thesullenfawn

[thesullenfawn]

if you are one of the Ethel Cain fans who is fighting with incest survivors or telling incest survivors how hot you think incest is you should put that phone down and go outside for a second. That is disgusting and needlessly cruel behavior, it's extremely worrying to show such level of lack of empathy towards people whether or not you are a victim of incest yourself. Spend that time defending Hayden against vile transmisogynists and terfs instead idk.

I like Hayden and still, as a black neurodivergent person, I'm able to take some distance from my love for her art in order to criticize her past actions. If you find yourself in a place where you're acting like a Stan you need to put the phone down or to close that fucking laptop and go on a fucking walk omggg. No amount of loving an artist should have you normalizing having a racist / edgelord phase (especially by saying that all neurodivergent people go through on) or being insensitive towards victims voicing discomfort (even when you are a victim who disagrees with them, be normal about not agreeing with someone, you can be kind while disagreeing it's really not that hard). While white people having a "racist edgelord phase" (it's definitely not a phase for the majority of y'all even when y'all think you stopped being racist) is "common" we should be cautious to not talk about it in a way that lessen the severity of those jokes. Jokes play an essential role in maintaining hierarchy, they're not neutral and harmless, because words are never neutral and devoid of the ability to cause harm.

Most of the incest survivors I've seen who weren't terfs were people genuinely disappointed that someone who managed to write in a thoughtful and non-fetishizing manner about incest would then turn around to joke about legalizing incest. It's really not that weird to be disappointed that this happened.

[thesullenfawn]

her watch: the series - masterlist

summary: assigned to protect a bratty but irresistibly sweet young socialite in the heart of new york city, abigail “abby” anderson thought this would be just another high-profile babysitting gig. but between designer tantrums, sharp-tongued teasing, and late-night glances that linger too long, lines begin to blur. as tension builds and boundaries are tested, abby finds herself dangerously drawn to the spoiled girl she’s supposed to keep safe — and control becomes a game neither of them are playing fair.

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part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

part 6

part 7

part 8

part 9

part 10

part 11

part 12

part 13

part 14

part 15

[thesullenfawn]

c'mon, baby put a little

Sugar in the tank

paring: modern!ellie x reader

synopsis: You're staying with your extended family in Jackson for the summer. you dreaded being alone with your cousins, but someone catches your eye.

p1 p2

--

The smell of the warm summer day hit your nose as you walked down the small downtown of Jackson. You were visiting your cousins who live a different life than you. Barns instead of skyscrapers and horses instead of taxis. The mountains were beautiful the tippy tops hidden in the clouds, almost like the buildings back at home. You haven't visited in a while so coming back to the small town hidden in by the many mountains was a bit of a culture shock. Your older cousin had left you to explore the downtown while he grabbed some stuff for dinner tonight so you walk aimlessly down the streets of Jackson. 

He left you at the beginning of the downtown strip by the supermarket the rest of the shops left untouched, so you head down to see what catches your eye. Pastry shop? no.. you just ate a while ago. maybe after dinner. Gift shop? you’ll go on the last day to bring back a gift for your parents, you thought to yourself. But third times a charm a sign with navy blue and white lettering “Millers Music” caught your eye from across the street and a large window in front, the blue font on the window matching the sign above it.  You dart your eyes up and down the street both ways and walk across the cobblestone road to the store.

As you reach for the old brass door knob you could already hear the music muffled before you. The music grew louder as you stepped inside, velvet underground if your ears were right. The check out counter split the store in half on the right the wall decorated with acoustic guitars from the top and bottom ranging from different shades of brown to more fun colors like red and blue. And on the left the records, sorted from A-Z with music posters on the wall and some older movie posters. You dig into the plethora of records, hoping to find something that intrests you. 

Life was slow at Millers Music, Ellie was leaned back in her stool, back proped up agains one side of the counter and feet pushed up against the front part, fiddling with an old capo that belonged to Joel, humming lightly to the music blasting on the speakers. Dina was right next to her checking the count for the next shipment of records coming in and what releases. The ping of the bell caught both of their attentions. Normally they would just ignore it, the usual teens coming in after their shifts to see what new records had come in, or one of Joel’s friends checking out a guitar. But instead in was you painted with a shy and curious look on your face eyes darting to either side of the store. 

“Deens, Whos that girl?” Ellie asks, tilting her head towards her friend, brow furrowed. Dina responds to Ellie but only looking at the back of your head. “I don’t know, I’ve never seen her before,” The two girls eyes watch curiously at you. You still have your back turned to them unable to make out what they’re saying and only intrested in your record finds “We don’t get a lot of tourists in Jackson,” Ellie wonders “Do we?” 

“She could be visiting family,” Dina assuress her, still locked in on you as you make your way down the M section of artists. Coming down towards the end of the wall you flip to the other side of the records finally facing the two girls at the front desk. You finally make eye contact with them who are already ogling you. “Let us know if you need any help,” Dina quickly smiles at you before the three of you break eyes. You smile in reasurance and go back to flipping through records. 

Ellie swivels her chair facing Dina, eyes wide letting out the air in her cheeks. “Close call,” Ellie takes a quick glance back towards you and back at Dina “She’s really cute,” 

“You know maybe you should ask her to Jesses party tonight,” Dina tells her. Ellies eyes light up and smile at Dinas idea. 

“You think I should?”

“Ellie, I was joking” 

“Hey, but its not a bad idea,” Ellie swivels her chair the other way around facing back towards you, messing around with other stuff on the counter to ‘look busy’ “It’s not one of the worst ideas you’ve come up with in that magical brain of yours,” Ellie sneers earing a slap on the arm with a note pad by Dina. The bell was heard yet again, another guest enters the shop. 

“Oh hi! Mr. Johnson,” Dina says to the older man, gutiar in hand. “Look at what we got there,” 

“Hey, Deenuh, hey Ellie,” Mr. Johnsons thick accent slipping through his black and white mustashe almost out of a movie. He lays his gutiar down on the counter for Dina to look at. “Just lookin to do some uh restringin’.” 

“Of course! I can get that set up for you,” Dina smiles as she picks up the gutitar by the base and neck, looking down at the bride of the guitar. “Ellie, why do you help the other guests,” 

Ellie snaps out of her trance to look up at you waiting patitenly by the closest check out counter to the records. Ellie smiles lightly to hide her embarassment. “Ready to checkout?” you nod in response smiling up at her and place the record facing you on  Ellie gets up off her swivel stool. The chair still spinning as she gets up to set up the cash register. “Lets see what you’ve got here” She takes the record off the counter to face her and scan the barcode. 

“Oh my God, I Love Elliot Smith!” Ellie beams at the record in her hands. Shes glad she had something good to talk to you about to break the ice. You chuckle at her excitement. You finally get to take a look at her upclose. Ellie.Shes now standing up at you, the apples of her cheeks exentuating her freckles and her pink lips open showing her bunny teeth. The name on her name tag reading Joel in thick black sharpie and pinned upsidedown on her raggety blue flannel

“Yeah I can never find his records where I live, they’re always all sold out,” You explain to her, looking at her arm exposing her moth and fern tattoo. 

“If you don’t mind me asking where are you from?” She asks you typing the numbers blindlessly into the cash register because she knows it too well. 

“I’m from New York,” You tell her, reaching into your bag to pay her what you owe her. 

“Ooo city girl, I like it,” She laughs as she takes your credit card from your and as she swipes it through. “So uh what brings you thousands of miles to Jackson?” The town is a small communtiy so everyone knows everyone type of thing She tries to explain to clear the air about staring at you earlier. 

“Oh! I’m here to visit my cousins for the summer! Joe. He’s around my age, Have you heard of him?” You ask blindly. Ellie’s smile drops a little but not noticable enough for you to catch on, but you did. She lets out a sigh before responding.

“Yes, I have,” Ellie grinds through her teeth. She hands your card gently back to you in contrast to the name ringing in her ears. You furrow your brow as you take the card from her puzzled at her sudden tone change. 

“Is something wrong? I barely ever see him so if he did something bad I don’t associate,” You ramble on. You really want to make a friend this summer and not just kicking around your aunt and uncles house. Ellie chuckles at your response. 

“No worries,” She pushes the record closer to you and drums her fingers on the counter. You smile at her, tuck the record under neath your arm and start walking towards the door. You promised to find with your cousin who you said you would meet up with outside the grocery store . Nice going Ellie. She thinks to herself. Jesses party. 

“Wait! Wait.” Ellie reaches a hand out towards you to stop you from leaving. You turn on your heel to walk back towards her and your met with the same beaming smile before. “Hi! um my friend is having this party down by the creek, right near the movie theater, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?” 

“Yeah, that sounds fun I’d love to,” You sway your body a little before replying back to her “I look forward to seeing you later.” 

— 

You finally meet your cousin who’s waiting impatently by his old blue pick up leaning against the drivers door of the car. “Where were you?” He asks you flatly. You smile and hold up your newest record find so that he could see. He groans and rolls his eyes as he gets up and into the car and you soon follow. The car ride was silent until you break the ice as you pull up to his house just outside of town. “Do you know an Ellie?” you ask curiously, wondering if he’d give out the same reaction as Ellie. He grew quiet and instead he gripped onto the streering wheel, eyes narrowed. And before he slammed the car door and walked into the house he said:

“Don’t…fucking…talk to me about Ellie fucking Willams”

hii i really hope to continue this fic because i really like it so far so lmk what u guys think :) (if u want to be added to a tag list tell me!!)

-mikey

[thesullenfawn]

Fuck it -- God bless the rural queers. God bless every dyke, faggot and tranny who lives in a town with less than 10k. God bless every queer living in red towns in red counties, in blue states or red states alike. God bless every queer who's also a redneck, who knows how to hunt and fish. God bless every queer living in a town where every other house is condemned. Where half the storefronts are empty.

God bless rural queers.

[thesullenfawn]

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

[thesullenfawn]

ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

Jock Abby! who has more guy friends than girl ones. Whenever someone calls her a pick me she's just so confused. She just likes having guy friends,what's so wrong with that?

Jock Abby! who flirts with the cheerleaders that are cheering for her team. Safe to say she's very popular with the girls.

Jock Abby! who can't stand homophobia for the life of her (obviously). She punched some guy of an opposite team once when he called her the big F word. She got a big pep talk from her coach after that but she couldn't give less of a fuck.

Jock Abby! who,despite flirting with the cheerleaders,never gets into relationships. She's a very 'if I get into a relationship,it better be serious' girl.

Jock Abby! whose parents are divorced. She doesn't talk about it a lot but she does absolutely love her dad and mom.

Jock Abby! whose room is full of football stuff. Posters,random cards or even jerseys? You name it. She has it all.

Jock Abby! who gets seated next to you after being warned about talking too much for the third time that lesson.

Jock Abby! who didn't think much of you in the beginning. Just another random nerd in her class. Not really her usual crowd but she doesn't mind.

Jock Abby! who,when seeing the carabiner on your right belthoop,gets a bit more interested. She meets queer girls all the time,sure,but she didn't expect for you to be one of them. She doesn't really know what suddenly made her so intrigued in you.

Jock Abby! who makes it very obvious when taking interest in you. She leans her arm on the back of your chair without a reason,talking to you with a fat smirk on her face. She thinks you're so fucking cute whenever you look at her like you're just confused why she's talking to you in the first place.

Jock Abby! who tells you to come to her upcoming game. And when you agree,she's a bit too excited. She's a bit down bad,maybe,and even her teammates notice that when she looks like a searching puppy when the game day comes.

Jock Abby! who does her best that game. Scores a lot of fucking points and at the end,when her team wins,shoots you the biggest grin ever.

Jock Abby! who then later invites you out to a date and,when you agree,has to hold herself back from getting even more happy. She's certainly screwed but she doesn't mind.

[thesullenfawn]

Finally back!!

Outgrown

Part One: Return.

Tags: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader, possible future smut, slight religious trauma but not really mentioned.

Notes: Hi! Finally writing again after almost a year, I’m not gonna lie when I say, I have NO idea how this fic is going to evolve, I’m just going to make the story as I write, I hope that’s okay for everyone! That’s why tags are very vague.

divider.

You still wear that cross necklace everyday, even though you swear you’ve deconstructed. It can be used as a safety sort of thing, you think, but at the same time the people in Chicago don’t really seem to care.

That’s where you find yourself now, driving down the interstate home. Mississippi, the birthplace of the blues and Elvis Presley. God, that town, you think you’re regretting your choices only two hours into this long drive. But at the same time, the honeysuckles, sweet tea, the slow pace of life, its drawing you back home.

Chicago drained you, big cities in general drained you. After three years of living there and not leaving, you’re starting to think that maybe the city life isn’t really your cup of tea.

Finally, after eight more hours of driving with a stay in a motel in between, you’re home. The air is different; it’s fresher, sweeter, humid. You can feel your hair start to frizz already. It’s eight AM on a Sunday when you walk through the front door of your childhood home, you assume Grammy is getting ready for Church, if not gone already. The smell when you walk in could’ve sent you back ten years. The instant coffee, the lilies that Grammy insisted on always having on the kitchen table, and also just that average old-person-house smell.

You leave your bags on the floor at the door and walk in further, seeing Grammy at the kitchen table drawing on her eyebrows with some pyramid scheme branded pomade, the same one she’s been using since you can remember. She glances up at me and stands, walking over to hug me, “Oh, Baby, come here, you’re in time to get ready for Church, too”. Shit, you thought, you’re going to see everyone. Everyone’s going to see you.

Even the people you wanted to forget about.

[thesullenfawn]

Outgrown

Part One: Return.

Tags: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader, possible future smut, slight religious trauma but not really mentioned.

Notes: Hi! Finally writing again after almost a year, I’m not gonna lie when I say, I have NO idea how this fic is going to evolve, I’m just going to make the story as I write, I hope that’s okay for everyone! That’s why tags are very vague.

divider.

You still wear that cross necklace everyday, even though you swear you’ve deconstructed. It can be used as a safety sort of thing, you think, but at the same time the people in Chicago don’t really seem to care.

That’s where you find yourself now, driving down the interstate home. Mississippi, the birthplace of the blues and Elvis Presley. God, that town, you think you’re regretting your choices only two hours into this long drive. But at the same time, the honeysuckles, sweet tea, the slow pace of life, its drawing you back home.

Chicago drained you, big cities in general drained you. After three years of living there and not leaving, you’re starting to think that maybe the city life isn’t really your cup of tea.

Finally, after eight more hours of driving with a stay in a motel in between, you’re home. The air is different; it’s fresher, sweeter, humid. You can feel your hair start to frizz already. It’s eight AM on a Sunday when you walk through the front door of your childhood home, you assume Grammy is getting ready for Church, if not gone already. The smell when you walk in could’ve sent you back ten years. The instant coffee, the lilies that Grammy insisted on always having on the kitchen table, and also just that average old-person-house smell.

You leave your bags on the floor at the door and walk in further, seeing Grammy at the kitchen table drawing on her eyebrows with some pyramid scheme branded pomade, the same one she’s been using since you can remember. She glances up at me and stands, walking over to hug me, “Oh, Baby, come here, you’re in time to get ready for Church, too”. Shit, you thought, you’re going to see everyone. Everyone’s going to see you.

Even the people you wanted to forget about.

[thesullenfawn]

yellow & gold line dividers:

please like and credit if you use, reblogs are appreciated! thank you! 💕

[thesullenfawn]

neutral colored lace dividers for @strangerstilinski

please like and credit if you use, reblogs are appreciated! thank you! 💕

[thesullenfawn]

[thesullenfawn]

PATTERN BANNERS | knit.

──────── ⵌ GOLD …

──────── ⵌ MINT …

──────── ⵌ RED …

──────── ⵌ CORAL …

I call this Christmas sweater vibes ;)))) I wanted to make something that looked and felt like sweaters and I think I did it ?! it was fun trying to achieve that ‘knit’ texture haha. learned a few new things and new techniques as well HAHAHH.

this is so so so so out of what I normally do—srsly, patterns ? maximalist patterns ?! who am I ?!

feel free to send / comment colours you’d like to see next for this set ♡

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

support me through ko-fi | more dividers →

[thesullenfawn]

dare i say it, those writers out there writing dark!ellie or dark!character are straight up romanticising abuse and assault , it makes me sick just to read some of peoples requests.

like i get possessive (to an extent) type shit but why are people writing about ellie beating up the reader? and the writer is just like “if you don’t like it, block me.” like.. do you not see the problem.

and all their other arguments are “we are all adults!” yet you are writing the reader like a child with the innocent reader fics

like don’t pmo ellie would not beat you up, abuse is not something to be romanticised.

[thesullenfawn]

hey uh maybe we shouldnt celebrate a catastrophic flooding event where CHILDREN have fucking died??????!!!!! i dont care if yall view appalachia as disposable piece of shit hillbillies, the children living here did NOTHING wrong. what the fuck is wrong with yall.

btw ur also cheering for the suffering of queer appalachians, black appalachians, trans appalachians, and so many other marginalized identities that call this place home. but i forgot yall only care about marginalized people if they live in progressive places. go fuck urselves truly and sincerely

[thesullenfawn]

tw/ mentions of rape/sa

Finally here to address a few things that are circulating through the TLOU community. There seems to have been an influx of noncon/cnc fanfictions where ellie/abby/whoever and reader are indulging in rape fantasies. Trust, I have a lot to say and people are gonna hate me but I truly do not care. Argue with a brick wall because it will listen better than me and go cry about it.

It is absolutely APPALLING the amount of noncon I see. There are some kinks/fantasies that y'all should keep to y'allselves. I have come across some WITHOUT A FUCKING WARNING. As a victim of rape myself, I do not want to fucking see that ESPECIALLY WITH NO WARNING LIKE HAVE SOME FUCKING DECORUM.

If you are a victim yourself and you feel it helps you, I swear to you it's only making it worse. As someone who has literally tried cnc with my partner thinking it'll heal me: it didn't. No, you will never heal from what happened to you but it can/will get better. But not this way. Not only are you subjecting adults but you are subjecting children (bc yes, minors will read ur shit without interacting so they can keep reading ur stuff) to vile things. They could be impressionable and believe it's okay. You're also making things worse for yourself. I truly hope that if the shoe fits, you wear it and seek any help you can find. IT GETS BETTER. Believe me.

If you aren't a victim writing about those things: you are fucking sick. I pray you will never become a victim because sometimes, I can't fucking sleep because of what happened to me. Intimacy isn't normal for me anymore. I could never wish that for another person. And you're fucking sick to casually write about it. SEEK HELP.

If you feel this is targeted, it is and I'm not a fucking pussy so if you wanna shit on me go the fuck ahead. I'm tired of wanting to be nice on here when deep down I have so much fucking shit to say to a lot of people. I can't believe I actually have to THINK about getting shit on when this should be??? a normal way of fucking thinking ???

Anyways I'm turning my anons off because if y'all have something to say, you better have the fucking balls and speak with your fucking chest. Bye bye for now, and sorry for my readers who may be confused about this love y'all and pls avoid rape fantasy fics!

[thesullenfawn]

trust me when i say that growing up religious actually makes you grow up faster a lot of the time, but in an "always questioning yourself" type of way, and because of purity culture

i know this might be controversial, but enough is enough.

as someone who grew up in the rigidity—and, at times, oppressive nature—of roman catholicism, i am so tired of the religious!reader trope where they’re portrayed as so innocent they’re practically a child. we were not innocent. we knew the names of our bodies, the weight of shame, and the crushing complexity of guilt. i knew that my vagina was a vagina.

the sheer amount of extremely innocent!religious!reader fics is unsettling. they turn the reader into this caricature—wide-eyed, naive, almost infantilized, complete with pigtails and an oversized cross necklace perfect for a porn video thumbnail.

for me—and for a lot of other lesbians i’ve bonded with over religious trauma—it was never about innocence. it was about guilt. guilt over pleasure, guilt over sin, and all the ways we punished ourselves for being human.

we weren’t these overgrown children teetering around in purity. we were messy, complicated, and burdened by shame in ways that were far more nuanced than these portrayals ever capture. enough, please.

[thesullenfawn]

FEED ME!

PART III: MILK AND COOKIES ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 4.7k words

SUMMARY: The third trimester.

TAGS: 18+ (oral and fingering, both receiving). fluff. happy ending.

NOTES: this is the last chapter and im so sad about it. already working on an epilogue i love these two so bad

-> READ ON AO3 | 1 / 2 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Sevika is officially at a loss. She's never experienced this kind of… affection before, and maybe it’s a pregnancy thing, but you just won’t leave her alone. Constantly touching her, talking to her, following her around both the apartment and the streets like you can't bear to be apart.

It's weird. Terrifying, as much as she hates to admit it. Because she actually likes it. Has gotten a taste of what she's been missing, and she can't get enough.

Her favorite moments are when you join her in bed, all sleepy and grumbling. Smelling like her soap, wearing her clothes, laying in her sheets. Hers. Hers.

She's never been able to say that.

You curl up against her side as best as your belly allows, cheek atop her shoulder, arm slung across her chest to play with her hair. She purrs like a cat, turns her head to give you better access to the strands that have grown a bit too long for her liking.

“Found a midwife while I was out yesterday,” she says. “She's probably delivered half the babies in the Undercity.”

You exhale a soft breath. “That's a relief.”

“We’re going tomorrow.”

The hand in her hair moves to shift her head toward you, touch light against the curve of her jaw.

Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chin dimples as you peer up at her. “Thank you, Sevika. I mean it. I'm grateful.”

She nods, leans forward to rest her lips against your forehead. “I know.”

You sleep in late the next morning, a new routine you’ve picked up over that last couple of weeks. Late enough that she has to wake you up for your unofficial appointment, and you sulk in bed for the better part of twenty minutes before finally getting up to start the day.

After a long walk, you reach the building belonging to the midwife. The woman that waves you inside oozes experience with her curly grey hair and deep-set wrinkles. A pillar of the community according to the women she spoke with (Sevika had to make sure that she would take good care of you, after all). Brought into the world half the kids walking around the Undercity. Stern but loving.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’m Lyra.”

You smile in return and give her your own name, accepting the arm that the woman offers to help you onto the stoop.

Lyra orders Sevika to wait outside, says the exam shouldn’t take long. It makes her skin itch, the thought of leaving you alone with this stranger, but you give her one final, reassuring smile, and she knows she’s outnumbered.

Fine. She can wait. But she doesn’t have to be happy about it.

She spends her time smoking cigarettes and people-watching. The streets are busy this time of day, families passing through, couples holding hands. A father carries his daughter on his shoulders, her tiny hands curled beneath his chin, and she thinks of her old man. If he’d see the person she became and look upon her with pride. Maybe he’d tell her that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, that his grief over losing her mother and brother corrupted him. That he fucked up big time with raising her the way he did.

As a teenager she was rebellious, desperate to free herself from under his thumb. Got into the wrong crowd more times than she can count. An unfortunate side effect of anger and impulse—a dangerous recipe she’s relieved she grew out of.

For the longest time, she was left with that anger. It never failed her, never broke her heart, never left her behind. It was safe.

Your presence hasn’t fixed everything in her life, but it’s softened her edges. Cured the loneliness that added fuel to the fire. And every day that passes means one less day she might have with you. She knows the kid is due soon, a month at most.

She can’t lose you like she lost her mother. But she’s in too deep to back out. Couldn’t if she tried.

Still, the thought terrifies her.

And although she’s never considered herself a good candidate for parenthood, for building a family in general, she’s accepted that she now has a kid to raise. A less scary prospect when it’s you she’s raising it—her—with. You’ll be a great mom, already are despite the circumstances.

When the front door creaks open, she shoves away from the wall and stamps out her cigarette, waving the smoke away (even though she stands at the corner of the building).

You step out with a wide smile and a new canvas bag looped around your arm, waving goodbye to Lyra. When the door closes, you spot her immediately, reaching for her hand as she walks over.

“How was it?” she asks, leading you out into the street.

“Good. Baby’s healthy, and she thinks I have a few weeks before I give birth.” Your unoccupied hand reaches around to rub at your back. “Praise Janna, ‘cause this kid’s getting heavy.”

“I’ll rub your back when we get home.” A second-nature offer, instinct at this point.

“Oh!” You squeeze at her hand, take a step in front of her to say, “Can we get some more sweetbread while we’re out? I’ve been craving some all day.”

Your eyes shimmer at the mention, and she fully expects you to start drooling at any moment.

“Yeah, we can.”

An expression of relief paints your face, and she can’t help the smile that stretches her lips. “I absolutely love you right now.”

Her heart explodes inside her chest. She wonders how deeply you meant it, then decides that she’d rather not find out. Better to exist within the realm of her own fantasy for a little while longer.

.

.

.

The kid’s due any day now, and you’re ready to lose your mind. She’s given more massages in the last few weeks than she ever has in her life. Every day introduces another thing for you to cry over. Sleeping is difficult, as is every other task.

But today, she touches your stomach for the first time. Lays a hand against the taut skin and registers the flutter of… something beneath her palm.

“Feel that? She’s kicking the shit out of me.”

She looks up at you with a raised brow. “Takes after her mom.” Says it just to watch you giggle and roll your eyes.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You have a lot more room than she does.”

This is her life now. A realization that catches her off-guard, stops her in her tracks, and your hand reaches over to comb through her hair as her entire world falls apart. Like her center of gravity has shifted—like there’s no gravity at all anymore.

“Hey. You okay?”

She looks up at you, brows furrowed in thought. “Yeah.”

Everything has changed, and soon, things will change even more. She’s already bribed a handful of lackeys to do her jobs the next few weeks, and she’s lost sight of the main goal. Can’t really pinpoint when the switch happened.

Except she can: the moment you grabbed her hand that night in the alley—the moment you dug yourself a home in her heart.

But she has a plan. Set you up in a quaint house in the better part of the city, get in touch with some old friends that could hire you on for some money, and continue her duties as Silco’s right hand. It’s selfish of her, wanting the best of both worlds, but maybe there doesn’t have to be an either/or. Maybe she can have both.

Maybe her old man was wrong.

(Shit, she's turning into Vander—the Vander who prioritized his kids before the good of the Undercity.

If she starts considering deals with Enforcers, she might as well hang it up.)

A soft kiss to her forehead as she lays her cheek on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Nothing you need to concern yourself with.

She exhales a breath through her nose. “I’m not used to this. Being happy, I guess.”

“Me neither. It’s weird, isn’t it? The good kind.”

“We should move. Get a bigger place.”

“What, you don't like it here?”

The mocking grin you shoot her makes her lip curl. “No. I never have.”

You roll your eyes. “I was joking. I think it's a fantastic idea.”

“Later, then. After the kid comes.”

You press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, snuggling closer into her side. “Fine by me.”

When she gets home the next day after a chaotic morning of running around the docks, she finds you in bed with a large book and a pen.

“So. I got this today.” You hold it up to show her the covering, the letters embroidered in the black fabric.

“You sure you’re supposed to be holding something that heavy?” she asks, brows lowered as she walks up to the bed with an outstretched hand.

Lips twisting into a frown, you pull the book to your chest. “Not the point. Look at the title.”

100 BABY NAMES AND THE MEANINGS BEHIND THEM.

She exhales a laugh. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Tayla brought it by. Gave us some free cookies, too.”

“Really? I didn’t see any.”

You glance away from her, lowering the book to your lap. “I might’ve indulged a little bit, but to be fair, I didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”

Something warm swirls in her chest. Affection—an emotion she welcomes with a small smile. “I told you I’d be back today.”

She takes a seat next to you on the bed, peering over your shoulder to the page below. You’re on the letter S now, some names underlined in pen.

You blow out a breath, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder. “I need your help picking a name.”

“I'm not the creative type.”

“You don't have to be. The list is right here.”

In truth, she doesn't want to choose. It's not her kid, not her future to determine.

“You're her mom,” she says, quiet, words stained with a sadness she didn't realize she even had.

You fall quiet for a moment, picking at a corner of the page with your thumb.

“If you want, and only if you want, you can be in her life, too—”

She says your name with a resigned sigh.

You turn to look at her, a hand braced against her thigh. A searing brand even through the fabric of her pants. “I know we haven't talked about it, but… I don't expect you to take care of me forever, especially since I'm gonna have a baby. I just—”

“Stop.”

She hasn't talked about it because it isn't a conversation she wants to have. Confronting the inevitable means moving forward, and she doesn't want to. She wants to live in her little bubble where the Big Bad is defeated and she might actually get a happy fucking ending.

“I'm serious. You've done enough for me. She's my responsibility, not yours, but—”

“You both are. End of story.”

“I wanna be more than your responsibility, Sevika.”

At the hurt look on your face, the prickling of tears in your eyes, she panics. Backtracks as quick as she can. “No, you are. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then I want you in her life. Taking care of her, teaching her, loving her the way you do me.” You rest a hand on her cheek, smile sad and watery. “The way I do you.”

She doesn't know what to say. If she can even form words right now from the way her tongue hardens to stone inside her mouth. But her heart tenders, dissolves at your words.

You love her. You actually love her. Stupid, naïve, weak woman.

She kisses you, soft and sweet. Cradles the back of your neck in her palm like you're the only thing keeping her world glued together.

“You mean that,” she mutters, nose brushing against yours, lips a ghosting touch against your own.

“That I love you?” She nods, and you grin. “Have you met yourself? How the hell could I not?”

She exhales a laugh. Relief relaxes the pouch of her lungs—relief and something a lot more sickly.

Fear. Can't remember the last time she's been loved, been open to it. So far beyond possibility's reach she couldn't grasp it if she tried. For most of her years alive, she hasn't even wanted it. At its very core, love is what killed her mother and destroyed her father from the inside out. It makes you weak, stupid, impulsive. Irrational. A word that has no business in her vocabulary.

So why, then, does the word seem so appealing when it's you?

“I would like for this… thing between us to last a while. But I don't want you to feel pressured into it.” You shrug. “I come with a lot of baggage.”

She exhales through her nose. Says, “So do I.”

You roam your eyes over her face, a soft smile stretching your lips, before you plant the book in her lap. “Pick. I've already underlined the ones that interest me.”

“And if it's a boy?”

“It won't be. I'm telling you, I sense it. The baby whispers to me in my dreams.”

She actually laughs at that. “That another pregnancy thing?”

“Yep. Now pick. Don't make me tell you again.”

With a raise of her brows (you already have the mom voice down), she turns to the page. Runs her finger over each underlined name, testing them on her tongue, before landing on:

Stella — ‘star’

“This one.”

You peer down at the one she chose, cheek squished against her arm. “Why that one?”

She pulls a face. “Well…” It reminds her of how you've been the brightest thing in her life thus far, and if everything goes to plan, the kid won't be limited to the cage of the Undercity–she'll have the whole universe at her fingertips. “I like the sound of it.”

You nod, slow and thoughtful. “Stella… Ste…lla. Stella.” A tilt of your head. “I like it. It's pretty.”

So are you, she wants to say, but she stays silent.

.

.

.

You're ready to pop this kid out.

Lyra stopped by yesterday, examined you behind the locked door of the bedroom, and said that it was time. Suggested a more… unorthodox method to induce labor.

(”Sex is the most natural thing in the entire world,” she had said, turning to Sevika with both hands on her hips and a deep frown. “Why do you act so surprised, dear?”)

You're a lot less open to the idea, no matter how ready you are to be done with pregnancy.

“I just don't understand how you could want me,” spoken softly, melancholic.

Sat on the bed, Sevika soothes a palm over your thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean physically. ‘Cause of the…” You motion to your stomach, and she shushes you with a kiss.

“I don't care. You're more than that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I want to help you.”

Your brows cant upward, a war waging in your brain as your eyes dart back and forth over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I'm sure.”

With a relieved breath, you nod your head. “Gods, please help me.”

Sevika is not soft, but she has to be with you. Wants to be.

You lay down in the sheets that smell so much like you and spend five minutes getting comfortable, fluffing the pillows behind you and removing clothes and adjusting your hips. You spread your legs and her first instinct is to bite, to scar the plump curve of your inner thigh, but she can't. Won't. Too much trust in the way your soft body blooms for her, fingers delicate on your full tits.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. A loaded question—it isn't the act itself, but the person you've chosen for it. She wants to be seen as worthy after what you've been through.

“I've had the last ten minutes to change my mind,” you say, lips spreading into a dopey grin. “Need it so bad. Need you to help me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a steady breath at the sound of you so needy and sweet. Smooths a rough palm over the lower curve of your belly before pressing a kiss to your cunt. Already slick, puffy against her lips. Her tongue licks over your clit and you whine, fingers twisting around hers so tight the joints creak.

“Shit, that's—” You're cut off by a heavy sigh when she sucks the bundle of nerves into her mouth, soft and rhythmic, humming against you.

Best thing she's ever tasted, skin so soft under her hand, so wet she risks drowning. What a way to fucking go. You tilt your hips up to rut against her face, and she rides out your movements, offering up her tongue for you to grind against. Her hands move to your thighs but you bat her flesh one away.

“Fingers, Sev, please–need your—”

She's quick to split you open on two, groaning at the slick heat that sucks her in, at the way your shudder and keen high in your throat.

Between the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers and her tongue licking over your clit, it doesn't take much for you to cum. A surprisingly short time, in fact. Must have something to do with hormones, who fucking knows. It's hot. A beautiful thimg to watch—and feel, fuck—as you fall apart from just her fingers and tongue. Thighs tensing over her shoulders, insides fluttering, a hand fisted in her hair.

When you whine and shove at her head, she leans away with a long inhale of breath, sitting back to look at you still spread out beneath her, chest heaving, cunt plump and glistening. You've made a wet spot on the sheets under your ass.

You swallow with a click, arms stretching over your head. “Damn. Didn't realize how bad I needed that.”

She huffs out a laugh, wiping the lower half of her face off with her shirt (still can’t get over how wet you were; never seen anything like it in her life). “Glad I could help.”

“Your mouth should be illegal.”

She crawls up on the bed then settles in beside you as you lavish her with praise, basking in the afterglow with a hand in hers. Heat flushes up the back of her neck and courses down the length of her spine when you beg to kiss her, to taste yourself on her tongue.

You'll be the death of her.

She curls a hand over the back of your neck and slots her lips against yours, and immediately, you lick into her mouth. A moan vibrates your chest as you pull her closer, both arms wrapping around her neck.

“Can I return the favor?”

The question comes out of nowhere. By the steady rhythm of your breath, she thought you fell asleep ten minutes ago, but you're already rising to your knees to peer down at her with an expectant grin.

“That's not why I did it.”

“So I have to beg?”

A very nice thought. One she'd like to indulge in under different circumstances.

“How would you even—”

You roll your eyes. “For the love of Janna, I'm pregnant, not dying.” You scoot over to the side of the bed then grab one of the pillows you use to prop yourself up. “You can just lay on the edge of the bed, and I'll get on my knees in the floor.”

Well. You're more than willing, and she might actually combust if she doesn't cum soon. A win-win situation.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and helps you pull her briefs off.

When she spreads her legs, you tug your lower lip between your teeth, sweeping your eyes over her bare pussy. “I'm a little rusty, so you'll have to forgive me.”

She doesn't give a shit, will probably cum as soon as you get your mouth on her. And that's what she tells you.

With a teasing wriggle of your brows, you lean in, the flat of your tongue licking her from hole to clit. Her thighs twitch on either side of your shoulders, breath hissing through her teeth.

Shit, how long has it been since she—

“I don't have any other way to thank you for being so good to me,” you say, and her ears burn when you suck the lips of her pussy into your mouth. “This’ll have to do.”

She's nothing but a white-hot ball of need at this point. Heat broiling beneath her skin, coiling dangerously in the pit of her stomach.

You gaze up at her with low-lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue over her clit, watching her face twist up in pleasure.

Already, she's close. Thighs twitching, hips tilting up into your face. You circle two fingers over the entrance of her cunt, dipping in with a wet squelch.

When you lean away with a grin, she almost resorts to begging, and then you slide those fingers inside her, eyes locked onto the way she swallows you up.

“Fuck. You're so wet, Sev,” you pant, the thumb of your other hand raising to circle over her clit.

She knows. Shit, she knows—

“Please,” whispered under her breath.

Your soft gaze meets hers, and she's never felt so raw before. Flayed alive. Stripped down and vulnerable. The word means more than just begging. Sevika does not beg. Hasn't needed to in a very long time.

But she does for you.

“I know, baby.” You press a kiss to her puffy clit. “I'll take care of you.”

She will not cry. She absolutely will not fucking cry right now over some stupid little thing you said between her legs.

She collapses back against the bed and throws an arm over her face as you work her up to a quick orgasm with the steady rhythm of your fingers and tongue. She spreads her legs even wider when the coil in her belly snaps to keep from crushing your head between her thighs, and she grunts into the bend of her arm from how tight her limbs lock up.

It takes a good fifteen seconds before she can even breathe again, and she looks down the line of her body, flinching at the wet kiss you press to her stomach. Then another a little higher, and another, your chin sticky and slick as it glides over her skin.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for her hand to help you climb on the bed and straddle her waist.

You're beautiful like this. Sated and sleepy and still so wet that your pussy leaves a puddle on her stomach. But the the heated look you give her is a warning that you won’t be satisfied with just the one time.

Three rounds later—with you riding her face, and her leaned back against the wall, and you bent over the bed, and at one point you go to the kitchen for a snack and bend her over the counter, and then she fucks you in the shower when you’re supposed to bgetting clean—you’re both curled beneath the sheets, your belly pressing into her side, halfway between wake and sleep.

But something gnaws at her. Something she should've done months ago.

“I feel like shit. About… the way I talked to you when we first met.”

You sigh, and her heart begins to pound.

“Yeah, you were an asshole. A huge asshole.” At her guilty wince, you curl closer into her, cheek resting on her shoulder. Your hand soothes over the skin of her stomach. “But I get it now. You don't like to get close to people.”

“That's a nice way to put it.” She exhales a breath through her nose. Can't remember the last time she's tried to conjure up an apology. “I really am sorry, though. I want you to know that.”

You hum, voice thickening with the lull of sleep. “I appreciate it. Guess I knew there was more to you than what you show people.”

“Did the kid tell you that, too?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You already did. Four times.”

You laugh, and her sky shines a little brighter.

Everything is good. Great, in fact. But that’s the thing. Good things are fleeting in her life. Something always comes along to fuck it up.

She just hopes that the good days last a little while longer this time.

.

.

.

Fresh out the womb, the girl already looks like you—the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, your fingers and toes. Chubby-cheeked, a head full of thick hair, eyes blinking the world into existence.

Sevika does not make life, she destroys it, and yet in the same hands that have killed many, she holds creation in its purest form. Her face is one of the first things this baby will ever see.

She wants to cry.

She thinks of her mom, dying alone on that cold floor, and her vision mists over. Not this time. She’s older now, stronger, more lucid to the world. She'll do right by you—both of you.

But she’s terrified. Doesn’t know if she has it in her.

A trembling hand curls over her wrist, and she looks over, greeted by the gentle curve of your smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” you whisper, voice dragged through the jagged rocks of the river.

All she can do is nod, a thumb soothing over the fine wisps of your daughter’s hair. Curious eyes peer up at her, squinting, wiggling tiny little fingers.

She’s never held a baby before. Always thought them too fragile, but Lyra insisted that if a baby can squeeze through a vagina, it can handle being held. It made her feel better, if a little flustered, and you had laughed yourself to tears at the look on her face.

But the woman had a point.

She won't touch her with her prosthetic, though. For all Lyra's talk about hardiness and resilience, that part of her has no business near such an innocent thing. It's seen and felt too much blood. Caused it.

You notice, though. Of course you do.

“We can put a sheet around it,” you say in an attempt to reassure her, trailing a finger over the metal. “It's gonna be hard to hold her with one hand.”

“I'll manage.”

You let it go, turning back to nurse your glass of water, and she's grateful. Wouldn't budge on this no matter how hard you try.

She holds the baby until she can't any longer, when it's time for her to feed and the room fills with fussing cries. Watches you for a long time, long enough for you to notice and look up at her with a smile, eyes turning to those crescent moons that she loves so much.

Loves. Huh.

Yeah, she—fuck, she loves you. The realization scares the shit out of her, but the sight of you cooing at your nursing baby (hers, too, if she wants it, and she doesn't think she's wanted anything more in all her life) makes the fear inconsequential.

Now, she just has to figure out where the hell to go from here. How to be what you need.

A new place is a good start. She did promise you, after all.