to look closer at him for any neurodivergent traits. Din had no concerns at home until he started school. That seemed to be a trigger for a lot of his behaviour at home.

Din had been blaming himself at first as Grogu was only ever upset at home, his school thought he was a model student, until you explained to him. "We see it a lot. Kid's mask all day. They don't have the energy or feel the need to do it at home. That's a good thing, Grogu feels safe enough with you to take off his mask."

Din set the mask on the counter as he splashed some water on his face. The two women in his bed were keeping each other amused for now but he was going to have to go out there and finish his job. 

The mask had been a gimmick at first. Mrs Lord had suggested it. Before the very successful practical part of his interview, they'd talked at length about his boundaries. Mrs Lord had such a forthright way about her that he had no trouble confessing to carrying a little guilt about the whole thing due to his religious upbringing.

Learning closer to him she'd asked. "Then, if you don't mind me asking, why are you considering this?" 

Din explained all about his son and the private school that could help him. Mrs Lord decided there and then to throw any work she could his way, even if he couldn't be an escort. Odd jobs, security, whatever they had. Then he'd made her squirt all over him and she made sure Ezra added him to the motel menu straight away. 

Din thought about going without the mask now that he was more comfortable about the work. The shame doesn't bubble under his skin like it used to. He's made peace that his God would forgive him for doing what he has to for his son. Then he decided to keep it. It made a distinction between him having sex for money and having it for pleasure. Not that he was doing that at the moment. There was only one woman he wanted and she was off limits while Grogu was at her school.

"Oh, fuck!" The woman's groans were lost against the pussy of the woman that rode his cock earlier. 

She'd ask him to take her from behind while she ate the other woman out. Din had no problem with that. The position just made his job easier. He could zone out and think about you. Although that brought him more shame than the prostitution. He shouldn't be using his memories of your pretty face to get himself off. He shouldn't be thinking about the curve of your ass in your jeans and how it would look bare in front of him as he slipped his cock in deep. He shouldn't be ramming his cock into  another woman to work out his frustration of it not being your pussy creaming around him. The pussy clenching and twitching around him does nothing for him compared to his thought of you. Then he really thinks about you as if you're the one he's touching. He slides his hands over your breast as he brings you close to him. His thumbs circle your nipples while he kisses your neck. His thrusts are steady and shallow throughout. Until his hands trail lower, one on your hip angling you away from him and the other on your sopping clit. His hips pick up speed as do his fingers. Soon he's shooting his load inside you. Finally staking his claim on you as you gush around him. 

When he comes back to himself 'you' are trembling on the bed, while 'your' friend looks at him slack jawed. "I'll pay extra if you can get me to do that."

He doesn't in the end. Some women just can't. But he gives her his cock, his fingers, his tongue. He eats her pussy and her ass. He chokes her a little. He spanks her. Cums on her face. He fulfils every request she has until she is completely worn out. She doesn't get to squirt but she does pay him extra for every act he performs. So much so, in fact that he's able to quit.

Mrs Lord greets Din with a hug, this past year she'd clearly had a soft spot for him beyond him being the only one to make her squirt. "Wow, I can't believe Joel did all this!" She slowly twirled in the hallway.

Din felt the pride for his modest home swell in his chest. "Not just Joel. They all helped. Even your husband from time to time."

"Max doing manual labour and I missed it?! I'll have to get him to role play that." Her laugh told him she wasn't really joking.

"We wouldn't have this without the two of you so thank you again." Din knew Mrs Lord wasn't big on taking gratitude.

Exactly how Din expected, she brushed it off. "We just gave you the land, same as Jack. You made it a home. Speaking of which.."

"Mrs Lord!" Grogu flew out from the living room to give her a crushing hug. 

"Hi, Sweetheart!" She dropped down to her knees to return the hug just as fiercely. "Your dad tells me you love your new school. Do you want to tell me all about it while your dad is out?" 

Grogu hummed a yes as he dragged her into the living room. Din mouthed a thank you and called a goodbye to Grogu. 

Sitting at the wheel of his car, Din took a moment to be thankful. He looked at the cabin built by him and his friends. Din had been a little lost since his army days but now he had a new team at his side. They built a home for his son. His son, who was back with him now in more ways than one. At one point, when Grogu's rage got so bad Din thought he had lost him. Now, after those months away at school, he had his sweet, considerate little boy back. Between the intensive therapies and his teachers giving him the tools he needed to manage his emotions the boy was so much happier. The biggest change came when you had sat with him and Din to explain why Grogu felt the way he did. Grogu was smart and articulate, just giving him an answer as to why his emotions were so big and powerful sometimes gave him a whole new outlook.

Din had to hold back the tears when Grogu had asked "So I'm not a naughty boy?"

Din kept his voice even when he pulled the child onto his knee to hug him. "You were never and could never be a naughty boy. You just had a big battle to fight with your feelings but that's over now. Okay? You won. You know what to do with those big feelings now. Right?"

"Right." Came Grogu's muffled reply from Din's chest. "Daddy? A little too tight."

"Sorry, kid." Din laughed, releasing him.

Grogu was able to transfer to a local school who understood his needs. He was happy and thriving. Din was near tears when someone knocked on his window.

Din must have really been absorbed by his thoughts if Jack could sneak up on him on his prize winning filly.

"Evenin' partner." Jack made a show of tipping his hat. "So, tonight is the night?"

It seemed stupid for a man who used to sell sex to get bashful about it but Din flushed as he nodded.

"Well, I'm sure your little lady will have a wonderful time." Jack winked before urging his horse away.

Din immediately regretted discussing his love life with Jack. The cowboy wasn't exactly the best person to get romantic advice from since he was clearly in love with one of his regulars, not that either one would admit it. Din had confided in him because he was really good at keeping secrets. Even in the motel where everyone knew each other's business, except the exact nature of Oberyn and Dieter's relationship. Brushing off his embarrassment Din headed out to your place.

"Are you sure…you want…?" Din asks between kisses and pants.

"Yes." The word is pushed into his mouth as your tongue returns to it. 

Din's never been kissed like this before. There's lust in it, he's felt that hundreds of times, but it's the passion that has his toes curling. You don't just want his body or the fantasy of him. It's not his uniform that turns you on or his job. You want him. Just him. He feels it as you tug him closer. As your fingers edge under his clothes silently asking his boundaries. He shows that with you, he has none as he pulls off his shirt. More clothes fall away as you lead him to your bedroom. The dinner plates are left half eaten at the table. A simple thank you kiss had quickly caused your desires to overflow. Din had wanted to keep sex off of the table for a while. Him withholding it almost led to you having sex on the table. 

The passion simmers down once you're both in your underwear on your soft sheets. The warm, low lighting of your room creates a cosy atmosphere as Din takes his time to study your face. You're glowing with anticipation. His attention makes you giggle self consciously. 

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." Din says it with such honesty in his eyes that you actually believe him. 

Not about you being the most beautiful woman in the world, but that he believes it. It makes you feel like a goddess. 

When Din had first been open about his second job, part of you found it very hot that a man people lusted after enough to pay for his company wanted you. 

In this moment that isn't what makes you feel special, that is something purely Din. The man is so earnest and expressive with those eyes. From getting to know him all these months you know there isn't an insincere bone in his body. He's careful with his words, he doesn't speak unless it's necessary. He doesn't say things just for effect. He's proven himself to be deeply kind and thoughtful. It shows in his relationship with Grogu and how respectful he's been of you so far. 

There was clearly something between you for a while now but he never pushed it, never made you feel uncomfortable or unprofessional. He'd asked you out for coffee the week after he arranged for Grogu to transfer schools. Everyone was so sad to see the little boy go. It was hard not to spend time with the kid and not love him a little. He was so full of life and curiosity. He was sweet and helpful. The only solace in him leaving was that they had genuinely done all that they could for him. With their help, he was healing from his past and handling the rough hand he was dealt. They thought that best thing they could do for him in the end was send him back to his father. From the update she had from his new school, they were right.

"You're beautiful, too. I always found it so hard not to stare when you visited." The confession makes you feel like a love sick schoolgirl.

"Maybe I should have worn my mask." The light hearted joke makes your pussy twitch. Din had told you all about the mask he wore at work. Noticing your reaction he added. "Maybe I should wear it next time."

With that the romance in the air shifts to lust once more. 

Din positions himself between your legs. "Is this okay?"

Swallowing at the sight of him you nod. 

"I'd like you to say it." He speaks against your cheek as he starts to kiss there.

"It's okay, Din. I want you." His lips trail lower as you speak.

"How do you want me?" His lips hover over the swell of your breasts, teasingly close. His warm breath flows over them.

"Anyway you'll take me, Din. I need you. And...you are the expect."

Din smiles against your skin as he finally lowers his lips to kiss your cleavage. "That was different. That was business. This will be pure pleasure. Do you want me to please you?"

"God, yes. Please, Din." You begging shoots straight to his cock. He's imagined you wanting him so many times. 

"Good." He grins. His lips push at the lace at your chest as his fingers trace the lace at your hips. "I wanted to make you come for so long. I bet you look even more beautiful when you do." The finger at your hip runs along your waistband. Slowly it begins to dip into your panties as he mouths at your nipples through the light fabric. 

His light touch is driving you insane. When you lift your lips, his free hand spreads against your lower stomach. "You can be patient a little while longer, can't you? The way I want to give you my cock, I need you nice and wet for me."

"I am Din. Feel." At your instance the finger finally runs through your folds right the way down to your opening before pressing in just a touch. Even the tiniest intrusion of him makes you gasp. "Oh, Din. Please."

There you go again with your pleas. It's taking all of Din's practised discipline not to flip you over and fuck you like he's been itching to. Or maybe he'll wrap your legs around his neck and near bend you in two so he can ram himself into that spot that will make you scream for him. He longs to hear you call his name in ecstasy. 

"You don't have to beg, pretty girl. Tell me what you want."

"I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. Make us both feel good." Lifting up off of you he pulls you up to kneel with him on the bed. Taking your hand, he lays it over the bulge in his boxer briefs. The first thing you noticed is the heat, his body runs warm but his cock is like a furnace. The second thing, which is odd because it really is an attention grabber, is the size. He is huge. Thick, long. Just huge. "Fuck." You near whimper.

"You still want this right now?" He speaks against your lips as he guides you hand up and down his length. 

In answer you slip your hand inside the fabric to jerk him slowly. Your hand smears pre-cum in its wake. Din's breathing picks up and it highlights the muscles in his torso with every breath. You long to run your tongue over every ridge. That will have to wait for another day. It's getting to the point where you feel like you need his cock more than the air you breathe. Which is fortunate as when he bends you over a moment later and pushes the head of his impressive cock inside it steals your breath.

He only gives you an inch before he stills. "Can you take it?"

"Yes." You moan as you sink back onto him.

Din grits his teeth behind you. "Oh, yes, you can. Take it all." He pushed forward meeting you. 

When he bottoms out you grip the headboard for dear life. No man has ever filled you like this. The feeling is indescribable. Nothing else permeates your consciousness as Din begins to thrust. He takes it slow at first. Shallow and deep. Then he realises that you take him like you were made for him. He speeds up, his thrusts become longer, even deeper. Then there is literally nothing you can do but take it. The pleasure is just too much. Your continual moans are your only contribution to what is going on. Din is purposefully working your slick opening with his girth and slamming the head into that spot that's hard to reach on your own. The pleasure is overwhelming yet it still keeps growing.

"Sorry." Din pulls out suddenly. His hands are on you urgering you to move. "I need to see your face."

With you on your back he fills you again. He lifts your hips higher on his and finds that spot again. His hands find your ass. They grip you so tight that he holds your cheeks open. The tension stimulates your hole to the point where you think about all the things you could explore with this gorgeous man. Din is truly a work of art above you. Honed muscles glistening with sweat. Those full lips parted as he pants and groans. Even his cock perpetually slipping inside you is fave prettier than it has a right to be. For a second, you wonder if he thinks the same of your pussy. He certainly seems happy to stare at it as it takes his length.

"Fuck. So perfect around me. I don't think I can last." His voice is even deeper now. It rumbles from his breathless chest. 

"Then don't. Fill me up Din. Come for me." You feel his cock twitch.

"Not without you." One of his hands leaves your ass to find your clit. 

A few strokes of his thumb is all it takes to push your already sensitive nerves to that sweet breaking point.

For all your moans, not one sound passes your lips as you come for him. You want to scream his name but your breath is lost as your whole body tenses. 

For a change Din does enough taking for the both of you. "Ugh. Yes. Grip me so tight, Baby. Uh." His breathing becomes erratic and his moans louder. "Yes. You want my cum, don't you? This needy little hole is asking for it. You want me to shoot my hot load in your perfect little cunt." A whine that sends shivers though you cuts through the air. "Ah. Take it. Take it. Take it."

A copious amount of cum burst from Din's cock, you feel it deep then it gushes around his still pulsing cock as he thrusts and spreads it over your fucked out pussy. A pussy that Din stares at after he pulls out. You look so good covered in his cum. Mouth watering even. Finally finding your voice, you squeal as Din's mouth engulfs your pussy. He licks, kisses and slurps his way over it eagerly. 

When he comes to your clit he sucks hard and you are gone again. "Oh, fuck. Din! Din!" Your whole body shakes underneath him. 

That self satisfied grin that you have begun to recognise when he runs his smart mouth presses against your folds as you try to remember your own name. The only word in your head is 'Din'.

"Did I please you?" He moves up the bed to mouth at your breast. 

All you can do is give a pleased huff. His lazy attention on your tits becomes more focused. His soft lips wrap around each nipple in turn, sucking and sending shock waves to your pussy causing the last of Din's cum to drip out. His fingers glide through it as he finds your clit to make you come for him one more time. 

As if the three orgasms weren't enough to solidify Din's position as the best lover you'd ever had, his aftercare game was on point. 

He pulls you up to guide you to the bathroom. "You go get cleaned up."

When you return to the bedroom, there's a glass of water on your nightstand and Din has salvaged the rest of dinner. Once dinner is done, his strong hands find your calves to massage them. "You really tensed up back there."

"Do you want me to stay the night or let you sleep?" He asks gently.

"Will I not sleep if you stay?" A sly grin tugs at your lips.

"That's up to you. I just meant you might sleep easier without me."

"I think I'd sleep much better with you."

You were right. You slept deeply filled with hope for the new relationship that was flourishing between you.

Din did too. When he woke with your curled up form soft with sleep pressed into him and a text from Mrs Lord to say that Grogu had slept well and was spending the day with Jack on the farm, he felt like all his days of roaming were done. He'd finally found the home that he thought was lost long ago.

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #tw: child abuse #tw:child neglect #tw: parental death

[ofviolentdeath]

Characters::August and Maddy

Word Count::611

Trigger Warnings::Child death mention

Being there made her skin crawl, the reminder of how bad things had been between her and her brother-in-law before she left causing tension still. Maddy would love to be anywhere else, but August had needed her in a way that Chase could not help with. Hunters weren't great with overly emotional shifters and the reactivity that came with it.

She would have loved to blame Chase for it all, but even she knew he had done his best to protect Aislynn and that he was hurting just as badly as August and Hawk were. Truth be told, she was surprised Hawk was holding it together as well as he was, but she was still keeping an eye on him as well. He was young still and, despite the training he had been raised with before he was turned, no one was perfect. Grief could tear a person down to their most basic instincts and with the new kid, it could be catastrophic for everyone involved.

Maddy sat on the floor in front of her brother, struggling to look at him in those chains but still understanding why he felt it was necessary. If it had been one of her children to lose their lives in such a horrific manner, she would have needed to be contained as well, but she had always been the more violent of the two of them. August had always done his best to avoid fights and anger and teach her to curb her own impulsiveness when it came to those same reactions. It had never quite taken, but his effort had been admirable.

"This isn't how I wanted to visit," she started, her words shaking a bit as she smoothed a hand over her shirt despite it's clear lack of wrinkles.

"You didn't want to visit at all," August replied softly, staring at her with his inhuman eyes. "I don't blame you. I know you and Chase don't get along."

It was an understatement, but he didn't have the energy to delve further into it. It had been a rocky start, but he and Chase had figured things out to the best of their ability, even if it would never exactly be good.

Maddy snorted at that and tossed her hair back, giving the image of a spoiled rich girl. It was a front, a way to mask how she was really feeling and August knew it. He had spent far too much time around her to think she was really that person. "Yeah, but, he loved her too," she sighed softly. She hated to admit it, but Chase had done his best by Aislynn too, and seeing the way he was with the kids made it easier to understand why August stayed.

"Why are you really here, Maddy? You didn't need to stay after the chains were in place." Normally he was the one visiting her. It had always been easier that way, safer. Sure, he didn't think Chase would shoot her again, but he couldn't say the same for his brother-in-law. The last thing he wanted to do was introduce Chase to Rhys, even on a good day.

"Because you needed me, August. Chase has his cousin to help pull him back from the edge. Sadly for the both of us, you 've got me." She was trying to make a joke, but it fell flat. She wasn't exactly a comforting person, but she was trying. For her brother, she would try.

"We're all screwed then because you suck at your job."

"I'd take offense, but you're probably right. Doesn't change anything though, I'm not going anywhere while you need me."

"Thanks, Maddy."

#drabble #aug:drabble #maddy:drabble #this has been in my drafts unfinished for like 2 weeks #oops? #anyway here's some angst #tw:child death mention

[monsterhighlovurr]

Headcanons for Tokis childhood and deathcurse

TW:child abuse

Toki is an angel of death, not in the sense that he CAUSES death, but he is always around people when they dies because he is the angel that guides them to the afterlife. We can see this with Juliette in dethkids, his friend father dethlessons, his dad in dethdad and his cat in dethhealth. They were all sick and dying beforehand (cancer with the little girl and his dad and an unnamed illness with the friend father) Toki was just the angel that guided them to death. Even the cat had a “little bit of a cough” in the beginning of the episode, Toki just gave him its send off. How brutal a persons death is indicates if they go to heaven or hell, if they die peacfully, they go to heaven, if they die a slow and agnozing brutal death, well, you know…

Tokis parents were abusers. I hate the narrative that Tokis parents were justified in their abuse and torture of little Toki because they were simply trying to prevent his death curse when in reality, Toki lived in a cult and his parents were abusive, his parents would have abused and tortured him death curse or not.

However, I do believe the village and caught on to the fact that Toki was always suspiciously present when someone died. There were alot of deaths in the village, not because of Toki, but because they wouldve died anyway, the winters were very harsh and the commune was very cruel. Deaths plauged the village but now they had someone to blame it on. The village thusly ostracized Toki for suspicion that he may be the cause of the deaths, leading Toki with no one to surround himself but his parents. Toki rarely got to play with kids his own age as they quickly learned to stay away from the “cursed boy”, it was based partly in hatred, but more so in genuine religious fear that they had done something wrong and had pissed off the gods, who had now sent them a cursed child to pay for their sins. Toki now has to spend most of his free time at home doing chores instead of singing in the choir with the rest of the little boys.

This is oddly enough the only time his parents show true compassion and defend their son. Less because they actually care about him, more because claiming that they birthed a devil child is a direct insult to them and calls into question their own souls and associations with the devil. Little Toki is confused and untrustworthy of his parent’s reactions and internalizes the remarks and treatment (or lack thereof) from the village and wish his parents would punish him harder to cleanse his impure soul. His parents do treat him slightly worse when a member of the village dies, but they also comfort him and defend him from attacks, which confuses poor little Tokis mind even further. They do this because a small part of them believes that Toki is really a devil child, so he must be punished to keep him in check and to pay for his sins, but he also must be comforted and taken care of so that he doesn’t lash out at them and take their souls + they genuinely feel bad for him being isolated (its a cult, the worst thing for a member to face isnt abuse and torture, its isolation from the commune, they have very confusing morals) a big part of them is still convinced that Toki is a normal regular village child however, thusly they treat him how the rest of the village children are treated, which is very badly. (I still want to emphasize that this is a cult and his parents are still abusers, they still wouldve abused and tortured him just as harshly if he wasnt a demigod, and they dont abuse and torture him because hes a demigod, him being a demigod just changes *how* they specifically go about it, and because of the religous aspects of their cult, if they were fully convinced that Toki was a devil child and caused the deaths of the village members they would have just sacrificed him in the name of god.)

Adult Toki is quite the extrovert, which seems normal on the surface, but he is also extremely codependent and starts to loose it when he is isolated for extended periods of time, wether socially or physically, which leads to him trying to find companionship in *anyone* good OR bad if dethklok ignores him for too long. Like Rockso for example. He also blames himself for any type of social failing or isolation to an unhealthy degree. Now that Toki is an adult playing sinful music, spreading devilish messages and causing mass chaos and destruction with his band makes his parents fully convinced that he is the son of the devil and they wish that they had killed him when they had the chance. Now they are too scared to do so.

#metalocalypse #mtl #toki wartooth #headcanon

[aeonthespian-blog]

TW:Child death

If a child’s half torn body dangling from a wall wasn’t enough for people to speak out on what’s happening in Gaza I truly don’t know what will be.

For context

https://x.com/sammiyungzola/status/1757178696388030685?s=61&t=MGhaPqrjB-ckawotab4MSg

#free palestine #free gaza #free from israel #ceasefire #ceasfire now

[babiebom]

Survive the Night (i)

A/N: i wrote two chapters of this a long time ago and never posted it anywhere. Hopefully someone likes it lmao now that my obsession has come back full force

Tw:child murder, panic attacks, mc witnesses her sisters murder, depression, more warnings tba.

Wc 2.4k

Next Masterlist

Walking into the brightly lit place, as if nothing happened was already almost proving to be too much for Wren, and she couldn’t bring herself to smile even though it was her godson’s birthday. Being there was too painful, though it was technically a different place, an entire decade and a half later. At the age of 27 she should have gotten over the untimely death of her younger sister, no matter how gruesome it was, no matter that she saw it happen with her own eyes and escaped death by an inch. She shouldn’t still be waking up with nightmares, seeing that damned bunny suit everytime she closed her eyelids.

Her eyes immediately landed on the gigantic golden statue of Freddy Fazbear himself in the middle of the entrance, it took her breath away at how utterly expensive it looked, as if it belonged somewhere fancier than a kids entertainment business. ‘Wow’ she thought, letting herself stare, ‘He looks so much different than he did when I was a kid’. It surprised her at the difference in style; she had avoided consuming any Fazbear Entertainment content since that day.

Taking in a deep breath, she allowed herself to be dragged further into the building, which was more of a glorified Dave & Buster's. Her feet slowed the closer she got to the small party room, the place not big enough for any of the kids to run, but big enough for one or two of those stupid, monsterous animatronics to fit in and murder them all by trapping them within the walls. The screamed out bouts of laughter of children did nothing to compel her to feel as if the place was different, as if it was safer. She had heard about the children going missing recently, and though they obviously couldn’t tie it back to this place (like they couldn’t before) she knew that it had to be the same person that killed her sister. If only she had gotten to see his face. Somehow despite the rumors of children going missing and dying, the business never got closed down for long.

Forcing a smile on her face, Wren tried to pay attention to the words the newly turned six year old was saying, though looking at him made her sadder than she thought she would be. But still, barely holding it together is still holding it together nonetheless, at least she wasn’t sobbing in the bathroom after being inside the building for all of 10 minutes. His eyes were bright with excitement, and the gum where he lost his tooth was proudly on display as he quickly told Wren everywhere he wanted to play for his birthday. He gripped her hand and dragged her along to the party room, planting her in the chair to the left of his own grinning excitedly.

"I wanna go to Roxy Raceway!" He kicked his feet under him, eyes shining.

"Hun, ain't Roxy Raceway closed down still?"

The boy deflated with the news, his hopes dashed with the realization that he wouldn't be able to kick butt in a go-kart race. "It's fine though! We can go do other things, and whenever I babysit again we'll go gokarting somewhere else!"

"Really?"

"Sure thing bud, I promise."

"Okay, then I wanna go straight to Fazer Blast! I'm gonna kick everyone's butt!"

"Heck yeah!" She now smiled genuinely at the hyper six year old as he kept speaking about everything he was prepared to do before they had to leave. The place was like a kid's fever dream come to life.

"Okay kids, parents," Amanda clasped her hands together trying to get everyone's attention, "you are free to play until five! Then we meet back here so we can all go to the concert. After the concert there will be cake and food. So…go have fun!"

It took only two seconds for the children to disappear within the building, their parents chasing desperately after them. Amanda was already following after Joey, her being his actual mother and all, which meant Wren was left alone in the party room, still sitting in the same chair Joey had put her in. Now that the boy had stopped talking to her, she felt the calm that washed over her that her fondness and focus provided deflate, she no longer had the kid to keep her mind on him and his happiness only. Now she was free to wallow in her own regret and sadness.

Flashes of that night played in her mind and slowly they started to mix with the bright lights of the world around her, sanity was a very hard thing to keep in your grasp.

"Wren help me!" Cried the girl, her eyes slowly losing their light. Before she could move closer in any sort of effort, the head of the bunny suit slowly turned to stare at her. His mouth in a terrifyingly large grin, choking out an apology she took off, running for the closest exit.

There was nothing she could do.

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

There was a boy in front of her, who couldn't be any older than 17. His uniform neatly tucked in, Ipad clutched in his hand. His eyes looked worried, and she could tell that she had probably been sitting there alone for much longer than she realized. Standing she nodded, wiping her cheeks and eyes before giving the worker a watery smile. "Just a little tired. Thanks "

He nodded and continued to work around the party room, setting up plates and cups for when the kids came back. The back of his shirt read Party Host, silently she hoped that he would be the only one even though she knew Amanda would have sprung to have all four robots singing Happy Birthday to Joey. She often overcompensated for his lack of a father in ways that made Wren's head spin. But what would she know? She didn't have any kids of her own.

"Aunt Wren! Come on, mom got tickets to play Fazer Blast!" Joey slowly came into view, his voice straining to be heard over the noise. Forcing her tears back down, she smacked her hands on the tops of her thighs, standing much too quickly.

"Alright! Let's play some laser tag!"

The game of laser tag went on for almost too long even if it was the most fun she had in years. Obviously she and Joey made the dream team and won king of the hill quite easily as she spun him around so he could shoot quickly. His laughs slowly eased her aching heart and racing mind.

She missed this.

The walk to the atrium to watch the concert was chaotic, the kids who were unhappy about being pulled away from the numerous attractions were simultaneously excited about getting to see the Glamrocks perform. It made getting them there difficult, and it made getting them settled even more so. Since Amanda had gone all out, their party was front and center for the concert, and being pressed up against the rails that separated them from the stage brought back memories of her and Amanda being teens at concerts of their favorite bands, God how times have changed.

Slowly the lights dimmed, and contrary to how Wren thought she would react, the child within her was simultaneously terrified at the thought of seeing the animatronics again, but also very excited at the thought that something in her childhood was returning, the good part of it before everything went to hell.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Fazbear Entertainment would like you to put your hands together for the one and only - Freddy Fazbear!”

Silently she applauded as the music boomed through the room, her heart picked up pace as the fog rolled in and the animatronic robots she hoped to never see again entered the stage. Her ears rang with the screams around her, it reminded her of her teenage years again.

After a couple minutes of standing through the concert, she hated to admit that the music was indeed pretty catchy. Her foot tapped in time to the beat as she felt herself genuinely enjoying watching the bots perform, they seemed more human than the old suits did, somehow this made her relieved and horrified. “Ugh, that bass player is hot,” she could feel Amanda’s breath fan over her ears as she tried to whisper yell loud enough for only Wren to hear.

With a grin and a quirked up eyebrow, Wren leaned into her friend, “the alligator?”

“He’s a robot, it's not weird!”

“Amanda!”

“What?”

“It’s definitely weird!”

“Whatever, I’m gonna see if he reacts to flirting.”

Laughing loudly, Wren struggled to keep herself upright. “You’re gonna flirt with a damn robot?”

“Might as well! You know they say the AI is, like, super advanced?”

“I heard. Still don’t think flirting with them is a good idea!” The two laughed hard, the sound of Amanda’s voice floating into her ears just under the music

After a pregnant beat, Amanda leaned in again, her eyes softer after the exchange. “You know I missed this?”

“What?”

“Us, hanging out. Granted it’s my kids birthday and we’re not slutting it up at some shady club, I’m happy you did decide to come here.”

“What else would I have done? Missed my godson’s birthday? He only turns six once, Manda.”

The woman nods and sends Wren a smile that she could tell was somewhat sad. A pang of guilt shoots through Wren’s heart as she thinks about the past few years, sure she had been depressed before, but nothing was the same after she heard the pizzaplex was being built and reopened. She fell into a pit of darkness and became an even worse friend to the only person she had, her only other one disappearing shortly after everything happened. She wondered for a short time if Micheal had heard that the pizzaplex was opened, and what he thought about it. It had been a while since she had heard anything about his family.

The concert ended much too soon as they were now being ushered out of the atrium and into their party room by the young party host. He seemed somewhat freaked out as they neared the room, sometimes looking behind him towards where the stage was. As the group sat down, his voice came out wavering, he wrung his hands together as best he could with an Ipad in between them. “Freddy and the gang will be in here in just a moment, they’re just charging up a bit before the party. The concert took a little bit out of them.” After seeing the parents nod all around he went to stand in a corner silently, pressing things on the tablet.

It was still a couple of minutes after his announcement before the animatronics showed up, the ground shaking with their steps. Wren could feel her heart racing before she could see them, she could feel the bile and the fear crawling up her throat at the thought of being face to face with the thing that killed her sister. Maybe not the thing exactly, but grief and fear weren’t really logical like that.

The closer they got she could feel herself having to fight the urge to scream out as if she were in a horror movie being chased by a slow moving killer. She could see Amanda looking at her worriedly out of the corner of her eyes, and though she didn’t want to ruin the kid’s birthday, she felt as if she would make everything very bad if she didn’t leave and hide in the bathroom as soon as she could. So, that’s exactly what she planned to do, hide in the bathroom for the remainder of the time that the large robots had to be in the party room. It’s not as if he would miss her when his attention is on them, hopefully everyone would watch him and the rest of the kids closely so they didn’t wind up like the others.

It was almost too much for her to be in the same room, though he didn’t look anything close to the Freddy Fazbear that she knew before. Thankfully, like she noticed on stage there was no Bonnie, though Chica was still part of the group. She looked totally different, cuter. Two new animatronics had taken the places of Bonnie and Foxy, and while the alligator was hot like Amanda had said, Wren wasn’t jumping at the chance of being in the same room as him, just one look at his claws and teeth made her more nauseous than she’d like to admit. These things were made to be dangerous, and no one would be able to tell her otherwise.

Her mind slowed as the things started speaking, and silently, she got out her camera to record, she at least wanted to remember singing happy birthday before she had her breakdown. “Hey little guy, I heard it was your birthday!” the alligator spoke with a vaguely cajun accent. Breathing out through her nose, she silently watched as the other animatronics went through their lines, trying their best to make Joey feel special. She quietly sang along, hoping her voice wouldn’t sound as frightened and hostage-like on the video as it did echoing in her ears.

As soon as the stomach hatch of Freddy opened she couldn’t stop herself from gagging. In a hurry she averted her eyes to look to the floor, she hoped no one would notice her strange actions. As Joey leaned in to blow out the candles, she had to bite her lip in order to keep from yelling out to him, and as soon as the candles went out, she attempted to make a bee line for the bathroom.

She could hear someone calling out to her in confusion, but she ignored them and continued to the bathroom with a silent prayer that no one would be inside. Forcing the doors open she headed straight to the sinks, uncaring if the water would ruin her makeup, most of it was waterproofed anyway.

Looking into the mirror she flinched at her own appearance, she looked more like a hollow shell than an actual person, her eyes puffy and tired. Frowning she splashed water on her face to cover the tears, her breathing escalating with each passing second.

"You're going to be okay, it's all going to be okay."

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's #the glamrocks #fnaf fanfic #five nights at Freddy’s fanfic #fnaf monty #fnaf chica #fnaf roxy #fnaf freddy #monty gator #glamrock monty #montgomery gator #glamrock freddy #freddy fazbear #glamrock chica #chica chicken #glamrock roxanne #glamrock roxy #roxy wolf #roxanne wolf

[blindcandyboo]

(TW:Child aduse, Death)

(TW: Child aduse, death)

Ava came from the plants Koendan, the Saiyans from there are more...Animalistic there, Ava was the weakest of them all.... That's what his father said anyway, Ava was actually the strongest of them all, and his father was envious of that. Then one day, Ava's father had made a terrible mistake, he had killed someone who meant the world to him...his mother, and we all know what happens when you hurt a Saiyans loved one, right? Thanks to his father abusing him to near death, he unknowingly gave him many zenkai boosts

And just from transforming He had destroyed his planet his race and many others the people who survived his wrath were either traumatize or shot out seeking revenge Cycle and Sop just so happen to be one them after trails and tribulations they had a truce (took a long time tho)

#dragon ball #comic #dragon ball oc #dragon ball super #dragon ball z #ava #dbz #Cycle #Sop

[criticalsorcery]

did we win a prize?

#tlovm spoilers #lovm spoilers #legend of vox machina spoilers #mine:cr #critical role #critical role gif #critrole #critrolegif #Delilah briarwood #sylas briarwood #lovmgif #critteredit #this killed me #tw:hanging #tw:child death

[justanotheronechicagofan]

JAY HALSTEAD x the kids he saved [...and the ones he couldn't] At Least It's Justice | A Dead Kid, a Notebook and a Lot of Maybes | She's Got Us I Remember Her Now | Army of One | Home | False Positive

#chicago pd #jay halstead #tw:child death #making this made me cry #mygifs

[grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales]

Balkan Bestiary: Nav

Last time I talked about the undead child called drekavac. Today I will focus on navi ( plural of nav), who are similar spirits, and in some cases two may even be conflated in one being. For sake of this post, and my own fun, I will approach them as different spirits, and focus on folklore trivia that makes them different.

A priori to this, disclaimer: in this post I am covering a piece  folkloric beliefs relating to loss of child, especially babies, therefore I feel warning is due. I don’t go graphic with anything, but I do reference stuff like infanticide and misscarriage, so be careful if such sort of thing is upsetting to you.

Nav is term that exists in several slavic languages, and may be derived from Proto-Slavic word for corpse. Usually it is associeated with spirits and represents some sort of undead (  and may be related with Ukrainian mavkas). It is also sometimes said to be world of dead, of possibility and ancestral memory, which is claim that stems from Book of Veles which claims Nav, Yav and Prav are three parts of cosmos- bear in mind, however, that said book is a forgery, so there is that too.

How nav looks in Balkan traditions is rarely recorded. According to some stories, that is whole point- nav is in those stories never seen, either because it is nocturnal creature ( and like many chtonic beings, afraid of daylight) which hides in shadows, or an incorporeal, invisible spirit.  According to other accounts, however, it can appear as tiny hairy semi humanoid figure, or as sinister  black bird which may have human face. Like drekavac, it can be recognized by unsettling sounds it makes- the creepy, babylike sobbing and crying, which can render women unconscious or dead, and children sick.

Nav’s origin is rather tragic, both for how it affects humans, and it’s own mindset. Nav is created from soul of child that never lived, having either been misscarried, stillborn, or died shortly after birth, too fast to be given name or be christened. In some particular cases, nav is also said to be baby that was victim of infanticide, either accidental ( such as mother rolling over and suffocating baby next to her), or even intentional. Such spirit, that has been denied chance to be part of community, had no home among men or even other dead, and is thus endlessly grieving for, and envious of life it never had.

(Here I feel need to mention that several online sources I found mentioned that nav are also created from souls of aborted children. I haven’t come across this in life, but I admit my exposure to people aware of, much less believing in folkloric spirits in real life is limited, and sadly I do not find it unlikely that it’s part of beliefs. Point of this aside isn’t to accuse research papers, articles and blogs that mention this as having certain agenda- 99,99% are just transcribing what older people told them- but to say that I think that, given loads of other options in folklore for this particular being, I think it’s be in rather poor taste, to say at least, for some writer to use it as gimmick in their story, and I feel similar goes for misscarriage origin.)

Nav’s primary victims are pregnant women, and mothers who recently gave childbirth, thought it may also retaliate against newborns. It will slither inside houses, and suck out all of mother’s milk. At times it will also steal milk from cows, as it seeks to emulate and feel pleasures of living.

Nav is very fast and sneaky, and can skillfully slither inside places. Unlike many hauntings, it isn’t attached to specific location, but travels over world, seeking new victims, which may be seen as manifestation of fact that it doesn’t belong to the community.

#slavic folklore #balkan folklore #balkan bestiary #tw:child death

[lieutenantgivesnoshits]

Werewolf AU 👀

Ok I have two versions of werewolf AU so bare with me.

European Werewolf Version AU

Hank was actually turned early in his police career. A suspect he had been after ended up transforming and turning him. Hank learned to deal with the full moons and had a hideout in the forest where he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.

When he starts a family he tries even harder to keep it a secret. But this leads to his wife thinking he’s cheating on her. And when they have a child Hank is both over the moon happy but also terrified. What if Cole got the curse from him?

There’s no sign of the curse but Hank feels he has to tell his wife. Which leads to disbelief and them divorcing because she still believe he was cheating and now he’s crazy. His wife takes Cole from him and move away.

It’s only two years later she comes back and shoots Hank. Turns out poor Cole did inherit the curse and his mother in fear killed him. Then in a rage returned to kill Hank. The man survives and is able to get her arrested for the murder and claiming she’s insane.

It tears at Hank’s heart and he moves away and to Detroit where he continues his career in a new city.

I’m leaving this here for now cause... damn. That turned out longer than I thought. If people are interested in the Celtic Werewolf version of Hank let me know. Or if you want more headcannons of this werewolf let me know!

#tw:child death #tw:child murder #(poor Cole) #(there are aus where he lives) #(I promise) #(Celtic werewolf isn’t as dark)

[littledraga]

Whumptober2020 Hunting Season Autodale

There were whisperings again. Citizens were talking about what happened to Uglies when they were taken away. About if it was fair to treat them so poorly when so many things weren’t their fault.

There were posters in the streets. Some outlined what good Ugly citizens could still do for Autodale. Though most of them just had a mask with the Ugly label scratched out. A simple enough message, and it was spreading.

Citizens had started to go missing. Ugly citizens were running before they were caught and taken to stand in those lines. They were hiding. Planning something. Not that Shadow thought they really stood a chance.

When Hive had cottoned on to the Uglies’ plans, they had been upset, to say the least. They had everything perfect in Autodale, or so they thought, and change was bothersome.

“Shadow! We have to find them before they do any more harm to the city!” They were yelling in his head.

He winced a little before he sighed. “And what do you expect me to do?” He asked, still getting up to get his hat and gun. It wasn’t hard to figure out what they wanted of him. Still, he hated it.

“Find them, Shadow! They’d notice the Handymen in an instant. You need to figure out where they are so we can deal with them. This goes on too long, and they will become dangerous. People are already starting to agree with them!.”

This was not what he had been given a body for. He was supposed to protect people, he bitterly thought as he walked the streets of Autodale. Hopefully, he would never find them, but he had to put in the effort. Hive would know if he didn’t.

They certainly weren’t stationary. Every lead Shadow found sent him winding through the city. Occasionally, an odd room or unused building had signs someone had been, but nothing more. They were being careful.

“Are you even trying, Shadow?” Scolded Hive days later. There had been no signs of them, but more flyers in the streets. Now there was one of him with his eyes scratched out with words below, ‘There are monsters in Autodale’. It made his chest tight. It was the truth, of course. But he still didn’t like it. He wanted to protect them.

It was becoming clear that chasing these leads was always going to keep him a few steps behind. He had prepared to tell Hive as much, hope that they would just send out another announcement and be done with it. As if he was ever that lucky.

Walking through the streets, he noticed them from the corner of his eye. Two citizens, talking and holding the poster of his face. He was too far away to hear them, but he saw one gently tugging the other. That was a start. He wished he hadn’t seen it.

If he saw it, then he knew Hive did as well. He didn’t have to hear them demanding him to follow to know they were getting excited. There had been others that wanted rights. The first was even among them. He wasn’t sure why this one bothered Hive so much. What about them was different?

Keeping a safe distance, he followed behind them, handing in his pockets. Never close enough to hear what they were saying, and far enough away, they never noticed he was there.

He was expecting them to drop off into a less populated part of the city. Somewhere away from the eyes of the city.

An active warehouse was not what he was expecting. Yet that’s where they went, looking over their shoulders before going inside. It was still very much used. Someone was guarding over them.

“It looks like we’ll have to look into who works at this warehouse. Once it’s been cleared a vermin,” said Hive, their voice cold in his head.

Shadow winced at that. He hated how Hive saw these people. Exceptional citizens were still labeled as Uglies, just with a different end. He wondered if they remembered that. Or if they thought it made them that different.

Walking around the building a while, he tried to give them time. Secretly hoped they had seen him and ran away. But that wouldn’t last forever.

Eventually, he did find them. The steels had been moved to try and hide them in the back of the warehouse. He could hear them whispering. Moving a large box, he looked into the small home they’d made for themselves.

When they saw him, they panicked. They huddled together in the back of the room, pressed tightly against the wall. They were hiding children behind them, trying to at least give them a little more time.

His heart broke. He couldn’t do this. He knew what Hive wanted, but he couldn't. Stepping away from the opening, he pressed a hand to his head.  “We know where they are. You can send someone to deal with them.”

“Why wait? You’re there, Shadow. You know what’s going to happen to them. It’s better to deal with them now than draw it out. Don’t you think?”

He cringed at that. If he kept looking the other way, arguing, maybe they could get away. “Hive, please. I wasn’t made to kill citizens,” he pleaded.

“Perhaps not. But you were made to follow orders!” They snapped back.

One of them threw a heavy box at his head. Stumbling back, he tried to keep it together. They were afraid, he understood. If they would just fucking run! He didn’t want to hurt them. They didn’t deserve this.

While he tried to stall for time, wishing he could get them to understand they needed to run, they had other ideas, like rushing the steel to knock it over on him. It worked.

Boxes clattered onto his head, nearly knocking him over. The damage sent sparks from the wires of his neck. Stumbling, he tried to get away as the huge metal shelf came down.

He wasn’t fast enough. A heavy bar crunched the metal of his left shoulder. Something inside clicked. His eyes dimmed, shadowed under the brim of his hat. More sparks flew from his wires as he tried to fight back, resist the robotic part of himself. Fought to stay in control.

But it was all for nought. Shadow pulled out his revolver, letting it spark to life. He could hear them scream as they tried to run. Tried to get away before it was too late. But it already was.

Even as he tried to fight it, he took aim at them. One shot, and then another. He didn’t stop until they were all laying on the ground. Even the children lay in pools of their own blood, most of them half under the adults that had tried to save them.

When the ‘threat’ was gone, he came back to himself, nearly collapsing as he did. Looking at the damage he had done, he could only stand, frozen in horror.

They had just wanted to live. Just wanted to have lives and families. Protect their children. And he had gunned them down like vermin.

“Good job Shadow! You’ve done a wonderful job!” Praised Hive in utter delight. This had been a victory for them.

He wished, desperately, he could turn the gun on himself.

#Whumptober2020 #no.28 #Hunting Season #autodale #Fic #tw:child death #tw:suicidal ideation

[lesmisscraper]

Brick... with animation!

70. Flight of a Grand Little Soul

Gavroche had taken a bottle basket from the wine-shop, had made his way out through the cut, and was quietly engaged in emptying the full cartridge-boxes of the National Guardsmen who had been killed on the slope of the redoubt, into his basket. "What are you doing there?" asked Courfeyrac. Gavroche raised his face:-- "I'm filling my basket, citizen." "Don't you see the grape-shot?" Gavroche replied: "Well, it is raining. What then?" Courfeyrac shouted:--"Come in!" "Instanter," said Gavroche. And with a single bound he plunged into the street. - Vol 5, book 1, chapter 15

The people of Paris all slept in their beds. Now, the ammunition left at the barricade was running out due to the battle.

Gavroche overheard this situation, and moved out to the streets silently.

He found ammo bags for the dead men and gathered in his bag. But he went into the enemies' line deeper and deeper.

Courfeyrac saw him, asked what was he doing. Gavroche said he was collecting bullets.

But the National Guards watched him, grabbing bullets. And then fired at him.

However, he didn't care about the volleys of bullets. He even sang a song about blaming Voltaire while picking up ammo from the dead.

But he could not finish his song. The National Gards finally shot him. The first shot did not kill him instantly, then the second bullet made the little boy fell to the ground.

This grand little soul had taken its flight. Marius brought the dead boy to the barricade. In 1815, Gavroche's father brought Marius' dad back from the battlefield, and now, their sons traced the same track. But then, Gavroche's father carried alive man, now, Marius carried a dead body. With Gavroche's sacrifice, the revolutionaries got additional 15 bullets per each man. They prepared for their last stand with that ammo.

And Gavroche's younger brothers when he saved at in front of the barbershop became homeless children again.

#Les miserables #les mis #My post #Il cuore di Cosette #Heart of Cosette #The Barricade #Gavroche #Courfeyrac #National Guards #Little people #Tw:Child death #...? #Gavroche's brothers #The brick with animation #animation

[teamorcd-a]

🗝 Hit me with some Verdant feels

Send 🗝 for my Muse to speak about the unspoken

Alright you asked for it

“Mos’ people would say we had to stop takin’ in child patients because it hurt Olivine so much with Hari. Tha’s not entirely t’e truth. It was startin’ to kill me on the inside. Hari was… she was the last one.”

“One of the services we provide ‘ere is cremation. People pay us a fair bit o’ lien jus’ tah have their loved ones crystallized af’er bein’ turned to ash. It’s awful and hideous when i’s a child. I’m a doctor, I ‘ave to try ev’ry avenue to save ev’ryone I can before havin’ to make a call. Tha’s my job. I’s ‘ow I live my life.”

“It hurt… broke me down bit by bit to ‘ave someone else’s child and be th’ las’ face to see ‘em alive. Sendin’ out those messages was never easy. Gettin’ people in t’ say goodbye was ‘harder given the circumstances of our fundin’ now. We ‘ave a grave for ev’ry single young soul tha’ didn’t make it. Movin’ corpses was never easy either when yer stuck out in the middle o’ nowhere.”

“So I started leavin’ and takin’ calls off site. It was better for th’ families tha’ way. All except for mine.”

#ORCD Associate: Verdant #tw:death #tw:child death #Anonymous #Garden Tales #so this wasn't who i thought it was i played myself