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hangovercurse · 4 years ago

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Falling

Part 6 of the Without You series. Y/N tries to leave Colson’s life for good, but he is hell bent on keeping her.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, cheesy dialogue

A/N: It’s done! Read my post about the series if you want to know where I’m going from here. Thank you for reading thus far, I hope its lived up to its expectations! (Also kudos to you if you can name the artists each of the titles have come from)

Word Count: 1179

| i | ii | iii | iv | v |

masterlist

You were trying to push your way through the house with little luck. So much for an “outdoor” party. You were almost to the door when you heard your name being called.

“Y/N, where are you going?” Slim caught you in the crowd. You reluctantly turned to face him, putting a fake smile on your face.

“I’m not really feelin it right now, Slim. I’m gonna head out.” You shrugged, holding your arms as close to yourself as possible.

Slim gave you a concerned look, “Everything okay? I saw you and Colson out back. You guys are good now?”

You chuckled bitterly, “Yeah not really. We were and now we’re not. It’s confusing, don’t worry about it.” You shook your head, “I’ll talk to you later, Slim.”

You turned towards the door, only to hear “Man, what did this fool do this time?” You laughed, walking down the stairs of Trippie’s mansion-house and pulling out your phone, ordering an Uber.

You were 2 seconds from hitting the order button when you heard your ex-bestfriend scrambling down the stairs, calling your name. “Y/N. Fuck. Thank god you’re still here.”

“Just leave her alone, Kells.” Slim called out behind him.

You rolled your eyes, turning so your body was facing away from him. “Y/N I’m sorry.” He tried to stand in front of you, but you kept turning away from him. “Fuck it.” He said before grabbing your arm, spinning you to face him and pressing his lips to yours.

Your lips melded into his, all the frustration you’d been feeling towards him melting into his lips. You were too tired to resist him, giving in to your internal desires. Your hands reached up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

When you finally broke apart, you let out a small sigh. “See, Colson, this is why we will never work.” You stepped away from him as your Uber driver pulled up, “We’re too fucked up.”

You spun away from him, confirming your Uber driver’s name, your address, and then slipping into the backseat. You reached to close the door when a tattooed hand pulled it open. “Colson you can’t just-“

He slipped into the seat next to you, closing the door behind him. “I’m gonna talk, and you’re gonna listen. Please.” You thought about protesting, but you knew he wouldn’t give in. “I was an asshole, okay? I am an asshole. I know that and you know that. I just get so fucking insecure around you.”

You raised your eyebrow at his choice of word but let him continue. “I’ve never felt like this before. Like I’m constantly looking for signs that you want me. And then when I don’t find them, I get mad and I put up these walls and I say things to push you away. The truth is that I am terrified of rejection when you’re involved.

“Everything I’ve done I’ve been doing to try and get you back and I just seem to be fucking it up. And I know it’s way too late but I’m not giving up.”

You finally spoke, your words bitter. “You can’t get something back that you never actually had, Colson.”

You watched his face fall in your peripheral vision. Your heart sank and your head spun with thoughts of you and Colson. What would be the harm in being together? All of this would go away if you just let your walls down and let him in. But then, those walls were put up for a good reason. You couldn’t let yourself get attached to him again only for him to break you like he did. But then again, the years of your life spent with Colson had been the best of your life, much better than the last two months. But could you go through that same heartbreak? Was he worth it?

You turned to study him, his head leaning against the window as his eyes traced the passing neighborhoods. “Colson.” You said softly, causing his head to snap towards you, his blue crystals gazing into your own. You took a deep breath, searching for the words. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember knowing you, and I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop loving you.” His hand reached for yours, and you let him intertwine your fingers. “But I don’t want to- I can’t get hurt like that again. I was broken, I don’t know if I’ve even fully recovered. And I’m scared that if I let myself be in love with you that I’ll get hurt again.” Your eyes were watering as you searched for his, only to find them facing the floor, his thumb rubbing circles on your hand. “So, I guess I’m trying to figure out if it’s worth the risk. If you’re worth the risk.”

His eyes slowly raised to meet yours and you could see the fear he held. “Are you worth it?” You whispered.

His eyes widened, his mouth quivering as he searched for the right words to say. “I am. I swear. I’ll never fucking hurt you again. I’ll do whatever I need to do to prove it to you, just give me one more chance. Give me one chance and I’ll never let you go.”

You stayed silent, weighing his words even though your heart had already made the decision for you. “Okay.” You said softly, your hand squeezing his.

His eyebrow raised, “Okay?”

A smile spread across your face, “Okay.” Colson let out a small laugh, smiling like a toddler given candy. “Now kiss me you idiot.”

And he did. And it was pretty magical. Even though you were in the back of a pretty cramped uber, and even though there was a lot still left unresolved, nothing else mattered. All that mattered was Colson.

“So, I hate to break up what is, truthfully, a really sentimental moment, but we’re here.” Your uber driver, Marcus, said, looking at you two through the rearview mirror.

You giggled, face going red as you realized he had definitely heard all of your deeply personal conversation. Colson opened the door, still holding your hand, and helped you out of the car. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a $20 bill and handing it to the driver with an embarrassed smile.

You tugged on his hand, pulling him towards the apartment. His grip was unfortunately stronger than yours, and he ended up pulling you into him, his arms wrapping around you. His figure towered over you, and you pressed your cheek to his chest, breathing in his scent and listening to his gentle heartbeat.

“Fuck I’m so happy right now.” You looked up at his words, leaning up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his.

“Wait till we tell Casie about this.” You giggled.

He pressed a quick peck to your lips. “I think she’s already planning the wedding.”

Your eyes gleamed at the thought of a future with Colson, happiness settling in at the fact that he saw it too.

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst

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randomsevans · 4 years ago

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Pain of being in love part 3

Original apart of @jtargaryen18 #30daysofchris2020

Two weeks had dragged by as you felt like an empty shell going day by day . You hadn't spoken to anyone apart form Scott ,you haven't left the house unless it was for a good reason. You would constantly forget to eat so Scott became like your own personal chief.

And all this because the time had finally arrived where your love for chris was outshone by his own love for someone else .

Scott had told you that Lisa and Minka have been planning a engagement party much to chris dislike as he sees the announcement as an engagement party .

Chris had tried to call you but you always let it go to voice mail as it was probably an invitation to the party next Saturday. You really didnt want to go . The pain in your heart was begaing you not to as it cant take anymore hurt . But you knew as being the brothers best friend and a family friend you need to go . Because as much as it hurt you . You know that this will make Chris happy and you need to be happy for him even tho you are dying inside .

++++++++++++

It was the day before the party so the Friday and some how Scott had managed to get you out of your bed and house only to be in his house on his couch . Currently eating too much mint chocolate chip ice cream along with this stuiped movie Scott forced you to watch

Love Rosie .

"How fuckin ironic "

You knew that Scott put picked this movie on purpose . Whether it was for the both of you to make fun or the movie like you usual do or let you watch it because it was so fuckin relatable. Either way you too had ended up watching the movie in silence with a few mumbles about food or if one was getting up or not and even a giggle or two when Rosie was struggling with a new born .

It had got to the part of the wedding and oh by god how you related to it . Rosie speech on how she loves him no matter where he is or who hes with .. your heart was yelling someone gets it . You were stuck in your own your head focusing on Rosie words until Scott spoke up.

"How ?" He ask

"What ? " you were confused and faced him as he faced you turning his body as the movie played in the back ground .

"How , when, why ?" He stared directly into your eyes with the soft blue shade he shares with his brother

"What ? " you asked again

"When did you begin to have feeling for my brother and why ... and how much because not to be mean but iv never seen you like this not ever so his engagement clear has affected you " he said softly

You hadn't yet actually spoken the words I love your brother to Scott or I'm in love with him to be more exact but Scott had guest it never asked about it until now .

You were silent for a moment thinking ... well more like your head was empty of thoughts you just liked the silence.

"Who said I have feeling.... "

"Y/n " Scott cut you off

You shift in your seat turning to face Scott legs cross over each other and hands in your lap looking down .

"I .. I had always had a crush on him you know ... who didnt " scott hummed in agreement

"But do you remember that day when I...was ment to have my first date but he never showed up "

Once again Scott hummed

"Well Chris picked me up... and he tried cheering me up .. and it worked "

You glanced up a Scott who looked softly at you as your eyes hot glassy . You looked back down to your hands as there stared nervously fiddling with the ends of the blanket that was wrapped around you.

"Well we were at a dinner ... and do you know in movies it like you have loved someone and you always new . Well it wasnt like that ... "

You took a deep breath.

"I hit me .. like a truck ... he was sitting at the other side of the table... and it hit me everything flooded I... love him but not just that . Because I love you ."

That caused Scott to scoffed as if ' I know you do who doesnt '

"It was more ... well more like a different type of love ... or more like . I was in love in love with him ."

You glance up at the ceiling letting the tears sink back into your eyes as you shake your head .

"I AM in love with him "

You looked at Scott who now had tears in his eyes ..and red showing he was trying to hold them back .

"And I think I always will . "

You were both silent for a seconde

"No matter where he is ... or who hes with a will always love him "

That caused you both to giggle as you made your way into Scotts open arms

"Quoting are we " he chuckled as your head landed on his chest as his arms wrapped around you .

"Well you know me "

You heard him sniff as you felt a tear drop into your hair .

"Oh .. god ... how have you kept it in for so long... that was like ... .... we were 14 or 15 fuck how ? Why ?" He said softly as tears clouded his voice .

"I didnt say anything or do anything because he will never and has never felt the same I'm... im like a sister to him ...in a weird way... and I'd never deserve him ....."

You left your head and looked at Scott .

"And at the same time I realised iam in love with him I also knew nothing would become of it because... " tears bow fell down your eyes .

"Because it was better to have both of you in my life then not to have neither of you ... and I wasnt willing to risk it ..... and I knew ... I knew this time would come .... but it dosnt stop .... it doesn't stop it hurting " you couldn't help but let it all out as you tucked your self back into Scott

He placed a kiss in your hair

"Your a silly one ain't ya ..... I will always be here you know that " he said softly

"You do know that right ?"

You just nodded as your tears drained his shirt .

++++++++++

You stood at Lisa front door with Scott by your side much like that dreaded day three weeks ago . You were in a blue floral dress in small pumps waiting patiently as you heard the party already up and ready with in .

"Its not late to turn back " Scott whisper in your ear just before the door swang open. To reveal Minka at the door with a giant smile and an even bigger diamond on her left hand . That had somehow made your heat beat pain through out your veins.

"It is now " you whisper back before putting a wide fake smile on

"Minka .... contagralations " you tired your best not to sound bitter you really did .

"Y/n right ? " she asked looking you up and down . You just nodded your head

She was about to speak again when Chris practically ripped the door hinges off as he opened the door wider . As his eyes landed on you there grew and his month hung open as he let out a deep sigh . Making your heat beat fast instead of the numb feeling it has had over the last three weeks .

"Y/n " was all he said a small whisper .

You and Chris eyes were locked missing the fallen smile of Minka as she looked between the two of you here eyebrows knitting . While Scott had a small smirked placed on his lips due to Minka reaction

"Chris I thought we agreed I'd do the door " Minka snapped at chris . Breaking his eye contact with you . To glance at Minka for a split seconde

"Um yeah sorry " he said quickly and looked back deep into your eyes , with the softest blue shade "I... I just heard her name ..." he sighed and he said it slowly and softly . He tilted his head almost like a child went there feelings are hurt . "I haven't..... I havnt see you ... heard form you ... I tried calling but ..I always ... "

"I was busy " you cut him off

Before chris could answer or even process what you said , Lisa pops her head at the other side of the door

"What are you all doing out here ! ... come on come in "she took at step back with a wide smile , as you stepped in .

She pulled you in to a tight high as she always does "isn't this amazing.... finally get to celebrate my boy with hes wife to be "

You closed your eyes as your rested your chin on her shoulder and sighed "it sure is "

You took a step back and put on the widest smile .

What you didnt know was as you were facing momma Evan's. Two blue eyed boys looked at you with soften eyes but both for different reasons .

"Come on let's join the others " lisa said to all of us.

"I couldn't agree more Mrs Evan's " minka replied

"How many times Lisa or even better mom " lisa laught her and Minka walked side by side to the garden

"Ma! " chris said .

"What she will be my daughter in law soon so she better get use it " both lisa and Minka laught and diserperared into the garden . Leaving you , Scott and Chris still in the hall way of the front door .

"How soon exactly ?" Scott asked the fill the uneasy silence .

"Um its gonna be a fall wedding " chris replied

"Oh " was all you said as you felt the pit in your stomach grow and your heart beating fast

"Like .... next year or two ?" Scott said slowly shrugging with his hands in his pockets .

"Uh no " Chris paused and took at quick glance at you and looked at the floor . "This year .... in 3 months " he sighed.

And as if it wasnt possible you felt your heart crack more .

Scott only let out a deep sigh and grab your arm " come on y/n let's get a drink " you nod you head and began to walk to the garden . But you turned your head over your should and with a deep sigh , you dry throat and stinging eyes .

"Contraglation Chris " you sighted, eys watery " I'm... happy for yo... you ... sh ...Minka is a lucky girl " you choked out as Scott pulled you futher away as he tried to save you from futher heart break or for you to continue lying .

"I'm...not " Chris mumbled silently as you were out of earshot .. and took a deep sigh and then finally followed your direction and headed for the back yard.

The never ending growing pit in your soul and tears in your heart was growing more painful as you chuged down your first of many drinks of the night. But what do you expect it's the pain of being in love

Ps I didnt realise that the actress (lily colin)that play Rosie in the movie love Rosie actual dated chris

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans au #chris evans x y/n #captain america au #captain america #fanfic

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hiirunakaarchive · 4 years ago

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– to act in haste (pt. 4)

↳ preview

Dr. Sakurai, between acknowledging her company and putting on a smile for the press, let her eyes flit away momentarily from whoever it was she was shaking hands with at that moment. Her lips were pursed in a tight smile in an attempt to keep herself collected amongst the overwhelming attention, and her eyes wandered outside of her immediate surroundings.

And he recognized it. The moment her face fell and her smile faded, he realized that Haruna’s eyes had already met his.

Her lips parted slightly and then back shut at the sight of him, as if to stop herself just before reacquainting with the feel of Dr. Ramsey’s name on her tongue.

“Ethan...?”

↳ (pt 1), (pt 2), (pt 3)

◇ pairing: ethan ramsey x mc (haruna sakurai)

◇ genre: angst, a lot of yearning, maybe a little break in between :/

◇ word count: 3.3k+

◇ tags: @aworldoffandoms, @perriewinklenerdie, @jooous, @senseofduties, @moteestro, @haesselnut, @princessfuzzy12,

◇ author’s note: to the very limited audience who actually enjoy this fic: thank u for ur patience!! this chapter was so mf hard to write and FOR WHAT. after a couple months of sitting on google docs at 4am trying to update this fic instead of doing my schoolwork like i was supposed to, it turns out this chapter is not the finale at all🤡 ive considered incorporating smut into this since those seem to get notes but that’s one of my literary shortcomings so im gonna refrain and save face✨ feedback appreciated, yall know the drill xoxoxo luv u guys

chapter four

Diamonds. Oh, how that woman loved diamonds.

Carbon atoms arranged in a tetrahedral structure. The hardest natural substance on Earth. Yet another natural phenomenon upon which mankind had imposed their shallow, materialistic beliefs.

But he bought one anyway; kept that damn two carat, marquise cut ring in the bottom drawer of his bedside table for five years. The velvet box sat in the dark that entire time, unworn and collecting dust, thus Dr. Ramsey couldn’t help but wonder if it was still suitable for the hospital heiress it was intended for.

“Dr. Sakurai will be present as the keynote speaker.”

Harper regarded Ethan carefully when she said it, far too aware of his and the younger doctor’s history. Ethan met her pensiveness with a simple nod of his head.

“I see. She’s made quite a name for herself.”

“You’re taking this surprisingly well.” Dr. Emery observed, raising a brow, “I was expecting a bit of protest in attending, but you seem fine.”

But Dr. Ethan Ramsey was not, in fact, fine.

“Have you seen her?” Harper continued,

“Aurora ran into her in Manila, doing some philanthropy it seems. She looks different, might be the afterglow of success. Might be that boyfriend she brought along too.”

That what?

It didn’t necessarily come as a surprise, but he still stopped listening. He’d tuned Harper out, something about the boy being on Haruna’s research team in Japan, a prodigy that interned at the WHO when he was only fourteen; Harper said they were a good match, but Dr. Ramsey, as a final form of consolation, hoped he’d heard her wrong.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, because Dr. Ethan Ramsey was far too old and far too calculated to rely on something as subjective as a “marriage pact”. Blurted on a whim, didn’t keep in touch, hell, he wasn’t even sure if he still remembered her face. That shallow promise they made five years ago came with too many uncertainties, and far be it from him to be bitter over her newfound happiness.

So his silence spoke for him, living a life of 52 seconds before Harper noticed he’d gone quiet. He earned a glance from his colleague, Dr. Emery trailing off and sparing him a thoughtful look. Her gaze softened in realization, and she bit her lip regretfully.

“Oh, Ethan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you still-”

“I don’t.” He snapped.

Bullshit.

He released a long, drawn out breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, collecting himself. But the damage had been done, and nothing he could say would wipe the suspicion off Harper’s face. The rueful shake of her head and the sympathetic pat of his arm told him all he needed to know.

“I mean it.” Ethan said, the excessive sternness of his tone taking away the credibility of his statement.

“Dr. Sakurai is…”

A pause.

“She’s nothing to me.”

–––––

And he was so damn wrong.

Ethan and June boarded a flight to Kyoto two days later, and for the entire duration until the conference, Dr. Ramsey was concerned at his own indifference.

Concerned, but desperate to believe it.

He wasn’t sure what to expect out of seeing her again, but some sick part of him wanted to have fallen out of love with her. Then that meant he wouldn’t have to care at the blatant reminder that she was with someone else. He wouldn’t have to admit that she was probably better off with someone that wasn’t him. Most of all, he wouldn’t have to pretend that the idea of them never getting a second chance didn’t absolutely shatter him.

But it wasn’t that easy. It was never that easy.

Because there he was, standing on the outer circle of a ring of reporters and conference guests that demanded the young doctor’s attention. Like the crowd, Ethan was completely and wholly entranced by her and it was in the moment that he realized–

Haruna Sakurai still meant everything to him.

Her hair had been cut short, its length reaching her chin and dyed a shade alike to walnuts. She wore glasses now and on the bridge of her nose rested thin circular frames that accentuated her ovular face, Haruna’s features fixed in a permanent smize as she charmed the crowd with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The woman trickled in ivory and quartz from head to toe, and Ethan’s breath caught in his throat at the memory of how much he loved her.

How much he still loves her.

And he recognized it. The moment her face fell and her smile faded, he realized that Haruna’s eyes had already met his.

Her lips parted slightly and then back shut at the sight of him, as if to stop herself just before reacquainting with the feel of Dr. Ramsey’s name on her tongue.

“Ethan...?”

She looked at him like he was some figment of her imagination, breathing his name like saying it was an anchor to keep the man from disappearing. Dr. Ramsey could almost feel himself unravel if not for the deadwood that entered the scene.

Satoshi Date.

The boyfriend.

God, her fucking boyfriend.

He was stuck to her like glue, a hand protectively encased around her shoulder as Haruna caught herself and resumed in indulging the crowd. She smiled proudly and crossed her arms, everything but her wrists and beautifully manicured hands hiding underneath the cape of her white pantsuit. Her male company, just as charismatic and smartly dressed, entertained the representatives of Big Pharma.

From what Ethan could see, Date was young. Bright. Approachable with an award-winning smile that was almost too friendly for his liking. Together, the doctor and scientist looked invincible and Ethan found himself for admitting that they actually complimented each other.

“What a tool.” He couldn’t help but scoff. “...Spit it out, Hirata.”

Beside him, June’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. She brought a hand up to her mouth and turned away, responding between giggles she tried to suppress. Ethan rolled his eyes.

“I apologize, it’s nothing. It’s nothing. Don’t let it bother you, you and Sakurai were always the better- pft.”

Dr. Hirata failed to contain herself and released a snort, shaking her head as she walked away to scout for their seats in the lecture hall. Ethan’s irritant gaze followed her retreating form and his chest bubbled with annoyance as he remained clueless towards the reason behind his colleague’s laughter.

He looked over his shoulder one more time to where Haruna and Satoshi stood, close as ever, and the jealousy weaved knots in Dr. Ramsey’s stomach to the point that he settled in looking for his assigned seat instead. Ethan glanced at his watch; fifteen minutes before the official start of the conference, and from his peripheral vision he could see Haruna beginning to make her way backstage to prepare for her speech.

Finding his spot beside Dr. Hirata, Ethan looked up to the stage, sat in the very front row and directly in front of the podium.

Fuck.

The lights finally began to dim at ten o’clock, and Dr. Sakurai, clad in white, appeared on stage.

The woman’s presence commanded the attention of the room as she made her way to the centre in a powerful stride. The anticipant stillness of the crowd broke and Haruna’s entrance was greeted with a light smattering of applause as she enveloped the audience in warm welcome and a dazzling smile. Ethan watched her with bated breath, wondering when she had become this beautiful.

“It warms my heart to see so many familiar faces.” She began.

Her kind eyes scanned the audience and Dr. Sakurai’s gaze fell momentarily on Dr. Ramsey, conflicted, before getting to the punchline of the joke.

“Forgive me when I say I wasn’t expecting so many of you to still have a full head of hair the next time we met.”

–––––

The next 45 minutes passed that way, with Haruna completely and wholly engaging the crowd as she shared knowledge and humour, establishing a pleasant tone for the remainder of the conference. Ethan could sense the nearing end of her speech as Haruna began to smoothly transition from the central theme to her concluding words.

“A very important person to me once said that as doctors, all we do is delay the inevitable-”

Ethan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed and with a valiant effort, careful not to let his emotions betray the nonchalance in his face. The reminder of that lesson he taught her so long ago revived something in the older doctor that he thought had died when Sakurai left for Japan.

Then he remembered her obsidian hair dipped in red. Her long delicate fingers that he held in his when they first met, steadying the tremor before saving a life. He remembered her downcast eyes when he reprimanded her over a patient, and the embarrassment in her voice when she admitted to crying in the storage room.

Now here she stood, six years later. Confident. Unshaken. A poetic opposite of the young intern he once knew.

“—to healthcare professionals,” The sound of Haruna’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “one word immediately comes to mind when discussing the inevitable.” She said the words with air quotes.

“Death. Mortality. Demise. I always found it ironic how we, doctors who so value life, were the very crowd who imposed such negative connotations on the word.”

“We follow the paved path of the Inevitable because it’s the only one we know. It provides a definitive answer. But inevitably, we grow tired of this tedious destination. We inevitably seek more, strive for more and thus deviate from that paved path and become drawn to the unexplored dirt road; you find that it leads to so much more. My research team has offered me invaluable guidance on this road to the unknown, which is why I’m proud to officially announce that the Sakurai Medical Centre has discovered a cure for multiple sclerosis.”

And a stunned silence instilled itself into the audience.

Ethan stared at her in silent disbelief. Hirata’s jaw hung open before she threw her head back in proud laughter and clapped. Suddenly, a frenzy ensued with the commotion of the crowd, the entire room suddenly engulfed in cameras and flashing lights and the vocal disbelief of the fellow doctors around them. Haruna held up a hand and the guests, still buzzing with excitement, toned down to audible murmurs.

“I will answer any questions anyone might have about this medical feat throughout the day, but as I conclude this speech I’d like you all to do one thing–”

“Question yourself. Question the world. Challenge the things thought to be set in stone, and when all is said and done, ask yourself-”

Haruna looked meaningfully at the hundreds of people seated in front of her, a sharp tension emanating in the room as her cat-like gaze scrutinized the crowd. Her eyes finally fell on Dr. Ramsey, and the hold of her stare made it clear that this was no accident. She directed her query at her former lover and in a voice dripping with purpose demanded an answer.

“Is the inevitable really as dreadful as we might think?”

And he could do nothing but applaud.

–––––

The continuous ticking of the clock in Ethan’s hotel room was the only sound that intercepted a dead silence. Alone yet with his thoughts, he packed his luggage in preparation for his flight the next morning, pondering his weekend in Japan.

They met at the evening reception. Purely coincidence. She stood alone at an accent table, her back to him with a flute of rosé, and he approached her in an honest mistake.

“June.” Ethan sighed exasperatedly. “It wouldn’t have killed you to wait two minutes instead of making me scout you out in this crowded room for your damn blue dress-“

“Hey, I happen to like this damn blue dress.”

Then he found himself met with pearls and a gown of charmeuse silk. She came to him in the shade of blue orchids, her gown pooling at the floor like a blossom at its prime and Dr. Ramsey remembered just how perfect she’d always been.

They spoke. Briefly. Awkwardly. Watching their words like untested waters though the two were the furthest thing from strangers.

“Hi.”

Was what she said.

“...Hi.”

Was how he responded.

Then he couldn’t look at her. She was within arms reach, too easy to pull towards him and trap against his chest. Too easy to blurt out something he’d regret with her just close enough to hear it. Too easy to meet her eyes and remember that she was with someone else.

So he brushed past her, putting as much distance between himself and Dr. Sakurai before he lost himself. Before the crushing weight on Ethan’s chest pressed on until the words piggy-backed the next breath he released.

I still love you.

And he should have let it, because he hasn’t seen her since.

Zipping up his luggage and setting it upright, the sudden sound of Ethan’s default ringtone reverberating through the room made him jolt. He snatched his phone off the bedside table, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, only to relax as he saw Naveen’s name flash across the screen for a FaceTime call.

“You have work.” Ethan observed, unimpressed upon recognition of Naveen’s office from the background.

“Which starts in an hour, I’m simply early! Speaking of work, administration wants you to bring back souvenirs.”

“By administration, you mean yourself.”

“Humor me a little. Dr. Tanaka tells me they have exclusive KitKat flavours and I’m absolutely beside myself with curiosity. Pick up a pack or two, your retirement gift to me.”

Ethan sighed in surrender.

“...What flavour do you want.”

“Dr. Tanaka recommends Hokkaido melon with mascarpone cheese, but I also recall June mentioning sakura matcha latte. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“What? You can’t possibly expect me to find such arbritary— hello?”

So fate let him out onto the Kyoto streets, into a grocery store, towards the snack aisle and right in Haruna Sakurai’s line of fire. She was on her way to the cash, he was still searching for those fucking KitKats, and they lightly bumped shoulders before meeting each other’s eyes for a polite apology.

“Ah, I’m sorry-“

“My apologies-“

And they both froze.

At first, they refused to acknowledge the familiarity in each other’s voice. She spoke in Japanese, but he recognized her assertive tone. Firm but pleasant, like running your hands across a velvet seat. She had a unique accent given her history of travel, and Ethan remembered how much he used to love hearing her talk.

It was the English for her. They weren’t too far off from the hotel where the conference was held, so Haruna immediately deduced that the stranger was one of the guests. But she knew Dr. Ramsey’s voice. All too well. His words uttered in low timbre, deep and rich like fertile soil that only further nurtured her adoration for him. The articulate nature of his speech that would substantiate the validity of his advice. Intimidating delivery of his words that grabbed her attention in fistfuls. It wasn’t until Haruna had her own intern that she became aware of how much she had begun to sound like him, and it was then that she realized she loved hearing him talk too.

“Dr. Ramsey.” Haruna didn’t bother to mask the surprise in her voice. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

The collectedness in Dr. Sakurai’s voice almost irked him. She looked nothing short of amicable, pretending like Saturday evening never happened where he fled from her after a one-word exchange. And her nonchalance, amidst Ethan’s struggle to find words, rapid heartbeat and sandpaper-dry throat, was only further confirmation that she moved on from their past.

“We’re on the same boat, Dr. Sakurai. I wasn’t expecting to be here but you know how Naveen is.” He struggled to maintain the apathy in his voice.

“Let me guess, KitKats?”

“Right on the nail. He’s looking for–”

Ethan stopped himself as Haruna turned to the shelf on her right, dragging a finger across the plastic wraps before swiftly plucking several packages out from under each other and tossing them into his basket. He peered into his bin of potential expenses and looked up at Dr. Sakurai as she tossed one more his way.

“Rook- Dr. Sakurai, Naveen is going to end up with diabetes.”

She retracted her hand from another pack and glanced at him once, then to his near-full basket in something alike to realization. Then she laughed. Like, really laughed. Her disciplined features melted into a toothy grin, replaced with something youthful. Something real. Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose to hide his own smile beginning to form.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” Haruna gathered herself as she breathed out a chuckle. “You know how much of a sweet tooth he has.”

She tilted her gaze up to meet Ethan’s eyes, an almost distant look brewing on her face until she caught herself and her smile faded.

“But it wasn’t all for him.”

Ethan raised a brow, and the female doctor’s attention flickered to the pack she last threw into his basket. He looked down, and his forehead creased with inexplicable conflict.

“That one’s for you. Didn’t you really used to like those back then?”

Yuzu flavoured KitKats. She used to love those, and he wondered if she still did. They were saved for special occasions and only shared with special people, but those “care packages” Haruna’s doting parents sent every once in a while from Japan never lasted. The original five that shared the penthouse used to come with snack sized versions, and Dr. Ramsey had to hide his in the drawer of his desk.

She would loiter in his office sometimes during her break, sitting across from her mentor as they passed the time talking.

“Snacking in my office? I’ve grown too lenient with you, Rookie.”

She popped a piece into her mouth and grinned with full cheeks.

“So you have.”

“Yeah… your influence– don’t get ahead of yourself.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Haruna pressed a hand to her chest in faux flattery. He failed to suppress a smile and she returned her own, the awkwardness and the tension slowly alleviating between the two of them.

They grew silent, but it was a comfortable silence. The two doctors shifted on their feet, waiting for someone make the first statement, and Ethan racked his brain for words to say. What could he say?

“I meant to congratulate you,” He settled.

“These past five years have been good to you, Haruna. You’ve accomplished something great.”

Her smile widened at her ex-mentors praise.

“Thank you, I had an amazing team behind me.”

And as if on cue, the shrill marimba ringtone sounded in the air and made them both jump. Dr. Sakurai’s recognized it as hers and patted around her sweatpants, fishing her phone out of her pocket. Looking at Dr. Ramsey apologetically, she accepted the call and pressed her phone to her ear.

“Toshi?”

And the bitter reality settled back in. She turned her back to him, mumbling in rapid Japanese and Ethan breathed in deeply. Starting towards the cash register, he snuck past Haruna quietly, squeezing her shoulder in goodbye. A subtle alarm weaved itself into her features, and her gaze followed his back, unable to leave the call. Ethan rushed through the payment and took long strides out of the grocery store, pulling on the collar of his sweater as his throat began to constrict.

Get back to your damn hotel and finish packing your things. You’re going to get on that plane tomorrow morning, start work the day after and start forgetting about Haruna Sakurai.

He exhaled in a long breath. He could do this.

“Dr. Ramsey…?”

He could do this.

“Didn’t you really used to like those back then?”

He could do this.

“Is the inevitable really as dreadful as we might think?”

He couldn’t fucking do this.

Ethan slowed to a stop, and he cursed at himself. For developing feelings towards the one person he shouldn’t have fallen for. For being the root of the cause in this mess they entangled themselves in. For loving this woman so damn much that his own medical expertise couldn’t suffice in explaining the tight feeling in his chest whenever he missed her. Whenever he saw her.

Dr. Ramsey looked up to the sky, met with a streetlight hovering above his head and despite himself, he laughed.

He just couldn’t forget about Haruna Sakurai.

“Christ, I’m too old for this.”

And back towards the direction he came from, he began to run.

#choices #playchoices #open heart fanfiction #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc

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semiconducting · 4 years ago

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just reflecting on some personal growth stuff from last year !

im actually. genuinely okay. like i think im starting this year feeling okay! which is atypical.

i think i can attribute it to the enormous amount of work id put into myself over the past year...i remember one year ago being extraordinarily depressed and really just. high strung? incredibly anxious but exhausted. and i fell down a descent slowly from not eating, to getting really irritable and not handling conflicts with friends well, to actively self harming again, to the point where i remembered sitting in a coffee shop with one of my friends and saying out loud that i need to go to therapy. and that i was going to talk to a mutual friend of ours about how the therapy services on campus are. which was a huge step for me! ive always had trust issues with therapy services since i was 12 for reasons i wont go into, but im sure you can gather the point of.

and then, literally the next day after saying that, got news about campus shutting down because of the virus.

and i made all of the effort possible to reach out to my friends and get things figured out to weather the storm because i KNEW shit was going to get bad if i didnt. but only one of my friends was really keeping up, and thats because he and i do homework together so we were already in a rhythm of talking every single week no matter what. and thats not to say that im ungrateful for him or the fact that even still he was there for me while i was going through hell, i have this thing about Not Putting All My Problems On And Confiding In One Person And One Person Only. so i withdrew, i stopped talking to everyone, i stopped logging into my classes, i didnt do any homework, i didnt lead my workshops, didnt hold office hours...i was just wallowing in my own misery

and i made plans to kill myself. and thats like, i mean i could say that several dozen times over the course of a year since i was like 12, but i mean a legitimate walkthrough plan. had my hiking bag packed with everything i was going to use, decided where i was going to, and was going to prep myself for it. wrote drafts and drafts of suicide notes until i decided just leaving the contact info of people who needed to know asap was all i was going to leave. in addition to sticky notes on some stuff in my room for what needed to be returned to who, or if something should go to someone in particular...

and i acted as normally as i could around my housemates. attributed my not leaving my room much to being busy with classes. i have a rule to myself to always sleep at least one night before killing myself because if im really serious about going through with it it can always wait one day. this time i decided i was going to clean my room and leave it as pristine as possible. the last thing i had to do was a load of laundry, and then i was going to do it.

and then someone from campus showed up at my door. because one of my professors filed a report and i hadnt responded to any of the emails id received checking in on me.

so i readjusted. caught up on my schoolwork, just barely finished the semester and definitely didnt do it strong or well (god bless the pass/fail option bc of covid LOL), but i did it nonetheless. went home, started my internship, had a miserably mundane summer.

i grew bitter and apathetic. i was angry at my friends for not being responsive when i reached out to them to talk or hang out or do anything. i got tired of dealing with it. i was tired of feeling alone and like no one gave a shit about me except for when it was convenient for them. i decided that i wasnt going to deal with people who werent willing to put any effort into me, so i stopped talking to everyone and kept up with people who were willing to reach out after the fact.

it’s definitely not the best approach. it’s really unforgiving and it doesn’t give people a lot of benefit of the doubt, but i think it was necessary in some respect. i didn’t have any criteria for how people needed to reach out, or how long after, or whatever, just that they did. really needed people in my life who are willing to communicate with me. i was honest with how i was feeling and why i did things if they did, apologized for the shitty approach, thanked them for still being willing to talk to me, and worked out the best way for both of us to keep things going.

over the months i dont think i really regret the decision, because it’s been a weight off my shoulders. i feel a lot better. i’m far more okay with where i stand in all of my friends’ lives, even if that’s not as a priority and even if that’s as just someone to talk to and catch up with like a couple times a year. it took a bit for it to pay off but it’s nice to take a look at people i was putting far too much work into and upon reflection realizing that they only interacted with me when they needed something from me, and not for me as a person. i think there are still people where there are loose ends and i think i may try reaching out myself to tie those up at some point, whenever i have the energy and clarity of mind for it. but i guess at the end of the day i just decided that people who weren’t willing to communicate weren’t worth the time. i’m okay if that communication means i need to be the one to initiate conversations even! i just need to know that.

but yeah. i came back to ny and started the semester totally apathetic and angry. i was so fucking depressed and bored with everything even if i was keeping myself incredibly busy. the only thing that i found rewarding (and what was just barely keeping me going) was leading my workshop for the intro optics class.

and then a friend -- the same friend i was at the coffee shop with -- reached out to catch up. and i was honestly really bitter and angry with him and was prepping myself to start listing out issues that i hadnt been able to address with him beforehand (side note, while telling friends the issues you have with them is important, listing shit out all at once is hardly ever a good approach especially without warning LOL) but ended up...just having a calming and comfortable conversation about what was going on in our lives since we last saw each other.

n later that day i ended up reaching out to an old friend that i had been meaning to catch up with because we fell out of contact, but had just barely been trying to start talking again in the months before this but had kept missing opportunities to properly converse. but we talked again, and we set up a day to hike and catch up.

and he comes to my house and picks me up. and i get in his car. and its like, holy shit, its been almost a year since ive seen you. and we hugged. and just started to catch each other up on the mess that had been our lives since we’d actively been in contact. we hiked, he told me about the books he wanted to write, we talked about people we knew, we talked about politics, we talked about school, we talked about life, and it was just as comfortable as if not a day had passed...even though it was obvious that he and i were both changed people over the past year. nothing about our friendship was any different though.

we resolved to hanging out with each other every week. decided we both needed the interaction, appreciated having each other around, and had a nice overlap of free time in the week that worked well. friday nights unless otherwise specified.

it was totally unexpected. he’d always been a great friend to me, but i never expected us to get as close as we did. neither did he. he’s probably the first person in my life (or at least in a very long time, and certainly the only person at the time) that i’d been so comfortable with that i practically had no boundaries around. none that needed to be addressed, anyway, because the only possible ones to throw up wouldn’t even come up (but of course, i constantly reassured that as soon as anything came up i would let him know because early on he kept asking sjhdkjfh).

he became something for me to look forward to in the week. towards the beginning he was a shoulder to lean on when i needed it and was willing to listen to things i hadn’t been able to tell anyone out loud. and he confided in me as well. it was comfortable. it was safe. it was a level of trust with vulnerability that i’d never shown anyone else.

but it wasnt even just that! it was fun! hes so fun. we could talk about everything and nothing, and hes one of the only people where i feel like i have to keep up with him in conversation instead of the other way around. we’d jump from topic to topic so much faster than either of us could think and it was all always so interesting. littered with humour that was just dumb and simple. i felt comfortable just being an idiot with him. i felt like i had nothing to prove.

for the past few years ive held to the sentiment that i like to hang around with people that make me a better person. but somehow, with him, its not that i felt like he made me a better person, but that he made me more myself. he saw who i was without any kind of fronts. and i always was afraid to show anyone that me because i always assumed that they would be depressing, loathsome, bitter, angry, and vicious.

but....i’m not. i learned that i’m incredibly loving. that i’d do fuckin anything to for my friends, but always in a way that was healthy and rewarding for both of us. i’m very light-hearted and my sense of humour is so stupid, but also very analytical and thoughtful. just a bit judgmental and pretentious, but always for things that people dont expect. totally open minded in discussions. an avid explorer, and a bit of a thrillseeker. and so, so, so affectionate.

i realized im. not as horrible as ive always made myself out to be. i accepted that i didnt need to punish myself for things beyond my control. i realized that i could believe people when they tell me that they enjoy my company, or appreciate things i do for them, or that they think i’m a worthwhile person to keep around.

its not that i dont have my flaws, its not that there arent things that i have to work on still. but maybe, at my core, i’m not actually motivated by spite, i’m not actually a hopeless pessimist, and that i’m not...broken. i’m not some secretly irredeemable monster.

and for a period of time i’ve been in a place where i could say i was genuinely...happy! and i don’t think i’ve ever been able to say that. i’ve certainly been made happy by doing things with friends in the past, i’ve been through periods where i’ve been okay with where i am at in life, but ever since i was like 12 (but probably even before that) i’d never been able to say that i was happy. it’s not that i wasn’t stressed, it’s not that things in my life were all going perfectly....but they didn’t define my mood. they didn’t define my view of myself. school, despite being the primary focus of my life, wasn’t dictating how i was feeling. even when things were agonizing and depressing because of school, i was still okay. i was incredibly stable.

and i owe that all to him being there for me. and hardly any of these things were anything that he was really directly responsible for, like its not that he sat there and just constantly showered me in reassurance and praise or anything that changed how i view myself...it was just having his company. it was just being able to sit there and listen to him go on about some totally random thing that he was exceptionally knowledgeable about. it was exploring caves and climbing hills. it was cooking together. it was talking about science. it was talking about love. it was talking about music. it was just having a consistent presence in my life, someone that treated me like a priority but never at the expense of himself, and someone i didn’t have to walk on any kind of eggshells around. it was someone who trusted me and respected me not by anything id done to warrant it, but just because of who i was.

it was a reminder that i can take care of my own problems, that i just need to be a good presence in someone’s life and for them to be a good presence in mine.

but also that i can accept help from people who genuinely want to offer it! and that that help doesnt always have to be direct. that sometimes helping me means i get to do something nice for someone else LOL

it was everything i ever needed and i wasnt even looking for it. he meant the world to me and i was so, so thankful for the circumstances that led us here because i was so happy to have him in my life again. i was happy that we were able to get closer because we’d only been able to interact in professional environments before.

and then i realized i was in love. and i had a sexuality crisis. but i didn’t recognize it until i fell hard because it was a different kind of love than i’ve felt for anyone before. it was intense but entirely too comfortable. but i knew that i cared about him, and that he cared about me, and that i really didn’t need anything about our friendship to change but that it had potential to be something even greater than it was.

and i resolved to tell him about it...until he told me first. and that moment was, as cheesey as it sounds, nothing less than magical. we were both so happy and giggly and it was so sweet and warm and i dont know if im ever going to be able to recreate that feeling because it was just so particular, so specific to being something between me and him. its not that i cant love anyone else as strongly or be as happy as i was necessarily, but it’ll never be that same kind of feeling.

but things happened. things got complicated. i think he panicked. and then things that happened just felt so dirty and hollow and dark. he hurt me really, really, really badly, and it managed to happen in the span of four days.

and i’ve spent the last <2 weeks dealing with it. i think he’s dealing with it in his own ways, but realistically i don’t know how because i havent seen him since christmas eve, and we were both definitely not being completely genuine that day. was at his house for a small family party and he and i were the only ones who knew what happened. it was too soon to have healed from it any, but we couldnt exactly be honest about it then either.

and im doing better. im genuinely okay now. and, interestingly, i think i owe it to the past few months of hanging out with him and how ive been able to come to terms with a lot of things about myself. ive been able to show myself compassion. its really ironic.

its a situation where i was desperately trying to throw blame onto myself for, because if i could then i could punish myself for it and use it to fuel that deep rooted self hatred and then i could fix it, because i’d be the one responsible for fixing it. but, and i’ve talked to quite a few friends about it trying to figure out who to confide in about it, everyone who knows about it insists that i cant blame myself for it. theres not a thing about the situation that i can blame myself for. and its so fucking weird, because i cant bring myself to fully blame him for it either, just because it was so ABSURDLY out of character that it doesnt feel like it was anything he could have done to me. it was a boundary that i wasnt ever supposed to worry about him crossing, because he’s just not that kind of person.

and it’s the type of situation that you’re supposed to totally be willing to cut someone off for but...i can’t. he’s genuinely remorseful and i think he doesn’t really know how to deal with it either. and despite it being a massive fuck up its still like...the first fuck up in our friendship from either of us. and i’m willing to see this through. i think it’s salvageable, even if it’ll never be the same as it was. i have faith in our friendship. i think we can make it work.

but no matter what happens. i owe him more than i’ll ever be able to repay him for. and i’ll never, ever be able to hate him because of that. i’m in a much, much better place because of him and for that i’ll always be thankful.

#shut up mega #this ended up being longer and more in depth abt the earlier half of the year than i meant it LOL #a summary of my 2020 i spose #also there's some kinda detailed talk of #suicide ment -#self harm ment -#IM CRYING AFTER WRITING THIS OUT LMAOOOO

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weavingthetapestry · 5 years ago

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9th September 1543- Coronation of Mary I of Scotland

On 9th September 1543, the coronation of Mary I of Scotland took place in the Chapel Royal of Stirling Castle. An infant of barely nine months, she had been recognised as the kingdom’s next monarch at just six days old, after the premature death of her father King James V, leaving no other legitimate heirs of his body. She had been described as queen of Scotland in most official government documents since, but her official coronation was preceded by nine months of political intrigue and tension, culminating in a double-edged triumph for the faction led by her mother, Mary of Guise, and Cardinal Beaton.

The little queen had been resident in Stirling for just over a month. At the end of July 1543, her mother, the dowager queen Mary of Guise, supported by Cardinal Beaton along with the Earls of Huntly, Argyll, Lennox, Bothwell, Sutherland, Menteith, lords Erskine, Ruthven, Fleming, Crichton, Drummond, Lisle, Hume, the bishops of Moray, Orkney, Galloway, Dunblane, and several thousand others, had finally succeeded in removing her from her birthplace in the palace of Linlithgow. This was achieved in the face of opposition from the Governor of Scotland, James Hamilton, Earl of Arran. Arran was the infant queen’s 27 year old cousin and the official head of the Scottish government as regent and the next in line to the throne. As he was then pursuing a pro-English policy, and also had reason to view both the dowager queen and Cardinal Beaton as rivals, in early 1543 he had had the Cardinal arrested and forbade Mary of Guise to leave Linlithgow for the greater protection of Stirling. However, following the Cardinal’s escape and the return of the Earl of Lennox from France in 1543, the opponents of the Governor (or at least the opponents of his policy in favour of an alliance with England) gathered an army and marched on Linlithgow. After several days of stalemate and negotiation, with the army sitting outside the palace walls, Arran had been forced to climb down and allow the little queen and her mother to leave.

The sudden flitting of the queen was an even greater source of displeasure to Henry VIII of England when he heard of it, as the English king had not only wished to marry her to his son the Prince of Wales, but had also wanted the queen to be kept in England until the marriage could take place. This would have served as a useful means of keeping the Scots in check, and anyway, despite their promises, he certainly did not trust her French mother to follow through with the English marriage, much less the wily pro-French and militantly Catholic Cardinal Beaton. Linlithgow would have suited Henry better as then there was at least a chance that one of the Scottish nobles he had attempted to suborn, or even an English invasion, would have been able to abduct the young queen from the beautiful, yet low-lying and relatively unprotected lochside palace. Stirling Castle was another matter entirely: perched on its high rock with a commanding view of the surrounding country, its Renaissance embellishments had not diminished its status as a formidable fortress, the veteran of many bitter Anglo-Scottish conflicts. Nevertheless, Henry VIII could live in hope. The Treaty of Greenwich might yet be ratified to his satisfaction, and the Scottish nobles who favoured alliance with the English king, whether for political or religious reasons, had managed to bring the Governor Arran round to his point of view, which lent their policy official authority.

(An engraving of the Earl of Arran in his later years, and probably his most famous picture, which tends to obscure the age he was when he became Regent. Not my picture)

But any plan which rested on the consistent cooperation of the chronically indecisive Governor Arran could hardly be called secure. The Governor was already under pressure from his half-brother John Hamilton, Abbot of Paisley, an ardent Catholic who had recently returned from abroad and set about putting the fear of god into his pliable younger sibling over Arran’s recent support of Protestantism. Meanwhile the mood of the country was also shifting, and the English alliance was becoming increasingly unpopular, not least due to the disturbing effects of religious unrest in Scotland and Henry VIII’s not so thinly veiled intimidation tactics. Arran’s allies soon had reason to become wary of his behaviour and watched his movements closely. On 1st September 1543, the English Ambassador Sir Ralph Sadler wrote to his king and said of the Governor that, “he abides not long in one mind, and Sir George Douglas tells me that he much fears the Governor’s revolt, now that things grow to extremity, and that there is a great likelihood that this division will not be ended nor exterminated but by the sword. The Governor is so afraid, of so weak spirit, and faint hearted, that (...) he fears he will never abide the extremity of it, but will rather slip from them and beastly put himself into the hands of his enemies, to his own utter confusion.”

The Earl of Arran’s anxiety was perhaps understandable. He might have feared for his position as governor if the Stirling lords decided to choose a different governor at the coronation, as the event could serve as a major political coup for Cardinal Beaton and the dowager queen. Or perhaps it was the presence of the Earl of Lennox at Stirling which disturbed Arran as Lennox had a rival claim to be next in line to the throne. Perhaps, indeed, as Marcus Merriman argues, Arran was acting with uncharacteristic farsightedness, seeing that the collapse of the English marriage was inevitable almost immediately after the queen’s removal to Stirling, and yet delaying his defection long enough to put off English invasion until the harvest had been brought in and the best time for campaigning had passed. Although Arran ratified the Treaty of Greenwich which promised Queen Mary’s hand to Henry VIII’s son on 25th August 1543, this was to be the high watermark of his active support for the English alliance. Despite the English king’s last-ditch offer of a marriage between his daughter, Princess Elizabeth, and Arran’s son, and despite the careful watch set by his former allies and the blandishments of his own wife Margaret Douglas, Arran changed sides in the first week of September. On Monday 3rd September, he slipped away to Blackness Castle on the Forth, claiming that his wife was in labour there. But the next morning Arran departed from the castle again, leaving Margaret weeping tears of rage at his inconstancy, and he soon covered the ten miles or so to Lord Livingston’s residence at Callendar House, on the edge of Falkirk. There he met with the wily Cardinal Beaton and the Earl of Moray (the infant queen’s uncle), and after long discussion accompanied them back to Stirling that night.

(An eighteenth century copy of a portrait of David Beaton, Archbishop of St Andrews and Cardinal. Not my picture)

With the Governor’s ‘revolt’ accomplished, there was much to be discussed between Arran and his new, if not exactly beloved, allies. Arrangements had to be made for the secure keeping of the queen’s person during her time at Stirling, and also for the bairn’s coronation which was set for the coming Sunday, the 9th of September. Letters were sent to those recalcitrant Scottish nobles who- whether for reasons of religion, sound policy, or personal gain- had favoured the English marriage, asking them to attend the coronation. And there was spiritual work to be done as well: the lords at Stirling having agreed that Arran was “accurst” , it was determined that he should do penance for his previous flirtation with Protestantism. This was performed on Saturday the 8th of September in Stirling Greyfriars, when the earls of Bothwell and Argyll held the ‘towel’ over the humbled Governor’s head as the Cardinal and other bishops solemnly absolved him of his sin.

The coronation was due to take place early the next day, and the inner close of Stirling Castle must have been a hub of activity that September morning. The Chapel Royal, in which the event was to be held, stood on the north side of the close, forming a quadrangle with the King’s Old Buildings to the west, the magnificent Great Hall constructed by James IV to the east, and the mint-new royal palace (begun by Queen Mary’s father James V and to be completed by her mother over the next few years) standing to the south. The Chapel itself stood a little to the south of the current chapel (built by Mary’s son James VI in 1594) which now occupies the spot. It had been founded by James IV in 1501 and would witness several royal christenings and other notable events over the course of its short history. Perhaps most poignantly, it had also been the site of the coronation of Mary’s father James V, almost thirty years earlier in September 1513. This was the so-called ‘Mourning Coronation’ and the king on that occasion had also been little more than an infant. Had anyone called to mind this other coronation thirty years later, they might also have realised that the 9th of September 1543 was itself a significant date, being the thirtieth anniversary of the disastrous Battle of Flodden. This battle had caused the death of the new queen’s grandfather King James IV (also the Earl of Moray’s father and Huntly’s grandfather), her uncle Alexander Stewart who was one of Cardinal Beaton’s predecessors as Archbishop of St Andrews, the grandfathers of the earls of Lennox and Argyll, the father of the Earl of Bothwell, and countless other Scots of all classes. If anyone noticed this singularly inauspicious date however, it does not seem that it was allowed to throw a sombre shadow over proceedings.

(The only view I could find of most of the Inner Close of Stirling Castle- James V’s palace is to the right, James IV’s Great Hall in the centre, and on the left can be seen parts of the current Chapel Royal, built in 1594 by Mary’s son James VI almost on the same site as the Chapel Royal where she was crowned. Not my picture.)

Not much is known about the details of the coronation itself, which took place around ten o’clock in the morning, once the assembled lords and ladies had filed into the Chapel Royal. The Treasurer’s Accounts are unusually silent about the occasion, though it was probably carried out with as much propriety and careful observance of etiquette as was possible given the circumstances. We do know that Cardinal Beaton presided over the ceremony, and that the Earl of Arran bore the Crown, the Earl of Lennox the sceptre, and the Earl of Argyll the sword. These precious royal items- now known as the Honours of Scotland and still to be seen in Edinburgh Castle- each had their own story. The sceptre and sword had been gifted to King James IV by two separate popes, while the crown was of dubious but likely ancient origin (give or take a few meltings) possibly stretching back to the days of Robert Bruce, and it had been refashioned as recently as 1540 on the orders of Mary’s father. A heavy crown for a bairn, it was probably held above her head. There is a tradition that the infant queen cried all through the ceremony but otherwise the coronation went off without a hitch.

In terms of coronation festivities, it must be said that even when taking into account the natural bias of the English ambassador, and the fact that he was not at the coronation himself (being unable to stray far from his house in Edinburgh without fear of the mob), it is hard to disagree with his assertion that Queen Mary was crowned, “with such solemnity as they do use in this country, which is not very costly”. There were to be no ceremonial entries, no elaborate pageantry such as had been planned for the coronations of James V’s consorts in the 1530s. As with most other recent Scottish coronations, which had a funny little knack of coming at the worst possible moment to kings who had hardly reached knee height, simple dignity was probably the order of the day. The late-sixteenth century writer Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie does state that the guests retired after the coronation and occupied themselves in dancing and merry-making however, so possibly there was more cheer than the records indicate.

There was also no escaping from the harsh reality of the political situation. This coronation had been a political triumph for Cardinal Beaton and Mary of Guise and their supporters, but there were notable absences, not least the Earls of Glencairn, Cassilis and Angus, Lord Maxwell and the other lords still considered to be of the ‘English’ party. And there would have to be a reckoning with the king of England as well, especially after the Treaty of Greenwich was finally overturned by the Scottish parliament in December 1543. The events of 1543 would lead to the devastating period of Anglo-Scottish warfare which is nicknamed ‘the Rough Wooing’, and as a result of this, within five years of her coronation, the Queen of Scots was sent away from her kingdom to the safety of France. She would not return for thirteen years.

(Mary I in childhood, as painted by Clouet. Not my picture)

Selected references:

Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland

“Acts of the lords of council in public affairs, 1501-1554: Selections from the Acta dominorum concilii”, ed. R.K. Hannay

“Scottish Correspondence of Mary of Lorraine”, ed. Annie Dunlop

“Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic of the Reign of Henry VIII”, Volumes 17 and 18, ed. James Gairdner and R. H Brodie.

“The Hamilton Papers”, Vol. II, ed. Joseph Bain

The various histories of John Leslie, George Buchanan, Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie and John Knox- all of which can be found online but as only Lindsay was really useful, forgive me for not citing them properly here

“Mary of Guise”, by Rosalind Marshall

“Mary Queen of Scots”, by Antonia Fraser

“The Rough Wooing”, by Marcus Merriman

“Glory and Honour”, by Andrea Thomas

“Life of Mary Queen of Scots”, by Agnes Strickland (I hate admitting it but I do have to credit her)

And others

#Scottish history #Mary Queen Of Scots #Scotland #British history #women in history #sixteenth century #Mary of Guise #Cardinal Beaton #Regent Arran #Henry VIII of England #stirling castle #Linlithgow Palace #Blackness Castle #Callendar House #the Stewarts #coronation #today in history

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the-writing-dump-bin · 6 years ago

Text

Whirlpool (pt3)

Hello! Here is part 3, I left it a little short because what I have to write next, I would get carried away and it would have been too long. This chapter is SFW but I am warning now, part 4 will be N*SF*W. Thanks for reading! (Chapter inspired by the song Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood)

"Welcome, Professor Kujo. My name is Aaron, I am excited to work with you." The blonde haired man greeted. "This is Jessica and Ethan, they are my student assistants."

The two students looked to be about the same age as you and Jotaro.

Jotaro shook Aaron's hand and introduced you. "This is Y/N. She's my assistant." You blushed and gave a small wave. "Hello."

Aaron smiled and greeted you as well. "Right this way, we'll get started." He took you on a small tour of the marine department and showed you where you all would be working the next two weeks.

The place was massive. Tanks and pools with ocean creatures surrounded you; you had to be careful not to fall in.

Aaron stopped at one of the tanks which housed a large sea turtle. "We found this guy with plastic wrapped around his neck on the beach a few months ago. We saved him and brought him here for rehabilitation. We plan on releasing him back into the ocean before you two leave."

Your heart ached for the turtle, but you were relieved it was going to be okay and live its long life. "We really need to find a way to clean the ocean." You muttered to yourself, thinking no one heard you.

Jotaro heard you.

Ridding the entire ocean of waste was an almost impossible task. He felt a warmth in his chest when he saw your genuine concern for the mammal.

---

One week came and went. You were having a lot of fun and learning quite a bit with the hands on work. This was definitely helping with your interest in working with animals.

Jotaro was extremely helpful. He showed you the different types of coral and how to even identify the genders of fish; which you still had a hard time doing. He was patient with you when it came to things you didn't understand.

Walking into the room, Aaron announced that today you all were heading to the beach. "We're going to study the creatures in the tide pools just off of the main beaches, away from the general public. Its also where we'll release Terrence next week before you two leave." He gave you a smile.

You had gotten really close with the turtle and worked with it almost every day, giving him the name 'Terrence'.

No clouds could be seen in the sky; a beautiful, clear day. Perfect for outdoor work.

With nothing covering the sun, the heat was immense. Good thing you had your bathing suit.

You pulled your shirt over your head and disguarded your pants, revealing the purchase you made. The suit you bought covered your chest, almost like a sports bra. The bottom half was cut like boy shorts. It wasn't anything to flaunt, you bought it to do work, not attract attention. Which seemed to be a lost cause with the other female assistant, Jessica. She was barely wearing anything in just her skimpy bikini.

The last few days, she had basically been hanging off of Jotaro; flirting whenever she had the chance.

Why would you care? He's a grown man, he could do want he wanted. But every time you seen her touch him, you felt a tinge of jealousy. And now here she was, showing damn near all her skin on the beach.

"A little under dressed for work, wouldn't you say?" Your tone came out a little snappy.

Jessica pulled her hair into a ponytail. "I dont know how they do it where you're from, but here it's acceptable." Her gaze drifted to the large man, posing as she tied her hair up.

You rolled your eyes and walked to one of the tide pools you came to observe.

Jotaro took one pool a few yards away from yours, examining a starfish he found. Or at least that's what he wanted everyone to think.

Really, his eyes were on you. The way you were looking in that black swimsuit made his heart race. He watched you pick up a seashell and look it over; your eyes so intent.

"Jotaro!" Jessica's sing-song voice chimed. "I'm finished on my pool, would it be okay if we shared this one?"

Jotaro never even looked at her. "I dont care." What he did notice, was a small crab scurrying across the sand towards you.

You were still examining your shell, unaware of the aggravated crustation.

Jotaro jumped up and rushed to your side as fast as he could, but he was too late.

"Owwww!" You shrieked. Jumping up, you noticed the crab, still pinched onto your bottom. "Get off, you son of a bitch!"

"Hold still."

You stopped flailing when Jotaro came up to you. He knelt down and pried tye crabs pinchers off your rear.

It felt like your heart had stopped when you felt your boss's fingers touch you on such a personal area, but you were thankful for his help. "Th-Thank you."

"You sat on its home." Jotaro informed, pointing to a patch of sand that was built up. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, unable to say anything.

A few hours passed and Aaron called it a day; sending everyone home early.

Jessica bounced up to Jotaro and asked if he wanted to join her for dinner, in which he declined with a hard 'no' and you and him went back to the hotel.

Jotaro walked you to your door. "Are you okay? That crab had a good grip on you."

Subconsciously, you rubbed where it had pinched you. "Still a little sore, but I'm fine, thanks."

"Would you like to get dinner?"

You blinked, taken with his question. When he rejected Jessica's offer, you figured he wasn't hungry. But back when it was just you and him, he was the one to offer dinner.

He asked you almost every night actually, if you wanted to eat with him. There were a couple times when you wanted to stay in, so he went by himself.

When you had taken too long to answer, Jotaro took it as you didn't want to and started towards his room.

"Wait! We...we can go eat."

---

"This seems bitter sweet." Ethan, the other student assistant said.

Carefully, you all transported the large tank the turtle was in to the beach; today he would be going back home.

"He improved so much. He belongs back in the wild." Aaron parked the truck and him and Jotaro carried the tank towards the water.

Setting it down, Jotaro shoved his arms in the water and picked him up. You were sad, but also happy the turtle recovered and was going back where he belonged. "Goodbye, Terrence." You gave him a small peck on his head.

Jotaro smiled at your kindness for the animal. He was impressed with your work the last two weeks and was proud of the dedication you shown. When your eyes met his, he nodded and made his way to the water.

Aaron stood between his students, each arm wrapped around their shoulders and watched Terrence make his way home.

You stood next to your boss, a tear falling down your cheek.

Jotaro's thumb wiped it away. "He'll be fine, thanks to you."

A chuckle escaped from your mouth. "Thanks to all of us, Jotaro. I merely just helped."

The sun almost touched the water; night taking the place of day.

"Professor Kujo, Y/N, thank you for your help. The work you two did was outstanding; you guys make a great team."

A team? You blushed. "Thank you, Aaron. This was a great trip and I learned a lot."

Aaron smiled, looking back at Ethan, who was returning from the truck with a bundle of logs. "I know your flight back home is tomorrow, but I hope you two would join us in a celebratory bon fire?"

You and Jotaro looked at each other, almost waiting to see who's answer would come first. It was Jotaro who spoke.

"That sounds fun. We'll stay for a few hours."

Jessica looked ecstatic that Jotaro was going to join them, having complained all day that he was leaving the next day.

---

Aaron and Ethan had provided beers and coolers for the event.

After a few drinks, everyone started to get a little loose and talk about their interests and some life stories.

You were having a great time, but you couldn't stop eyeing at how Jessica was putting herself out there next to your crush. Jotaro's face was nuetral, as always, but didn't move away from her.

You wish you didn't feel this way.

Getting up, you excused yourself and walked to the shoreline and out of sight behind large rocks. Stopping, you stared out at the water, the moon shining off of it.

You were in complete silence for fifteen minutes before you heard a familiar deep voice.

"What are you doing?"

You didn't want to tell him why you left, so you to just said "I just went for a walk."

He stopped at your side, looking out with you. "You did amazing on this trip. I'm really glad you came."

You smiled, bashfully shifting the sand with your bare foot. "I'm glad I did too. It was a great learning experience. Oh, that reminds me. You kept all the receipts from the places we ate at, right? Mr. Westin wants them for records on the corporate card use."

Jotaro inhaled sharply. He did keep the receipts, but they weren't from the corporate card. He hadn't used it the entire trip. Only using his own when the two of you went to dinner or when you guys went shopping. "Y-Yeah. Ive got them."

A chilly breeze from the ocean hit you and you shivered. You would have been better prepared for the night if you've known you'd be staying past sundown. Your shorts and cropped sweater wasn't keeping you warm.

Jotaro noticed your shiver. He gently grabbed your wrists, turning you to face him and pulled you closer, wrapping you in his jacket.

It felt like time stood still. Like the air was taken from your lungs. You could feel how hard his torso was, he smelt incredible. Wait, what was happening? "Sir?"

Both of you felt like your heads were in the clouds but feet planted to the ground. Your heart pounded so hard, you were sure Jotaro could feel it. Deep in the dark part of your mind, you wanted this mountain of a man, but always brushed it aside, knowing it was wrong to be in a relationship with your boss. But with him making the first move, you seen that it looked like he was having the same feelings.

Your hand rose slowly, tracing his neck. He did the same to you, except his other hand hooked a finger in the waistband of your shorts.

Goosebumps raised on your skin when his left hand rested on your waist.

You tried to catch your breath. Those beautiful eyes staring at you in new light.

It looked like Jotaro was coming closer to your face; gaze focused on your lips.

Finally, you came back to your senses. This was the work of the alcohol. It had to be. You didn't know what to do or how to feel, so you stepped back a little. Jotaro did the same.

"I, um... Maybe... Maybe we should just call it a night..." You couldn't look at him, feeling a little embarrassed.

Jotaro couldn't find words, he was feeling the same as you; his face turning a little red. He nodded with agreement.

The two of you returned to the others and said your goodbyes, thanking them for their generosity and help the last two weeks. Jotaro called a cab and him and you went back to the hotel.

#jotaro x reader #jotaro #jotaro kujo #my writing #writing #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo #whirlpool

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vampire-hubby · 6 years ago

Note

hi, would you mind doing a murdoc x reader? 💘💗💝💖💓💞💕

!Oh my a request!!!! (I’ve never gotten one thank you so much I feel needed ;w;)(Phase one)

I couldn’t help but stare at my email. My mother had just emailed me for the first time in 3 months, and this is what she tells me: “Get married, you’re fucking 29.”

Really, woman. I don’t see you getting romantic with dad anymore.

My new apartment in the Upper East Side, in Manhattan, wasn’t the biggest, the brightest, or the nicest, but they had internet and good rent. I had only moved in a few weeks prior, and I finally set up my big, clunky desktop, which had become most of my life. I emailed people I didn’t even know from around the world, talking about almost anything with them, from the crappy content on MTV to when we could afford cell phones. I had been chatting for hours on end, hardly getting up except to eat and pee.

I closed out of my mother’s rude email with a rough click of my mouse, and entered my favorite chat room with four different people and me. I had never seen their faces.

Sara: Yoooo, wut’s taking u so long?

Dylan: Yea, where ru?

Imani: *sonic voice* Im waaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiting

(y/n): I was emailing mom. srry.

Bobbi: Its chill. hey, i got a friend from england who just got email. want me 2 let him in the chat?

Ooh, a new friend, I thought sarcastically. Bobbi had this thing where he’d bring in new people and then kick them out a bit later because they’d swear too much. I hoped this wasn’t the case.

Sara: I think thats ok, just dont let them swear.

Sara: seriously

Dylan: I didnt like the last chick u let in

Bobbi: Yea, srry bout that. He wont swear. He only does when hes tired.

Imani: pls let that be tru :(

(y/n): yea let him in.

I leaned back and waited for a solid 30 seconds, before I heard a trademark blip from the speakers.

Murdoc has joined the chat!

Nice name, bucko. Nice name

Murdoc: Hey, people.

(y/n): Greetings, Lord of Hell

Murdoc: nice, I get some respect.

Imani: OOooooooOOOOOh.

Bobbi: Hey man, wasup?

Sara: Dude, is that ur real name

Murdoc: Well, my older brother was named Hannibal

Bobbi: thats scary

Sara: what does ur name mean?

Murdoc: I heard it was irish or celtic or something. Seafarer, Seaman? idk

Imani: cool. do u like the ocean?

Bobbi: OCEAN MAN TAKE ME BY THE HAND

Murdoc: It’s nice i guess. I am overseas right now in NY. I’m in a concert

Sara: cool! isn’t (y/n) from Manhattan?

(y/n): I just moved up there, but ive been here so much i know everything.

Bobbi: guys get like a codeword and find eachother

Murdoc: What kind?

(y/n): seriously NY is so big I doubt murdoc can find me

Murdoc: are you going to any concerts soon?

Sara: dude Manhattan is 1/5 of NY itself

(y/n): Yeah the Gorillaz one

Murdoc: I’m going there too! That band is my heart and soul!

(y/n): u’d better not be the bass player, as your name suggests.

Murdoc: I’ll surprise you. Go to the entrance and when its 5 say ‘seaman’ you’ll find me:)

Imani: Oooooooooooh Murdoc and (y/n) have a date!!!!!

(y/n): my mom says i need to get married, so i’ll take it as a date. anything to make mother happy ;(

Bobbi: aww, sorry. hope u guys have fun

Sara: I gtg, dinner ready. hubbies special

Imani: same, I gotta work on my finals

Bobbi: Ive spen enough time on here. u 2 can talk if u want! bye bye!

Sara has left the chat.

Bobbi has left the chat.

Imani has left the chat.

(y/n): if this date goes well, im moving to england with u.

Murdoc: Great! you can see my car. You might not like my house though, its so fuckin run down,

(y/n): man u swore

Murdoc: the others aren’t on here i can do what i want

(y/n): true.

And I kept chatting for another hour. ‘Murdoc’ was somewhat nice, although he talked shit about his dad and brother. In a way, he was charming. He told smooth jokes that made me laugh until my side hurt. He also seemed to be a little bitter about romance, as he had an unfortunate experience with his friend’s girlfriend a few years back. I left the chat room because my eyes hurt too hard and my bad felt like it would snap. I signed off and headed to bed, staring and the Gorillaz concert ticket on my bulletin board. The concert was next week, and a shiver ran up my spine. I couldn’t wait to see them onstage. They really were a band to behold.

I rolled over and plopped a pillow on my head as the heater kicked in, a loud, angsty cluncki-click noise and thrummed wildly like an out-of-tune instrument.

The day soon came, and I knew I couldn’t be late. I had awoken early, and eaten my fair (and disgusting) share of all-bran cereal.

I opened my window, to the smell of exhaust, perfume, and cigarettes, and the sound of cars honking and driving.

The smell of cigarettes seemed different today. Perhaps the drugstore ran out of Camels. I went back to my room and pulled on my clothes, hoping to get a fresh start to the day, despite the fact I had awoken at 6:30. Ugh.

I went back to my computer and booted up Half-Life and began to play.

*****let me timeskip I’m lazy*****

4:55. and I had spent the last hour in traffic.

Man, people surely like Gorillaz or something. I had barely gotten there in time. I left at four, totally certain I’d beat traffic. Oh how wrong I was.

I went near the gate, holding my ticket and trying not to look suspicious to security. I had to wait a painstaking five minutes just to see the guy I was having my mystery first date with. The Gorillaz murals, however, were nothing short of wonderful, so at least I could spend time looking at them.

I felt a chill up my spine as I gripped my jacket closer, and my ticket tighter.

At last, it was 5. I stared at my watch, unable to believe it. It only dawned on me later on that I was supposed to do something, but what? Say something? What did Murdoc tell me in the chat, Dammit?

“Uh...” I looked around, and hesitantly called out, “S-seaman?”

The security guard looked over at me, and raised a choppy eyebrow. “Say again?”

“Seaman. I’m supposed to say that and meet some-”

“Come with me,” He said shortly. “And I’ll take your ticket.”

“W-where am I going?” I asked.

“I was told about a special somebody here, and that she deserved a backstage pass with her new boyfriend,” He said simply. “Don’t worry, I’ll scan your ticket.” I fearfully handed the man the ticket, and he proceeded to lead me to a door that said ‘Backstage- security and band only.’

He opened the door. “Your friend is inside, but be careful. He may or may not be drunk.”

“He’s what-” but he slammed the door and and I was left in a dimly lit hallway.

I decided that there was nothing else to do besides walk down to the dressing rooms. And, like every idiot in every horror movie, I did.

My feet echoed louder than I wanted them to, and I shivered. I caught a whiff of that same cigarette smell from this morning, but I shook it away as I forced my feet to march to my inevitable fate. That hallway seemed to grow longer and longer, and I soon heard voices from a door I was approaching.

“-and I tell ya, the kiddo had blue hair like me! ‘e did!” a stuttery voice cheered

“D, he probably dyed it.” came a deeper one, probably from a black man.

“I know, but I fought it wazza’bit cool, eh?”

“Dents, get your sodding mind out of the gutter! I have a guest coming.” Ordered a gruff, angry voice.

“Watashi wa kireina josei ni aitaidesu!!” a Littler girl spoke, but I didn’t understand. Was she Asian or something?

“I know you do, babygirl, just wait.”

I knocked on the door, and the voices went silent.

It opened, and a little Japanese girl stood in the doorway, wearing a radio helmet and a jacket covered in patches that was too big for her.

“Anata wa kireina joseidesu ka?“ She asked

“Umm..” I stared at her.

“She jus; asked yew if yew were the pretty lady Mu’doc’s been talkin’ bout.” said a voice from inside.

“I don’t know if I’m pretty, but can I see Murdoc?” I hunched my shoulders.

“Ē! Kare wa koko ni iru -“

“Let her in, Noodle.” came the gruff voice, and I head a metal chair creak.

“Ā, daijōbu, Murdoc!” the little girl stepped aside and grinned at me. ‘Noodle’ looked too young to be with these men.

And then it hit me once I walked in.

I stood face to face with a man in his thirties. His nose was a lumpy mess, and his eyes lay just under his greasy black bangs, one red and one brown. He scratched a tanned cheek and grinned a crocodile, crooked-toothed grin. He wore a sweat-stained grey shirt, displaying his tattoo-covered arms. He had oddly trimmed white fingernails, which fiddled with a guitar pick. His ripped jeans seemed too small, and he had a pair of Cuban heels on his feet.

“You must be (y/n),” Murdoc seemed to play with my name on his snakey tongue. “It’s me, from the chat room.”

(sorry to end off on a cliffhanger)

#Gorillaz #Murdoc Niccals #Murdoc x Reader #reader insert #gorillaz reader insert #fanfic request

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roses-and-oceans · 6 years ago

Text

Once Upon a Dream ~ (Chpt. 2)

A/N: Hi hello, i’m so glad to hear positive things about this fic!! this has been my baby for months and love the way yall are taking in my words. Srry i havent been active, ive beeen depressed and sick and even more sick now.

If yall like my stuff and you wanna support me in a vry nice way, pls go over to my kofi and I can do very nice things 4 u 2!!! Any amount would help tremendously w bills, meds and gas!! srry fro the plug but ill make a seperate post.

Thanks very much, hope you enjoy!!!

Feathers tickled your nose as your eyes opened to a room of mirrors filled with golden moths flitting about. Vines and big blooms that look like trumpets hung about and drooped around a chandelier. As you stood up, the feathers became a trailing, long skirt. The puffiness and shape reminded you of the beautiful waterfowl you'd seen some mornings at a pond nearby your home. A dark, blood red sash was tied at your waist, around your neck and down your back.

As you moved to examine yourself on the mirrored walls between the heavy vines of gilded ivy and, the moths started to fly off the surface of the walls and surround you. You flinched at their movement but as they started to settle back down again, you began to make your way to the door. The insects followed you and began to feast on the golden trumpet flowers.

Some of the moths settled on your shoulders delicately and as their wings fluttered, they dusted you with light gold scales. The door swung open and the creatures erupted into flight, allowing you to leave the room with their gold blessings. You made your way down the halls, following the golden cracks in the marble floors. The tower was as cold as ever and it took all you could to not jump anytime the feathers on your dress fluttered.

The door at the top of the tower was already open. There were a few panes of colored glass broken on the floor. You ran inside.

The petals from the flowers all over the room were plucked from blooms and stems were broken. The pillows on the sheets were ripped and for the first time, you were scared.

This room was no longer safe, this room was tainted.

Where was the Prince? Was he safe?

Thundering steps echoed in the tower and you were rooted to the spot, too afraid to move.

Your prince came past the doorway, his hair flying everywhere. Despite being breathless, he still smiled when he saw you. The glass crunched underneath his scuffed shoes.

“You're alright,” he rasped. His eyes were shining, like magic. He took your face in his hands and kissed your forehead.

“You're safe.” He rested his forehead against yours. You took him by the wrists. You tried to speak, but your voice became bubbled in your throat. You've never spoken in your dreams.

He noticed your struggle and said, “It's okay, I'm okay. I thought something happened to you...”

There was a loud crash below and your eyes went to the door. He gripped you a bit tighter to catch your attention and he murmured, “I have to send you back early tonight. It's not safe here. Not anymore.”

You shook your head, taking in deep gulps of air. You wanted to plead with him to let you stay, to help him overcome whatever was destroying his home your safe place.

“No, I can't let you stay! Its too dangerous! Only I can fight this. I brought this upon myself..”

There was another crash. He looked back to the door and back at you. He kissed your forehead again.

“I'm so sorry.”

You were so confused. He took a deep breath, “I was fooling myself. I was only delaying the inevitable and my selfish actions dragged you into this fight.”

Fight?

“I wanted to live happily. I have lived through the darkest days and now that I found you-.”

The glass door exploded and he shielded you from the rainbow burst.

“I'm sorry.”

He shoved you to the bed.

You fell back and though you thought you were going to hit the bed, you kept falling. The air was whooshing around you and you felt yourself getting sick. You screamed. Everything was so dark.

You woke up in your own bed, the feeling of dropping still fresh. You gulped down air, pushed a hand against the fluttering of your heart.

What in the hell was that?

You looked outside your window; there was a blue haze in the morning air as it drizzled with rain.

And thus began your four days without sleep.

The rain didn't stop by the time you had set out to the bakery. There was a small pounding at the back of your head, your shoulders sagged and your eyes could not get used to the dim morning glow despite your best to.

As you came into the shop, Prompto smiled at you. His usual 1000 bolt smile was unusually dim.

“Hey, Y/N. How are you this morning?”

After greeting him as best as you could, you went tot he back to greet Gladiolus and Ignis. You stood at the doorway, taking a moment to watch Ignis work while Gladiolus was finishing up brushing glaze on finished pastries. Ignis was so hyper focused on setting everything up for the day; he was mixing a bowl of batter and had set one aside, “Gladio. Could you please set out three muffin pans? Also, set out three pie tins. Please grease and flour the tins and have Y/N and Prompto set the paper cups and get the third oven to heat up.”

“You got it, Iggy,” Gladiolus put down the glaze and began preparing the trays.

“Thank you.”

You stepped further into the kitchen and the floor creaking underneath you announced your presence to the men. Gladiolus looked you over, “Good morning. Rough night?”

You nodded, “Couldn't really sleep.”

Ignis suddenly appeared at your side with a mug, “Nor could I. Thunderstorms are quite a nuisance at times. Lucky for you, I'm quite well stocked on coffee.”

He motioned for you to take the mug. The earthy taste of the coffee warmed your bones and sent a buzz through you. Ignis even added a bit of milk and sugar to your liking.

“Hope it wasn't too bitter.”

“No, its perfect.”

Prompto was quiet the rest of the work day. He was usually so talkative, so full of jokes and quips. When he was sent out for a delivery task, you turned to the to the others, “Do you know what's wrong with Prompto?”

Ignis took a deep breath and said, “As you know, we come from the old Kingdom. The anniversary of its fall and the death of our many loved ones is approaching fast. Though it has been ten years, it has not gotten easier.

You nodded somberly, “I'm so very sorry about your home...”

Gladiolus shook his head, “No apologies needed.”

You all had gotten back to work. Something still felt off. You decided to talk to Prompto when he came back from his delivery.

There was still no sight of him at lunchtime. You were beginning to worry about him as the time went on and the rain fell harder. You weren't able to go down to the meadow as per usual so after you had eaten your fill, you stood at the back doorway and watched the rain fall. You shivered as the rain air went right through you. Though you loved the rain, you couldn't really enjoy it. You heard heavy footsteps behind you.

“Gil for your thoughts?” Gladiolus' rough voice came from behind you.

You sighed deeply, “Not really thinking, more tired than anything.”

You really were. The ache in your head had not gone away and you felt everything in your body. You were aware of all the aches and the pull of skin and muscles. You hated it.

Gladiolus leaned against the doorjamb, “I noticed that. Usually, your head is up in the clouds, but you're actually present today.”

You smiled, “Don't get used to it.”

That made Gladiolus laugh. You heard the rumble in his chest. It was almost comforting.

“Don't you worry about Prompto. It's always hard for him this time of the year.”

Thunder rumbled above you as you glanced at Gladiolus. He took a deep breath and went back to the warm bakery, to help Ignis. You stayed there for a few moments longer, trying to collect the pieces of peaces around you to glue into your head to help the ache.

Prompto came back soaked like a dog. You helped him dry off his hair and warmed him up with tea as the lunch hour was beginning to end. He ended up staying in the kitchen the entire time, enjoying the warmth of the ovens. Ignis served him his bowl of stew and Prompto looked at you with puppy dog eyes that made you chuckle to yourself. Even Gladiolus laughed when Prompto sneezed loudly enough to scare Ignis. It startled you, too, and Ignis was smiling, shaking his head from the flour that had puffed up from the jump.

Right as you finished your tasks for the day, a loud thunderclap roared over the bakery. It scared you out of your wits; you screamed and you knocked over the muffin pans you washed. The boys looked at you, Gladiolus coming over, “You alright?

You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter. The lack of sleep and the unavoidable crash from the coffee had your body feeling wiry and shaky. It would not be wise to be outside.

“I'm alright,” You said as you yawned, “Tired 'is all.”

“That storm outside looks pretty nasty,” Gladiolus warned. You could feel it emanating off him; he didn't want you to go outside.

“I'll be-”

There was a sound ringing in your head. Everything went dark.

But you could hear someone singing. They had a rich voice. Their velvet-smooth crooning drew you in.

Whatever it was, whatever they were, it engulfed you in warmth. Comforting, warm like a body to lay with, nuzzling you closer. You could smell roses. Roses, but amplified. Roses, sea-salt, blood, skin, hair. All the smells came together and the body wrapped its arms around you. You looked up and you met golden eyes, maroon hair. The sharpest smile you've seen. He was beautiful. He sang a song, promising you a sunrise, promising if he failed, he'd die to make the sun come up.

“Y/N!”

You woke up and you were on the floor. Prompto was lifting your legs and Ignis held your head.

Oh, Gods above, your head. It was pounding, thundering like the sky outside. Next thing you knew, you were being carried by Gladiolus, up the stairs, to the boys' living space. He set you down on a red couch and Ignis wrapped a blanket around you. Already, your eye lids were heavy.

The boys began to prepare to go to bed in the low light. Ignis and Gladio stayed up a little later, talking in low voices. And then it was quiet.

You burrowed yourself in the blanket deeper. Suddenly, it was as if everyone had gone and you were alone, waiting. It felt silly to feel like that but it didn't change how you felt. You missed the warmth of your friend, the Prince. You hoped he was okay... And then the echoes of someone singing startled you.

That night was full of tossing and turning. Over and over again you heard the echoes of the honey voiced, wine-haired man singing to you. You couldn't understand the words but it still lulled you into a relaxed state.

Tagging:

@fortheloveofeos @gladiolus-mamacitia @angelic-guardienne@leeyahlee-nai @inconsistencys @furubatsu @hextme@zimmer2d@ladychocoberry @mandakatt @casxia

#ffxv fanfic #ffxv #sleeping beauty au #ffxv au #noctis lucis calem #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #prompto argentum #noctis x reader #my writing #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #o yes #ardyn x reader #*eyes emoji*

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hellospunkiebrewster · 7 years ago

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Credence - Part IX of Duty

Author’s note: We’re almost there, I’d originally planned for this to be ten parts. Each part representing a stage in Riley and Ellie’s, and to a lesser extent Drake’s, grieving process. If you’re new here, thanks for finding me, and catch up here:

Part I: Déjà Vu - Part II: Hopelessly Cold - Part III: Bitterness - Part IV: Rage - Part V: Promises - Part VI: Oath - Part VII: Dysphoria - Part VIII: Toska

Characters and places belong to Pixelberry, I’m just playing with them.

Summary: Riley and Drake discuss the previous night and figure out what’s going on between them. A couple weeks later, Riley attends a state dinner and has to deal with some difficult questions from Ellie.

Word count: 3325

Tags: @queencatherynerhys, @boneandfur, @theroyalweisme, @crayziimaginations, @mfackenthal, @lizeboredom, @gardeningourmet, @madaraism, @pbchoicesobsessed, @hopefulmoonobject

Riley works her way through the hallways towards the library unsure what awaits her there. She wonders if Drake felt like they’d made a mistake, if he was being eaten alive by this same ravenous guilt. As she makes the final turns to the library, her mouth runs dry and it takes every bit of her strength to continue on. Retreating seems like a much simpler option to her. She forces herself on, knowing it wasn’t right to do the easy thing now.

Her hand rests on the doorknob and she steels herself for what’s inside. “You have gotten yourself through everything up to this point,” Riley reassures herself, aloud. She takes a deep breath before turning the knob and stepping inside.

Drake stands far into the long room, looking out the large window at the end of the room. His back is to her and for a moment she watches him as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his palms together anxiously.

Once she’s far enough into the library that she knows she can’t turn heel and run, she clears her throat to announce herself. He is shaken from his thoughts by the noise and turns to face her. Tension melts from his face almost instantaneously when he meets her eyes.

“...Collins.” His voice seems choked, almost as if he’s shocked she even came here this morning.

He takes a few steps back suddenly as she nears him and turns away, motioning for her to follow him. Feeling along a shelf, he hits the switch that swings a bookcase away from the wall and steps inside the passage. She’d been here once before with him, on a drunken tour of the palace when they returned after clearing her name, after her engagement to Liam. That night he all but confessed to her how he felt.

“I know how I feel about last night. What I don’t know is how you feel.” He sits on a stone step, facing away from her, looking at the floor. She steps down and sits beside him, her hand rests between them, just touching his, featherlight.

“So I have to go first?”

He looks at her, pained expression on his face. “Please.” He isn’t ready to have his heart broken all over again.

“It felt like so many things Drake. It felt like guilt and pain.” She pauses, gathering herself to continue and he’s looking down at the floor again. She picks a spot on the wall over his head and stares into it, unable to look at him. “But it also felt comforting and warm. I don’t know if there’s anything there for you, but it was very much real for me. You?”

“Are you kidding me?”

She looks at him. He’s sitting much straighter now, searching her face.

“For me, it’s always been about you Riley. From the moment we stepped into that bar, it’s been about you. I’ve always stepped aside because I knew you didn’t feel the same. Because I didn’t want to hurt anyone involved. I pushed it down. And really, who was I, next to an actual king?”

Her first name always feels foreign to her in his voice.

“You were my friend, you kept me safe. You helped clear my name.”

“I did do all of those things, but not because Liam asked me to. I did them because I wanted to, because I cared for you. I loved you.”

She doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t new to her, but it is strange to hear it directly from him, out loud. It was all real. She shakes her head and looks down at her hands. Even in the dim, windowless passage her ring finds the only photons of light and magnifies them.

“But Liam-”

He stops her. “Liam wouldn’t have wanted you to put everyone before yourself.”

Drake entered Liam’s study the evening before his wedding. He stood in the center of the room as Liam poured them both a drink, motioning at two large chairs as he handed Drake a glass. He picked up the crystal decanter and placed it on the table nearest Drake’s seat, before he takes a seat himself.

“My wedding is tomorrow.”

“Is it now? I hadn’t noticed,” he scoffed.

Liam’s eyes sparkled with the smallest peal of laughter. His mouth fell to a small frown quickly afterwards.

“I know how you feel about Riley.”

Drake brought the glass to his lips and looks away. He thought he had been better at hiding it, at keeping it to himself. He was kicking himself for allowing it to happen when he knew his best friend was in love with her. The guilt of that alone was destroying him. Nothing had even happened, Drake would never allow it to. As he swallowed he felt his jaw tense. A small cough escaped his throat and he answered his friend seriously.

“I’d never do anything to hurt either of you. This is something I’ll have to learn to live with because I’m genuinely happy for both of you. You and her deserve this happiness, Liam.”

“You wouldn’t, I know.”

Liam took a sip and looked at him, mulling over his next request.

“Since the attack, I’ve found it hard to shake the thought that I might not always be there for her. I could be gone in an instant, I could be gone tomorrow. And while the public loves her, there’s members of the nobility who would eat her alive.”

“Liam, what are you saying?”

“With such a huge target on my back, I don’t know if I’ll always be here for her. As much as I hate to say it, it’s a very real possibility.”

“We’ve already spoken about this and I said, ‘yes.’ You want me to protect her.”

Liam emptied his glass in one gulp, rising from his seat before turning to the window. “No, I want you to take care of her.”

“We made so many promises to each other Drake, and now he’s gone. I owe it to him to bring Cordonia through this, to help set Ellie up for success, to build his legacy since he had so little time to do it himself.” She fights back tears. Her betrayal pulls at her heart, pulling her away from him.

“But at what cost, Collins? You barely see Ellie, you’re a stressed out mess, you’re hardly sleeping.”

His hand slides against her cheek and she can’t help by lean into it. His hand is rough against her face, calloused from all the odd jobs he does around the palace, but still so gentle. It stills her mind and she feels her panicked breathing return to normal.

“I know it hasn’t been that long and I know you have never felt anything more than friendship with me, but last night, that had to mean something.”

“It did and I think that’s why I feel so guilty.” Her eyes begin to well up. “I miss him so much it hurts, Drake.” She dabs at her eyes with her fingertips, looking to the ceiling as she tries to blink her tears away. His other hand grips her thigh and her stomach jumps and flutters.

“I don’t know if I can ever feel the same way as you.” Her voice cracks.

“And I’m not asking you to, I’m asking you to let go and allow yourself something that makes you feel happy and loved for the first time in months, to forget Cordonia and court for just a little while every so often.” His hand slips from her cheek to sweep some loose hairs from her face and behind her ear. It follows along the lock of hair down to her neck, his fingertips brushing the side of her neck and making her shiver. They travel to her collarbone and her breath comes short. His touch is so light it’s barely there, ghosting along her body. Goosebumps pucker her skin in its wake.

She finally looks at him again, and he’s boring into her gaze with the same intensity she’d seen from Liam so many times. Her lips are dry and they pull at each other as her mouth falls slightly open. His other hand moves up the outside of her thigh and comes to rest at the small of her back, pulling her into him.

“How is it that you always make me feel like I’m enough? Like I don’t need to try harder, like i’m not failing?”

“Because you are enough, Collins. You’re more than enough, you’re compassionate, gentle, brilliant, strong-”

She cuts him short, her lips on his, stronger than the night before. Drake stiffens in shock, not moving. He fears any movement from him will scare her away. Only when her hands float to both sides of his face, slipping back to his neck, her fingers intertwined behind it, does he relax into her touch and return the kiss with the same intensity. His hand grips at the fabric of her shirt on the small of her back, afraid to let her go. A gnawing thought pulls him from the moment and he breaks the kiss.

She looks up at him and she chews lightly on her bottom lip. Her eyes are confused and he opens his mouth to speak but she prempts him.

“So what exactly is this?”

“Heh. Taking the words right out of my mouth.” She waits for his response, unwavering.

“I suppose it’s only fair since I made you go first. And I can’t say I have an answer, I know what I’ve wanted for so long.” Riley can see him fight himself from pulling back further and looking away before he continues, “But asking that of you, now, isn’t fair. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for it. So much has happened in the last few months and I don’t know if either of us are. I guess we’ll play it by ear. No expectations.”

She drops her hands from behind his neck and they slip to his waist and behind his back. She is pulling herself into him, burying her ear in his chest, listening to his heartbeat. His warmth blankets her and she allows herself to welcome in the feeling of someone else’s arms around her.

“There’s one thing I do know. I need you. To just be here. You might feel like you’ve barely been holding it all together, but you’ve kept me together. You and Ellie. I was drowning and you pulled me from it.”

She closes her eyes, her breathing slows to match his as she listens to the thump of his heart. They’re both quiet for some time before Drake speaks again.

“Thank you.” He kisses the top of her forehead and continues to hold her.

“Is this really necessary Collins?” Drake protests as she adjusts his pocket square and turns her attention to his bowtie.

A shriek of laughter bubbles through the royal suite.

“You look funny.” Ellie’s eyes shine with mirth as she stands in the door to her mother’s bedroom. He shoots her a mean look and she shrieks and runs down the hall to her room, feet thudding along the way.

Drake stands in front of a full length mirror with Riley in front of him, a couple weeks after their discussion in the library. She busies herself with the knot in his bowtie, untying and retying it a few times before she gets it right.

“Ugh, I don’t think I’ve tied one of these since I was helping my friend Daniel get ready for a wedding. How do you not know how to do this? You literally spend most of your days in a palace.” She adjusts the now done tie, trying to get it to sit straight.

“I don’t generally dress up for things, no one notices you if stand by some plants near the bar.”

“That’s going to have to change.” A scoff escapes his throat in a deep rumble when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as Riley steps back and turns to survey him in it. Drake is wearing a deep navy tuxedo with black lapels. “You’re looking pretty good tonight Mr. Walker.” She winks exaggeratedly at him, laughter shining in her eyes at his discomfort.

“I don’t look like myself.” Drake shifts from side to side in his He messes with his collar, trying to loosen it. When it doesn’t budge he sighs, dejectedly.

She touches his arm and he brings his eyes to hers in the mirror. “I know it’s not your thing, but thank you so much for agreeing to come to this state dinner with me.”

Drake nods.

Riley turns to her closet, grabbing her gown and slipping into the bathroom to change. She’s wearing a simple textured crepe gown in cream with a painted peach and muted blue flower pattern to match. The skirt is simple and falls down straight, with a single long slit up the back. She slips on a pair of gold shoes and exits the bathroom.

“I just need to check on Ellie.” She crosses the room to head to Ellie’s room and Drake catches her wrist, pulling her to him in one quick motion.

“You look stunning, I almost regret giving you a hard time about asking me to come to this thing.” He presses a kiss to her lips and she relaxes into it for a moment.

“Ew, what are you doing?”

Riley jumps back as if she had been burned and brings her hand to her lips. Turning towards the door, she sees Ellie in her pajamas, her head tilted to one side and her nose crinkled.

“Uncle Drake and I have to go to a very important event tonight and it’s just about bedtime. Do you think we can talk about it tomorrow?” Ellie shrugs.

“How about a bedtime story?”

“Okay.” Ellie turns and stomps her way down the hallway to her room with Riley in tow.

Riley and Drake are seated at a large round table with the guests of honor an ambassador from France and one from Portugal along with others from the regent committee. She nods along as the ambassador from Portugal is speaking about a proposed trade agreement between their two countries. She’s not particularly interested in the conversation but is putting up a good face for the sake of Bertrand who is seated directly across from her in the circle of diners.

As the plates are being cleared from the last course by the staff, Riley is approached by her assistant who kneels next to her to whisper in her ear.

“Ma’am, it’s Eleanor, she’s not feeling well and the night nanny says she won’t-”

Riley cuts her short by rising from the table and interrupting the conversation around it.

“I’m so sorry to disappoint, but it seems my daughter is not feeling well at the moment and needs me. I’m going to have to call it an early night, but please, dance and enjoy the night. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh what a pity,” the ambassador from France looks at her disappointed. “But family comes first.”

“Surely Her Majesty could open the evening’s dancing before leaving? Or a toast?” Bertrand pipes up from his seat. Riley knows a dance is only a few minutes, but knowing nobility, she could get held up for a half hour or longer just waiting for people to be ready, waiting for the champagne to be poured, for them to ask her for a dance, and she didn’t really want to have to explain the situation to the entire room. She sees her window as now, before anyone notices she’s slipped out.

“I’m very sorry Duke Ramsford, but I really should go.”

Bertrand sighs heavily, disappointed by her response. She turns to leave but doesn’t hear another committee member mutter to him, “I guess being a mother is more important than being Queen mother.”

She does however hear Drake over the conversation at the table. “You’re damn right it is,” Drake pushes himself back from the table, knocking a couple of wine glasses over in the violent motion. “You’re all the same, not wanting to take any actual responsibility for this country and resting it all on her because it’s easier and more interesting to watch her juggle it all.”

The ambassadors are clearly uncomfortable and reach for their drinks, shooting each other sideways glances. Riley looks at Drake, frozen and embarrassed. She knows she needs to do something to diffuse the tension. Her gaze wanders the table and her eyes meet Savannah’s, sympathetic, an apology in them.

“Since we’re on the topic of mothers, what would you all think of Duke Ramsford and his beautiful wife here opening the night’s festivities? It won’t be long until they have another sweet little one of their own, surely it would be a memorable way to start the evening.”

Savannah nods, smiling, and Bertrand nods approvingly at Riley as she excuses herself once again. She turns to leave through a side entrance, feeling Drake’s presence on her heels.

“I asked you to come for moral support, not to serve as back up in a fist fight,” she smirks and shakes her head at him. Her steps quicken and she travels the hallways of the palace back the residence.

When they arrive, the night nanny tells them Eleanor is in her room. Drake makes his way to the couch, already removing his tie and undoing the top few studs on his shirt. Riley hurries down the hallway and enters Ellie’s room where she lays in bed, looking upset and conflicted.

“Oh sweetie, what’s wrong?” Riley asks as she crosses the room and sits on the edge of her daughter’s bed.

“You’re forgetting daddy. I don’t want to forget him, too.”

Riley takes in a deep breath before saying anything to her daughter. She knew she was in for an interesting discussion soon when Ellie saw Drake and her in the bedroom earlier while getting ready.

“I could never forget daddy Ellie,” she pauses unsure how to continue.

“But why were you with Uncle Drake tonight?” Ellie’s face is turned up to hers and Riley lays on her side next to her daughter in bed, propping her head on her hand and bringing her other hand to stroke her daughter’s hair.

“Mommy loved daddy so much, and still does. Daddy was my best friend Ellie,” she watches Ellie’s face as the worry begins to melt away but the concern remains.

She continues, “Uncle Drake and daddy were also best friends, It’s very hard to be happy without a best friend.” She knew she was talking in circles, unsure where she was going with this.

“Just because you find a new best friend doesn’t mean you forget about the old one.”

“So you won’t forget about daddy?”

“Never sweetie, I could never forget him because he gave me you.” Ellie’s conflict melts away from her face but she can see the gears still turning in her mind. Riley kisses her daughter’s cheek and continues to stroke her hair until she falls asleep. She takes a couple minutes to watch her sweet sleeping face, rising slowly to not stir her. She tiptoes from the room and shuts the door behind her. When she’s in the hallway, she realizes what Ellie was thinking about and dreads the conversation tomorrow about what she meant when she said that Liam gave her Ellie. She rubs the space between her eyebrows with her fingertips as she goes to her room to change.

Riley returns to the living room after some time to find Drake on the couch, his shirt undone and untucked and jacket thrown over the back of a chair. She joins him and he throws his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to him.

“Everything alright?”

“It will be. I think.”

Part X: Unconditional is here.

#playchoices #play choices #the royal romance #trr #choices fanfiction #trr fanfic #drake walker #king liam #duty

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hollyhomburg · 7 years ago

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Don’t Worry Love

(Jung Hoseok x Reader) (TW: Anorexia)

You thought you had your bad habit under control- but when you wake up in a hospital room your boyfriend: Jung Hoseok confronts you- rightfully angry that you nearly starved yourself to death.

Words: 2.1k

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Tags: ANOREXIA, ANGST, ANXIETY, HURT/COMFORT, angry!Hoseok, eventual fluff. mention of recovered anorexic!Jimin, yoonmin if you squint hard enough. best friend!Seokjin

a/n: I'm honestly sorry if this triggers anyone because this is definitely graphic and emotional but to be honest, I couldn't make myself eat today- and I wrote this as a form of catharsis.

“I'm too anxious to eat.” You say to yourself, And that’s when everything starts to go downhill.

At first, it was just the easier alternative. Your busy work schedule didn’t allow you to have time to work out- and not eating and not exercising freed up time in your schedule for other things. Anorexia kept you skinny when you didn't have time to do it the healthy way. That and (though You hated to admit it) not eating also gave you the slightest feeling of control in your life- just enough that you felt less anxious.

You didn’t feel guilty about it- not really, the only thing that gave you slightest pause was your boyfriend Hoseok, whom you had been dating for almost 3 years. He was an idol, and busy with a comeback when your bad habit first started to get out of hand. You didn’t blame him for not noticing- you were good at hiding it. You were rarely intimate when he was this busy and he was hardly around enough to realize that the only thing you really consume was water.

He did comment on the nights when he got early enough for you to be awake. You had taken to wearing the baggiest clothes you could find; mostly his old thick joggers and fluffy sweaters. But those comments on your baggy attire where easily diffused with careful excuses of the approaching winter and excuses of comfiness and missing him; which wasn't a lie.

You did miss him; you could barely bring yourself to drink water on the days you knew you wouldn't see him. But you didn't want to bother him; So when he pulled you close at night you let him think that you were fine, thick layers of clothing covering your rapidly vanishing body.

Everything was going perfectly- you couldn't remember the last time you ate- and you were just waiting on the couch for him to get back from a performance when you decided to get up to get a glass of water.

The next thing you knew you were waking up slowly- an unfamiliar and uncomfortable bed underneath your small frame. The iv in your arm stung terribly. The only sound in the room the steady drip of fluids being pumped into you and the slow tick of the heart monitor. The beeping of the heart monitor picked up when you realized where you were- you don’t open your eyes yet but you feel a familiar hand enclosing around yours. Rough callouses rub gently against your palm as you finally open your eyes.

At the sight of you waking, Hoseok breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

Awake at last- now he could talk to you about this. All he had been able to think about the last few hours was what would happen if you died. What if he never had a chance to talk to you- his best friend and lover again? the thought made him want to never smile or dance again.

He let out a relived choking whine as your eyes meet his. Relief made his heart beat quickly But it also brought other emotions; shame for not realizing sooner, sadness that someone who he held so dearly was suffering, and surprisingly;

Anger.

As you watch him the heart rate monitor picks up again as panic grips you. There is no more hiding from this here in your hospital room. No more shoving it down and lying to him. You've lost track of how many times you’ve lied and told him that you had eaten already or that you weren’t hungry.

“Hey.” He says. And you can’t help but feel guilty at the bags that have gathered under his eyes- or the fact that his clothes look slept in.

“H-hey.” You say back weakly. Wincing at the way your voice breaks- how many hours have you been here? Silence eats away at both of you until it’s Hoseok that cracks- finally letting some of his leashed anger through with a tight voice and bitter accusation.

“Are you not even going to say you're sorry?”

“I don't understand what you mean” you reply refusing to meet his accusatory gaze. You look at your hands, finding them shaking slightly- or maybe it's more of a shiver. The hospital room is cold, but Hoseok in his thin black t-shirt and joggers doesn't look bothered. Your words somehow manage to make him angrier.

“Oh, I don't know! that you're sorry for lying to me? for all those times you told me you’d already eaten? All of the times you told me that you were taking care of yourself when you weren't when you didn’t get me when you needed me? Aren’t you going to apologize for all of those times you lied to my face and told me that you were fine?”

You swallow thickly “I am fine Hoseok.”

he barks out a laugh- flinging the covers off of you and then dragging up your shirt to reveal your ribs, he could count every one of them. Your stomach looked taught- almost painfully flat. You shoved at him but your arms had long since lost any ounce of muscle- and the action makes both of you realize how weak you had gotten.

Hoseok could remember a trip you took in the summertime to the beach with the boys. You had dragged him into the waves gigling and had held him there even when he shrieked as the cold water hit his stomach.

Hoseok’s tears hit your stomach- and you stop weekly pushing at him. He balances- his hands on either side of you careful not to put any of his weight on you. You look so breakable underneath him like if he put his hands on you- even to just hug you-you would snap in two.

You looked like years of sadness and anxiety had eaten their way through you.

To Hoseok- you looked like the shadow of someone he had loved. He hadn’t realized that you hadn’t been eating- that you had been starving yourself. he should have realized something was wrong when he realized you where cold- not emotionally too him, but now he could remember your cold hands touching his arms and his cheeks weeks ago.

Why wasn’t he a better boyfriend to you? why wasn’t he around more for you like you deserved- if he had just made time for you- had taken you out on maybe just a lunch date maybe he would have seen you suffering before you had gotten to this point. Self-loathing tamped down on him- and he knew it would be a long while before he would forgive himself for neglecting you.

But he would have dropped everything if you had just told him- and you knew that.

Walking in on you last night had been his worse nightmare- and the start of the hardest day of his life.

His hands still shook from the way he had picked you up from the floor- and the way his hands slid over your sharp shoulders and hips- so different from the way that you used to feel. Had it really only been a few months since you had been full- and not on the verge of death?

“You are not fine y/n,” he says finally, the venom in his voice diluted by his tears. Tears start to drift down your cheeks slowly too, and then you whimper, full-blown sobs threatening to escape. He carefully takes his weight off of you and sits back in his chair. Ignoring the fact that he won't stop shaking or crying.

“Why are you so mad?” you ask him- because honestly, you don’t know- you thought he'd be at least a little happy to have a skinny doll-like girlfriend.

“Why am I angry?” He laughed bitterly through the tears running his fingers through his hair “You’re hurting yourself for shit's sake! You broke my trust. How am I supposed to trust you when you’ve been lying to me for so long? How am I supposed to forgive you for almost taking the person I love away from me?”

Sobs rack your small frame and you only had to look up at him to see your anguish reflected. “Was I really that close?”

“The doctors say you would have died within the week if you didn’t at least get fluids into you.”

“But I made sure to drink plenty of water- I was careful- I...” you trail off when you catch his gaze- he’s watching you like they’res someone putting a gun to your head. When he watches you like that you can see how much you’ve hurt him. Your actions have broken his heart.

“I'm sorry” you sob out. His fingers are soft and barely there when he brushes your tears away. You never wanted to hurt anyone-least of all him. You never wanted to break his heart- and at this point, you would do anything to mend it. “Could you ever forgive me? Can you?” Hoseok swallows and pulls himself back into bed next to you. He hands an arm around your shoulders wordlessly and you find yourself leaning into his warmth.

“I’ll forgive you, but only if you promise to start eating again.”

You swallow again- but there are no liquids in your mouth- nothing to wet your lips. He’s watching you again and you can see relief in his eyes as you nod slowly.

And its heartbreaking- because you’ve done this too him and you’ve done this too yourself, and maybe you couldn’t stop on your own- but you owe it to him to try. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips- and it’s a kiss that is pregnant with emotion: relief, love, anger, sadness, and a tiny bit of hope.

You reach up delicately and wipe away a single tear that’s leaked out of the side of his eye. And he smiles at you softly. Leaning over to press a blue button.

“What’s that,” you ask.

He smiles at you softly. “I’m not going to let you hurt yourself anymore. Today is day one of your recovery, and I'm going to be with you every step of the way. and-” he says, interrupted by the arrival of a nurse guiding every one of your friends. “They want to help too.”

You smile at them hesitantly- a little uneasy at your deepest secret being laid out for all of them to see- but based on the looks of them, they already know;

Dried tear tracks have carved lines on both Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s faces. Namjoon looks like he about to walk into a minefield- and is smiling with something akin to pity. Jimin looks afraid- like looking at you will shatter him. But Yoongi is close by, and he watches both of you like a hawk- but he bites his tongue- not talking but looking about as angry as Hoseok.

Above it, all your best friend Seokjin looks unbothered and unruffled- a freshly baked dish in his hands- smiling down at you.

All of them are holding food- Taehyung and Junkook hold enought McDonalds to feed a small army. Namjoon has enough of your favorite fried food to make you sick. And Jimin and Yoongi hold more ice cream in between the two of them then you could find in most supermarkets.

“Ah y/n!” Jin exclaims sitting down against the end of your bed. “I finally perfected this recipe you just have to try it.” without a word about your condition- without a second of scolding- the 7 of them start taking out plastic silverware and divvy the food up between everyone.

“Come on hyung- everyone knows she wants McDonald's first” Jungkook offers with a sly smile.

“Nah she deserves ice cream before dinner tonight,” Yoongi grumbles quietly.

“if you give her too much right off the bat she’ll just vomit it all up,” Jimin says, a little exasperated and a little angry. the crack of his voice makes everyone go silent. He doesn't have to say that he knows from experience. Yoongi’s hands tighten around a carton of rocky road.

“I’ll eat what I can,” you say, meeting his eyes.

You accept an overstuffed paper plate of food with shaking hands. Your eyes meet Jimin’s again and in that moment you know that you two are going to sit down and have a long talk. Maybe after this family dinner and maybe after you get out of the hospital. But. You. Will. Talk. To. Him. You need to know how he got through this so you can too. You're done hurting the people you love with your unhealthy behavior.

The people around you smile slightly but look at you with apprehension, waiting for you to shove the food away like they know you want to. you pick up a fork carefully. “Who wants to go bite for bite and see who explodes first?” you say to lighten the mood. Your friends laugh- and besides you, Hoseok rubs comforting circles into your arm, encouraging you to eat more.

You force yourself to swallow Jin’s cooking- not that it doesn't taste good- it does, but the feeling of love settling into your stomach is a kind of strange and wholesome fury.

The food lights a fire in you-you will not let yourself starve again. But even if- by some mistake- you slip up, you know you have people to catch you if you slip into old bad habits.

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evieshook · 7 years ago

Text

run with me

pairing: harry/evie rating: pg-13 words: ~2300 a/n: aka the five times they ran away together, and the one time they couldn’t. it’s supposed to be a songfic, but there’s only one real mention of the lyrics. it’s still very inspired by the song anyway. on a side note, it’s been almost a month since i last posted a fic. i’m so sorry! prompt: Can you do a hevie fic based on the song Paris by the chainsmokers? Maybe something about them running away? Thank you! read on: [ao3] [ffn.net]

He had found her sitting alone on the steps in front of the Tremaine’s Curl and Dye shop, lost in thought as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. He was curious; she had never exited the shop looking so gloomy and down in the dumps, nevertheless sitting alone in front of it like she had nowhere else to go. It irked him, more than he liked.

Without hesitation, he trudged up to her, hand outstretched for her to take it. She looked up at him curiously; it would be wrong to say that they were friends, yet it would be even more wrong to say they were strangers. While they had spoken only a few times before, those few moments had built a strange connection neither had thought possible. However they had never openly sought each other out, both too busy with their own messes of lives to think of doing anything else.

So she just stared at him, never saying anything else as he looked down at her expectantly. “Run away with me,” he had told her so seriously, she didn’t think he was joking. She went silent for a few moments before lifting her hand up, placing it gently in his.

“Okay,” she muttered in reply, letting the pirate lead her off to wherever he wished. He pulled her through the dark alleys of the Isle, swiftly turning to avoid the crowds as he ventured further and further out, until he reached the edges of the forest near the sea. She followed him obediently, allowing herself to relish in the feel of his touch as he gently tugged her along to a creek hidden behind the trees.

Evie raised a brow when the view finally came in sight, never having visited the place before. He led her near the rocks where there was a small canoe tucked away inside a small crevice. Evie followed him inside the boat, holding onto him for balance before taking a seat on the wooden plank. He took an oar, handing her one before showing her the correct way to paddle, the girl following along quickly.

When the preparations were finally done, Harry untied the string anchoring the boat to the edge of the creek before beginning to paddle away, Evie following his lead. They paddled in complete silence for a good ten minutes, before the pirate finally looked at her, ready to speak.

“Yer mum?” he had asked her, the girl nodding in reply.

“She got angry at me again for using up her makeup, lecturing me for not having the ‘decency’ to refill it. Then she called me ugly and that she didn’t want to see my face again, so I went to find Dizzy but she’s out,” she explained softly, twirling a strand of blue hair with her fingers.

Harry watched her as she let out a small sigh, biting her lip hard. He reached out a gloved hand, gently caressing her face as she paused, staring at him curiously. His hand moved to the strand of hair she was twirling, twirling it with his own before letting go.

“Yer not ugly Princess,” he said to her, “far from it.”

Evie bit her lip, trying to hide the small smile as he pulled away, paddling once more. It was one thing to be called pretty from her friends, but it was another to be called pretty from someone like Harry. It had meant more to her than he would ever know.

iv.

His fingers travelled along the length of his hook, lightly gliding across the cool surface before it reached the sharp point at its edge. If he added a little pressure, he would prick himself and draw blood, and the temptation was growing a little stronger.

However he was stopped by a hand that had gripped the edges of his hook, Harry looking up to see a bemused blue haired princess who flashed him a knowing look as he removed his finger from the edge. He grinned a sheepish grin but she shook her head, tugging the hook harder in retaliation.

“Run away with me,” she said to him, a single nod of the head giving her his answer. She pulled him by the hook, knowing he wouldn’t ever let it go as she led him through the familiar passages and along the sides of the forest until they reached the creek. Instead of heading inside the boat, she tugged him across the rocks at the edge, lightly jumping across to avoid the water.

He followed her obediently, until she stopped and bent down to grab two stones at the bottom of the shallow waters. When she got up, she handed him a stone, waving it to him before swiftly skipping it across the water, his eyes watching as it skipped five times before sinking into the bottom of the water. Evie turned to him expectantly as he copied her movement, shifting himself to the side before throwing it across the water. They both watched as it sunk to the bottom of the water without a single jump, Evie unable to stop the small giggle escaping her lips as Harry eyed her in irritation.

“It was me first time Princess,” he protested as Evie tried halting her giggles.

“I got it the first time,” she told him smugly, the pirate rolling his eyes.

“Beginner’s luck.”

She poked her tongue out at him before bending down to grab two more rocks, handing him one and getting ready to throw. “Your dad?”

They watched as her rock skipped seven times before sinking, Harry letting out a small whistle in appreciation before humming. “CJ and Harriet too.”

Evie turned to him with a raised brow. “What happened?”

Harry didn’t turn to look at her, instead focusing all his energy on the rock as he threw it as hard as he could, watching it sink just like before. “Same old, same old. Disappointed I hadn’t topped me classes like those two did, and even more so when they found out I was Uma’s first mate.”

She nodded in understanding, before bending down to reach for another rock. This time she grabbed one that was larger than the others, turning to give it to him without a word. He took it without question, knowing what she meant before he threw it with all his might.

iii.

He took her hand without asking, leading her down the familiar route to the creek before finding a good place on the rocks for them to sit. No paddling or skipping rocks this time, just plain sitting and enjoying each other’s company as they let the troubles around them fade away.

“Run away with me,” he had told her once they were settled on the dry rocks, Evie rolling her eyes at the lateness of it.

“I already have,” she retorted, the pirate grinning in reply. He let out a sigh as he shifted himself to look at her more comfortably, the girl turning to stare at him with curious eyes.

“It’s been a while,” she remarked, Harry nodding. “It has.”

Evie bit her lip as she locked gazes with him, the blue in his eyes only now becoming more present. “I’ve missed you,” she said softly, the pirate raising a brow in surprise. He sat up more straight this time as he kept his eyes locked on hers, not daring to make a single move.

“And why would the princess be missin’ a pirate like lil’ auld me?”

Her eyes narrowed at his teasing, reaching out to lightly punch him in the shoulder. “You know why.”

His eyes twinkled. “Aye, but I wanted to hear ye say it first.”

Her nose crinkled, Harry finding it the most adorable thing he’d ever seen before she let out a small harrumph. “They won’t like it you know.”

The male shrugged, not bothered by the opinions of the others. He loved his friends, he really did, and he had unquestionable loyalty to them but they didn’t control his life then and they wouldn’t control his life now. No matter the problem Uma had with the rest of her group, her bitterness lied with Mal and not Evie, so he didn’t see why she would need to be unnecessarily affected.

“I don’t care,” he told her, reaching out to rest a hand against her cheek. “They can hate it all they want, but they can’t tell me what to do.”

Evie placed a hand over his, leaning into his touch with a small smile. She didn’t doubt that he didn’t care, but she couldn’t deny that she did. Her friendship with Mal was still a little rocky and fragile, but she didn’t want to sacrifice one relationship for another. Harry was right in his thinking, but it didn’t mean that it wouldn’t cause problems for everyone involved.

But they had run away together, so that shouldn’t matter now.

ii.

“Harry, run away with me,” she pleaded, taking his hand and trying to pull him away. But he didn’t budge, looking at her for a long moment before pulling her away himself. He moved so fast that she was stumbling right after him, but she did her best to catch up, refusing to slow him down.

He only let her hand go when they had finally arrived, standing on the rocks instead of merely sitting on them. Evie stared at his back worriedly, hesitant to approach him in case he would brush her off.

“Ye trashed me ship,” he said coldly, withdrawn of emotion that it had Evie’s heart pounding in her ears in guilt.

“I did,” she admitted, staying rooted to her spot as she forced herself to keep her head high.

“And ye did it with the others,” he continued, the girl lowering her head in shame. “I know,” she all but whispered, flinching when she heard him turn.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

The male sighed before walking toward her, the sound of grass crunching becoming deafening in her ears. She heard him pause in front of her, her eyes trained on his rugged black boots before she felt his hand reach beneath her chin, gently tilting her head up to face him. His eyes were unreadable but that made her feel all the more guilty as she bit her lip, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered sincerely, hoping he would listen to her.

“It’s not my place to forgive ye Princess. Ye weren’t the one who wanted te do it,” he replied softly.

“Let’s not fight here,” she instead said to him, eyes pleading. He knew what she meant, nodding in agreement.

“We won’t.”

She gazed up at him with cheeky eyes, hand gripping the small object tightly as he eyed it skeptically. “Why?”

Evie shrugged. “Can’t I at least take one picture of us?”

“Why take a picture when ye can have the real thing,” he retorted, flashing her a cocky grin. The girl rolled her eyes before pulling him by the jacket toward her. “Pictures last longer.”

He tipped his hat in agreement before she handed the camera to him, Harry raising a brow. “I’m takin’ it?”

“Of course. You’re taller than me,” she reasoned before she grabbed his face in her hands, smiling at him. “Run away with me?”

The pirate smiled back at her, lifting the camera with one arm as he turned it to face the both of them. With the right angle, he kept his finger on the button as she leaned up to seal the kiss, Harry clicking at the right moment. When they pulled away, Evie’s lips spread out into the widest grin. “Always.”

He brought the camera down, turning it to see the screen for the preview of their photo. Evie hummed in approval at his photography skills, liking the way he had captured their kiss in their own little paradise.

If we go down then we go down together.

His hands gripped the edges of the scroll tightly, applying so much pressure that it was bound to rip. He sucked in a breath as he read the words over and over again, until he was sure that it had been engrained in his mind for good and that he wasn’t just reading it wrong.

Evie watched him worriedly, noting the whiteness in his knuckles as he gripped the scroll tightly. She already knew that by coming here, it would be bad news for the both of them. No one would walk away from here with an unbroken heart, that much was certain.

“Harry,” she began softly, reaching out toward him but he flinched away, still holding the scroll tightly before turning to look up at her. He was frowning, face looking angry but she knew him well enough to note that he wasn’t just angry, he was also in disbelief and shock, but if anything in pain. She had caused him pain, the last thing she had ever wanted to do, especially in their paradise.

“Yer going,” he said bluntly, the girl slowly nodding. He sucked in another breath before throwing the scroll at her, Evie not bothering to catch it as she watched him.

“Harry,” she tried again but he shook his head vehemently.

“Yer gonna leave me,” it wasn’t a question but she nodded anyway.

“I’m s—“

“Don’t say it,” he snapped, “Don’t apologise.”

“Harry—“

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair before turning to her. She was looking at him guiltily and sadly, but what could he do? She was the one who had hurt him more, yet even now he couldn’t find the heart to hate her. He could never hate her, never.

“Run away with me,” he pleaded to her, hands gripping her shoulders tightly. He didn’t want to lose her, not now, not ever. But the reality was coming more and more real. She was leaving him, and he couldn’t follow.

Evie gazed up at him, trying to reign back the tears but it was no use. Her eyes were watery as he gripped her shoulders, but all she could do was place her hands on his chest, lightly pushing him away. “I can’t.”

Not this time. Not anymore.

#hevie #harry x evie #descendants #descendants 2 #harry hook #evie descendants #he: fic #m: fic #request filled

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exilevilifyrp · 7 years ago

Photo

file: introduction

full name: robyn kane age: 27 identifies with: state of dreaming by marina and the diamonds genesis: organic gender: intersex + female identifying (she/her) portrayal: chloe bennet

file: biography

TW: Guns, hospitals. blood, death

Robyn Kane dreamed of mangoes.

Sweet, sap-fleshed fruits she could describe in such vivid detail you could feel their gold-yellow dripping down your throat. They had, Atticus rationalized, been her mother’s last meal request; three mangoes, halved, (pits still in, please!) cubed at about one inch in diameter. Such a tremendous yearning this must’ve been that it found its way to her daughter, who in turn ate up washers and packing peanuts, swallowed down marbles and screws in her futile pursuit of sweetness. “Normal toddler behavior,” articles on his armlet read. “Just whack ‘em hard on the back if you see ‘em gulping away anything important.” Of course, Atticus never whacked Robyn, but the idea of normality washed relief over the father. “Still,” a voice nagged, often late, often red-eyed on the pull-out couch of their rusted apartment. “What could be said of the planets?”

Well, for one, they were huge! Vast, sweeping expanses Robyn dreamed up with forests high as the SungX building and deserts red as the setting sun. Sands that stung in sporadic blizzards. Skybirds who soared over archipelagos in triangular formations, fighting fish over seafoam, their hunger a constant, bitter pang. Such were the untrekked settings that congregated heroes to Robyn’s stories, that in turn congregated ruddy-faced factory cleaning kids, their stinking mops forgotten, around her during their glorious hour of lunch break. “Pew pew pew!” Robyn would say, her small voice teeming with life, “and then the heroes and the villains became best friends, and no one’s mom had to die, and the planets weren’t lonely for anyone, anymore. I accept tips via my dad’s credit account or in mangoes. The end.” And then, in the same tidy fashion as always, everyone would pack up and get back to scrubbing floors.

The crowds dwindled after parents caught word. Scrap metal never fell far from the ship, people said, and everyone and their android knew that Kane kid was going to turn out bad. That monster - Clemence Kane’s - child had those same foxlike eyes, lips the same raw swath of ochre…a gaze that flickered time to time with the same strange, insatiable hunger. “Stay away from that Kane kid,” workers warned, their fingers shaking, their grey uniforms all the same. Fathers cursed and flicked cigarette butts. Mothers pulled their children to the other side of the litter-caked road. And so the crowd on the back steps of nutripowder factory, which had once overflowed like steel wool from a storm cloud, shrunk to the size of one lonely droplet.

Robyn kept herself steady by looking upwards. She’d work hard, she’d be so helpful they’d all have to come around. Tears found it harder to squeeze by when her face was lifted towards the ceiling, and muscle memory kept her mouth pulled into the same sweet, little grin. At lunch, alone with her flavorless mix of powder, though, her lips would tremble - until her eyes caught sight of the strange heroes who, day in and day out, would flip and fly above her city.

Wash Captains. That’s what her dad said when she asked him. And they weren’t villain fighters - they were actually cleaners like both of them were. Still, hearing their hoots and howls as they tumbled from building to building, their washbots flocking behind them like rafts of ducklings, sent a rush up her little spine. The Captains grew into her new idols, another reason for her to dream. And every day during break, she’d make it further up the walls of her own building, brave a further jump from height to height. All until one day, she plucked up the courage to follow her heroes, trying to keep up, but finding herself slipping behind.

“Talia, you’ve got a tail!” A Captain signaled for the group to slow down. The lot of them, adults between their early twenties and late forties, decelerated to a pace that wouldn’t endanger the kid, though they did this surreptitiously enough that the twelve-year-old thought she was catching up.

“What’s your name, speedster?” The youngest one, Talia, asked.

“I’m Robyn Kane!”

“Well, you’ve got guts coming up here. I like that.” The rest of the group didn’t shiver or scowl, instead, they just shared a kind, collective laugh. “What’s good?” “Nice to meet you, Robyn,” voices chorused. And when they darted off to work on their respective building groups, Talia gestured for Robyn to follow her. She stopped at the edge of a metallic skyscraper, her washbots swarming to wipe the windows of the behemoth adjacent. From dawn until dusk, she let Robyn shadow her, explaining what a Wash Captain’s duties were, the test it to become one, and difficulties the job brought with it. Long hours, limited work lifespan, days without rest…the ability to problem solve and stay cool under pressure was paramount. But if you were the right kind of person, you’d find family here like no other. And Robyn hoped, hoped, hoped that with enough effort, when the year’s test came around, she’d be ready to join them.

Setbacks were inevitable. Sprained wrists, lack of formal training, exhaustion after back-to-back days at the factory…nothing, though, that could quite prepare her for the sickness. A flu, its origin the lungs of a machine operator, spread through the adults, then the children, then to her. Everyone and their uncle hacked up phlegm for two weeks, their faces pale green from the night sweats, though none fell quite so ill as Robyn Kane. A hospital rush led to injections, led to IV drips, led to peals of hushed conversation, led to the sound of a final lamp smashing outside her door.

“The warden promised they’d treated her!"

"The CD4 count-”

“Fuck the CD4 count!”

“Sir, can you just…”

Robyn shivered. What was her dad talking about with that doctor? Was she going to die? And what had made him so angry? Her eyes had already begun drooping shut when Atticus came back in, though, his face shaking with anger.

“What’s going on, dad?” Robyn tried to roll to face him, but he shushed her.

“You’re going to be okay, kid.” He kissed her head, sitting gently at the side of her hospital bed. Only when he thought she was asleep did a sob leave him, the sound of heartbreak, of betrayal, of an uncertain man.

In truth, the doctors weren’t sure how she’d survived so long. ARHIV - or advanced resistant human immunodeficiency virus - was livable with treatment, but going nearly thirteen years without, especially after being born with it…well, complications usually reared their heads sooner. Still, the NRTIs seemed to be lowering the viral load in her blood, and with the aid of intensive anti flu meds, her immune system managed to struggle through.

“Take your meds,” Dr. Ota said, as Robyn and her dad breathed fresh air for the first time in three weeks. “And remember, any fluids that come out of you are not to be touched by others.”

Atticus wanted Robyn to rest. She was still weak from her bout of illness, but almost a month had gone by without any exam preparation, and she wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her dream. She pushed herself to jump farther, to climb higher, to memorize every protocol in the Washbook. And when test day came, she gave it everything she got. “We’ll call,” her examiner promised, though the stern look on his face was airtight. “We’ve only got room for about three people this year, so don’t get your hopes up too high, okay, kid?” But when the buzz rang out on her armlet that evening, her hopes had already soared through the roof.

“Hello?"

"Hey, is this Robyn?” Talia’s voice drifted in through the speaker.

“Yeah, yeah, this is me, Robyn- Robyn Kane - Kane, Robyn - I-”

“Marks Building, speedster. Tomorrow. 5AM.”

And then the call clicked out, and a teenage squeal woke nearly half of the building.

The job wasn’t all games and glory. Most days, she went home with limbs that threatened to tear off, but how many people could say they ended a shift by skydiving off a building? Magnetic gloves carried her to the very top of the city, reminding her of her smallness, though a hoot from one Wash Captain to another reminded her she was never alone. Skyscrapers rushed together as air gave way to metal under her feet, running upwards and downwards, leaping from one to another with an expert’s grace. This was, save for her, the kind of movement reserved for heroes, and shadowing other Captains to get the hang of more advanced techniques ensured she continued to grow. From this vantage point too came new insight on the city - inequity others more often chose to ignore. Apartment Piles - swaying stacks of low-income housing - were collapsing. At first, it seemed accidental, but then the breadth of the falls seemed more sinister. Factories bought out the land. Overwatchers failed to check the sites. And since a lot of first responders wouldn’t set foot in the rougher neighborhoods, the Captains took it upon themselves to search and rescue.

Such was her transformation from girl to hero. Pulling injured folks from buildings, keeping kids safe…it was this grit and responsibility that matured her. Time with her dad became precious. Happy hours with friends began to mean more. But youth was still youth, after all, and when time brought on an admirer, Robyn’s heart began to palpitate.

There’s was a typical teen meeting - boy watched girl soar from building to building, boy plucked up the courage to wave, girl told him she’d come say hi during her lunch break. And so said boy appeared day after day, wonderstruck in crooked glasses, his hand outstretched to offer a cool bottle of water. A Harbor boy, Deek Jenkins. When they talked, her lies grew from goosebumps to mountains - yes, her mom was nice, yes, she’d eaten a mango, yes, her dad was a world-saving space pilot and, if she disappeared for a few days, it was because she helping him fight off evil. Truth be told, she wanted to keep Deek around. But how could a Harbor boy remain interested if he knew about her dark origins, her sickness, how a job washing windows was the most exciting thing that’d ever happened to her? Instead, she told him about the skybirds, the archipelagos, the burning sands. All while the virus inside her was shifting, overcoming her medications, and threatening to overcome her as well.

Time passed. Deek began bringing two water bottles. Robyn always finished the one he brought with a still-thirsty gulp, then gobbled down two, then three, and he was about to bring four when she stopped showing up.

“Check the clinic on Fourth, kid,” the Wash Captain, Talia, who visited in Robyn’s stead offered. So check Deek did.

“Hey,” he greeted, pulling a whole cooler of water bottles to her hospital bed. She uncapped one.

“You’ve found me out, Jenkins.” The twenty-year-old’s lips quirked upward, falling as a hack expelled from her lungs. “I’ve caught an ‘opportunistic infection.’ Tuberculosis. Not fun stuff. And while we’re at it, I’ve got another disease called ARHIV, which my doc just said’ll probably kill me by 35. And my mom-”

“Was a rebel terrorist,” Deek finished for her. “Who killed upwards of a hundred Overwatchers and their associates. She was sentenced to death six months after being turned in by a man named Thomas Martineaux, and would’ve been sentenced immediately had she not been pregnant with you.”

Robyn nodded. “Happy?”

“No.” He paused. “I mean, yes, that you were honest with me.”

“Why’d you hang around then, if you knew?”

Deek shrugged. “I guess I just liked you.”

“I guess I just liked you too.”

Robyn got over her infection. Time went on, work continued, and she was back on the rescue grind. The number of collapses grew, and the public’s anxiety grew with it. Her dad, who’d been promoted to a managing janitor inside the factory, spent time cleaning the inside of apartments despite danger, and three times, buildings collapsed with him in them. Each time, Robyn would hold her breath, her body trembling, her boots pounding miles to find he was okay, but there was never a second to spare for a hug or a word of relief when she got there. Every moment was instead spent pulling people from the wreckage, searching for help, until one day, a shard of glass changed everything.

“Don’t-” Robyn tried, but Talia had already reached in with a cut hand to pull it out. She jerked her leg away at the last minute, preventing contact, but it was in this moment that she realized her own body was a danger, herself a hazard that could be spread on. How could she have been so reckless, so stupid, to endanger everybody? Any time, she could’ve gotten cut. Any day, she could’ve spread her disease. Rescue efforts were abandoned, and happy hours avoided for fear of being seen as a coward. Until Deek Jenkins, again, came to her aid.

A birthday present - the big twenty-five. Robyn was huddled up on the couch, watching a livestream of an apartment collapse from her armlet, when Deek came in.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” She asked, but he just grinned at her, extending a parcel from his hands to hers.

“I, uh, made this.” His eyes sparkled as she unwrapped it, a costume of fine, black material, cape included. “I know the design is kind of corny, but you’ve always been into the hero thing and you’ve seemed so down ever since Talia, um…the fabric’s cut proof. In the case that something gets through, though, there’s a compound on the inside that’ll immediately clot your blood, so people are safe, no spread. And I also wanted to tell you that I-”

“I love it, Deek.” Robyn’s lips rose, then fell as her eyes honed in on her screen. A pair of Overwatchers, their bodies too small to be seen clearly without zooming in, moved in the corner.

A familiar face, familiar gait, familiar everything. Suddenly, it all made sense. She checked her armlet.

“8:30. Pile A7X.” The apartment her dad was suppose to be cleaning. Time to put Deek’s outfit to the test.

The rescue mission was a rush of pure adrenaline. A building scaled, a fire alarm pulled, and hundreds evacuated in the nick of time. She gave no name - a vigilante, in and out before anybody could ask. And now it was time to get to the bottom of the collapses.

She made her way to the factory. Dark, no people or stars to be seen. If she could get into her dad’s office, maybe there’d be a list, some way to predict the next Pile falls. She’d save hundreds of lives, expose a massive conspiracy -and then a dot of red light materialized on her chest.

“Robyn.” Her father’s voice broke the silence. “I can explain-” “Explain what? How you’ve been killing innocent people for years?” All those apartments cleaned, how she thought he’d actually been in danger.

“Rebel suspects, Robyn. They’re killing thousands. Hear me out, I-”

Her eyes hardened. “You’re going to pay for this.”

Atticus’ lip twitched, another Overwatcher making his way beside him.

“We’ll kill her off, Martineaux. Don’t worry about it.” The man raised his mass accelerator, his finger draped on the trigger and then… five shots. A dropped body. But her dad’s weapon had made the blast.

“I’m sorry, Robyn.”

Another rustle. Deek- Deek had followed her. Maybe they could overpower him, find a way out, but Atticus whipped around, firing a shot before the boy could even blink. His body fell, an innocent who’d given his world for her. And then another shot. There was no time to think, no time to process, only dark.

When her eyes opened, they saw earth.

file: known associates

KIT BEISEL - although many of the crew seem eager to hear more of your great adventures, kit always seems to sit in the corner with a glint of skepticism in his eye. it is the kind of look that must come from years of dealing with frauds like you, and your greatest fear is it one day leading to question on the validity of the intricate tales you’ve constructed. you try to avoid him all you can and hope that he keeps his tongue, should he have any real suspicions.

THIS CHARACTER IS UNAVAILABLE.

#robyn #organic #all #closed

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unholyhelbiglinked · 7 years ago

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Deadly Devotion | IV

The alcohol was hot as it slipped past Grace's lips, her eyes widening as the bitter citrus laced delicately with the sharp bite of the spices. She couldn't help but cough a bit, moisture building up behind her eyes as she let out a cleansing breath, the cold air not doing much for the burn.

"I told you it had a bite," Mamrie chuckled, sinking her teeth into the lime that sat on the white plate in front of the two of them. She didn't seem the least bit bothered as the green juices dribbled past her chin, creating a small puddle on the counter.

"Gross," Grace shoved the shot glass away, grimacing slightly as Mamrie gave her a toothy grin. God, she loved that grin, even if she only saw it during drunken nights and long rehearsals.

"That's what chasers are for, Gracie." Mamrie shook her head.

There it was again. The simple way she would mumble her makeshift nickname. Grace hadn't noticed it at first- or even if she had, she brushed it off. It was just a friend being a friend. Making up stupid ways to shorten her name- a way to make it roll of the tongue easier.

"I'm not that bad, am I?" Mamrie pouted as Grace raised a brow. The older girl had her hands crossed over her chest, a defensive stance, ready to pounce if provoked.

"No, of course not!" Grace said with a smile "Spicy just isn't my thing."

Mamrie shook her head, a smirk on those beautiful lips that Grace had studied on more than one occasion. Without Mamrie's knowledge of course. If the redhead had noticed the way Grace stared, she didn't mention it. Not in the two months they had known each other.

"Right," She scoffed "you're right. They wouldn't let me own this place if I didn't at least have a bit of skills in bartending." her emerald eyes swept Grace over.

It gave Grace chills. Those eyes were like pools of the freshest foliage. She could get lost in them, even when she wasn't trying.

"Technically you don't own the place, Hart." Grace put in her two sense as Mamrie started to clean up the small mess she made while making that toxic shot the two had downed. "You run it."

"Touche," Mamrie was completely focused on the task of cleaning up the shot glasses, a bit of Graces drink still resting at the bottom of the crystal in a frothy mess. Grace let the conversation lie. She knew Mamrie had other things to do around here before opening up- and in all honesty, the blonde was feeling a bit of a buzz from all the new mixes Mamrie had forced her way.

Over the past two months, the girls had gotten closer. It started out as a relationship based on business. Grace would come to work early and coach Mamrie through a few scenes. She found out that the small town girl was a natural. She didn't need much help, but Grace promised to be there through the process of Mamrie's first show. The production had gone amazingly. Mamrie didn't break a sweat.

She had dragged Grace to some broken down bar after the show, not really interested with socializing with the other actors. Instead, she just wanted to be with her coach. The two ordered drinks, and after that, spent almost every day together.

"You're staring."

"Hm?"

Grace's heart stopped for a second, the pressure building in her chest. She looked up at the bartender, the girls strawberry hair falling into her gaze as she leaned her chin on her hand. She was so close. Everything about her was close.

"I said you were staring." Mamrie repeated, although a part of her knew that Grace heard every word. She didn't break eye contact with the blonde.

"Oh," Grace cleared her throat "over thinking again, I suppose."

Mamrie let out a sigh, changing her stance to a more productive one as she reached for a small rag underneath the granite countertop. "I suppose."

Grace didn't sleep much that night. She pinned it on the bad mattress again, but part of her knew better. The reason for her restless night wasn't a what. It was a who.

A certain 'who' that had taken over almost every aspect of Grace's social life. Hell, Mamrie was her social life. Before the girl came into her life Grace had a tedious routine that consisted of an endless loop of school and work.

Her phone lit up on the nightstand to her right. It coated the walls of the tiny bedroom with a dull neon glow. A low buzz hummed against the wood of the table as Grace let out a small groan. It usually took her awhile to peel her eyes away from the phone and sleep on any given night. She knew if she reached for it now, there was no going back.

Yet, that didn't stop her. Not tonight. There was a feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her to answer- whether it be a classmate looking for notes, or her boss calling her in late at night.

She growled, grasping the cell phone with her closest hand. It felt warm and heavy, but not unfamiliar. She squinted at the bright screen, her eyes burning as she read the contact name.

From: Mamrie

Hey Gracie, you seemed a little off today. Are you doing okay?

From: Grace

Yeah, Mames. I'm doing fine. Just a little stressed with school. I have that big test coming up in literature.

From: Mamrie

Oh...

Grace let out a small sigh, knowing she had said something in her tired state that threw the other girl off. She couldn't imagine what, but didn't have the energy to over analyze the three lonely dots after the two letter word.

From: Mamrie

I could help you study after practice tomorrow. I'm great with words. After all, it's the least I can do.

Grace yawned, her head pounding as the exhaustion from the day spread through her body. She saw no reason to reject. She knew that Mamrie was a hard worker, and she was having a lot of trouble with that class.

From: Grace

Yeah, Mames. I would actually love that. I could use the help.

From: Mamrie

Thought so... Night Gracie.

From: Grace

Night, Mames.

Grace fell into an almost dreamless sleep, a smile on her lips as she finally drifted into slumber.

The next day was dragging by. Grace's head was pounding for most of it- due to the excessive amounts of wine she had the night before, and the late night struggles of sleep.

She was like a zombie through most of her classes, her eyes drooping as she tapped her pen mindlessly on the edge of her notebook. By the time all five of her lectures had finished, Grace was exhausted.

Thankfully she got a chance to sleep before heading into work. But it still wasn't enough. Mamrie was the quick to take notice of how exhausted Grace truly looked, and being Mamrie, she rushed to see if her friend was okay.

She was sitting on the desk in the light booth, her eyes watching Grace carefully as she bit into an apple with a loud crunch. The color of the fruit almost matched the emerald eyes that Grace was so captivated by.

Grace let out a small sigh "Mames."

"Gracie." Mamrie mocked with a smirk on her face, her ankles crossed in front of her. Grace looked up from her spot on the floor, her hands busy with a bundle of wires that got tangled in her absence.

"You're staring."

"Seems that way, doesn't it?"

Grace cocked a brow at the flirty comment, but eventually just shrugged her shoulders and looked back down at her task, her eyes drooping carefully as she let out a loud yawn.

"You don't sleep much, do you?"

She looked up again, seeing Mamrie fumble with the apple in her grasp.

"Not lately." Grace answered bluntly, clenching her jaw as she lifted herself from the ground and sat down in the large leather desk chair. It let out a puff of air, making Mamrie smile.

"Any particular reason?"

Yes. you. "No, not that I can think of."

"Hm," Mamrie wasn't convinced, and Grace could tell, but Mamrie didn't take the conversation any further. Instead, they sat and watched the improv show in front of them in silence. A comfortable silence.

The office was hot, smoldering even. Grace had always let her jacket draped on the chair behind her- leaving her in a crew shirt and jeans. It was still warm, even with her lack of clothing. Yet, Mamrie was in a jacket, and a scarf. Something that most people would shed off at this point.

Grace's eyes wandered over to Mamrie to see her already staring at her. The older girl glanced away, cheeks red from sudden eye contact as she continued to focus on the show, clearing her throat.

"Show's almost over." she said, almost in a whisper

"Yeah."

"How far is your apartment?"

"Not too far." Grace answered, "a few blocks."

"Oh," Mamrie said, not taking her eyes off the stage "good, we can get a lot of studying in."

Grace simply nodded, mentally telling herself that studying was all that was going to happen. There would be no movie moment where she'd get the girl. Because Mamrie already had someone. Someone of the opposite gender, making it perfectly clear to Grace, that Mamrie was nothing but fantasy.

"Yeah," Grace glanced back over at her counterpart, once again meeting those shamrock eyes "we can."

The rest of the show seemed to drag by. Grace's gaze always moved to Mamrie every time the older girl let out a chuckled. The sound was light and airy, making Mamrie's features stand out in the dimly lit booth.

The show ended sooner than later, prompting Grace to begin shutting off the lights. She slid her jacket on easily. She offered Mamrie a smile, gesturing for her to follow. The night was far along, a sharp chill biting at Grace's fingertips as she trudged the long way to her crappy apartment. The walk seemed a little more bearable with Mamrie by her side.

She climbed the stairs, her numb fingers fumbling with the keys as she found the right one. She was shaking from the cold- but didn't quite mind it as much as usual. The apartment was considerably warmer than the rest of the world at this point.

Her signature scent of mint poured into the walkway, it burned her lungs with its intoxicating effect calming her nerves immediately. She let out a small sigh, glad to have some feeling in her cheeks after the medium sized trek. She flicked on a lightswitch. Revealing the one bedroom apartment in all it's glory.

The place was kept clean, it always had been. There was a small living room, connected to the less than big kitchen. Two recliners were adjacent from the television, a coffee table resting in front of them. There was a little dining area with a small table and a few more chairs. There was a door next to the television that lead to the bathroom, the other door was slightly open, revealing the made makeshift bed that Grace slept on. A small desk took up the other space in the room.

"It's cute," Mamrie smiled, impressed at what the blonde did with the small place. She had somehow mastered the art of design, even in an overpriced Manhattan space.

"It's tiny," Grace scoffed, stripping the leather jacket from her shoulders as she eyed Mamrie. Maybe she just had a problem with circulation to her hands. That would be enough for anyone to love long sleeves in such a warm apartment. "But it's home."

Mamrie nodded, biting her lip "So, what exactly do you have to study again?"

"English."

"Ah," she lifted her chin as Grace walked a few paces to the small breakfast nook, grasping a large worn textbook "It's my first language so I'd figure I could help."

Grace laughed at that, a sound that made Mamrie smile even more. This girl seemed more comfortable once she was at home, which was a given. Everyone was. It made Mamrie relax a bit, her eyebrow raising as Grace glanced over to her.

"Do you want anything to drink?" She asked."I have wine. It's not the best stuff, but it makes studying easier I guess."

Mamrie nodded, with all this extra tension, she would love a big sip of wine, no matter what brand it was. Grace came back moments later with two glasses of the blood red drink. It was icy against Mamrie's fingers, but Grace's warm touch countered it.

The two ended up sitting on the floor in front of the recliners, using the coffee table as a desk. Grace was struggling to flip to the chapter of the textbook that this particular exam was on. Mamrie smirked as she felt the closeness of the other girl. Grace could feel it too, her hair standing up on end as Mamrie's hot breath pushed against her collarbone.

"Your forehead creases when you're trying to focus."

"You're making it kind of hard to," Grace let out a small breath, catching the girls attention with her words. "Not in a bad way, or course, I just-" Grace rambled, her sentences started blurring together "I'm being tactless."

"Tactless?" Mamrie cocked her head to the side "Now, english is my first language, but I have no idea what that means."

Grace shrugged innocently, she didn't really know what else to say to the emerald eyed girl. Those eyes still made her shiver. She loved the forest-like pigment they presented in any situation.

"If it means that you're easily swayed by some wine and a very beautiful girl to your side, then call me tactless too." She said, making Grace glance up from the words that weren't registering in her mind anyway. She had been stuck on the same paragraph for the last few minutes, running her eyes of the words, but never truly comprehending them.

"What?" Grace, asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't look at Mamrie, afraid she might do something she would regret. She had only known this girl for a month. They were nothing more than friends. Friends that were unbelievably close on her living room floor. Friends that had consumed enough alcohol to do something stupid, or something long awaited.

"You heard me, Grace." Mamrie said sternly, setting her wine glass on the table. She really hoped Grace didn't care about coasters.

Did she? She was tired, more so than usual. She had a long day, and the wine was making her a bit fuzzy when it mixed with the heat of her apartment. Grace glanced up then, Mamrie's lavender scent mixing with hers as all of the breath exited her lungs in one fluid moment.

This gave the redhead enough pause to move forward, not giving Grace much time to react as hot lips pressed against hers. The gesture lingered, Grace keeping her eyes wide as she finally slumped her shoulders, letting herself fold into Mamrie's grasp. Mamrie's fingers were lingering on the blondes jaw, her thumb resting on Grace's cheek.

Grace began to react, her own breath tickling the older girls cheek. She moved forward a bit, Mamrie's back now pressing against the front of the old recliner. They were in an uncomfortable position on the floor, and Grace's foot was falling asleep, but neither seemed to mind as Mamrie nipped lightly at Grace's bottom lip before both girls pulled away from each other, panting from the sudden contact.

"Grace,"

"Yeah?"

"You're really good at that."

#GraceHelbig #MamrieHart #HannahHart #mace #fanfiction

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elialys · 8 years ago

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P/O fanfic - Northwest Passage (4/4)

Here we go, finale part. Just so you know, even though I'm quite pleased with this, I'm also breathing in a paper bag again, because the second half of this was written two days ago, and since I've been busy editing the previous parts, it didn't go through the 29493 drafts process I usually tend to inflict on my stories before I post them.

But I promised myself I would have this story posted and completed before I went back to work tomorrow, so be it. You get fresh and raw instead of ultra polished. If anything else, forgive my typos.

Oh, and yes, this is smutty.

Previous parts: I - II - III

IV. TO THE UNTOLD

Peter's palms are clammy when he knocks softly on her door, swallowing past the lump in his throat so he doesn't have to do it in front of her.

All of his efforts become futile once Olivia opens the door, and their eyes meet for the first time in weeks.

Time stretches as they stare at each other. For a moment, any resentment he's felt since the bridge is kept at bay, almost sighing in relief, because he has missed her, and she's in front of him again, within his reach, with these eyes of hers holding his.

She's moving, then, stepping aside to let him in, averting her eyes as he comes inside. He keeps his gaze on her as she closes the door. She takes a few steps away from him, putting distance between them, maybe in the hope that it will help settle the heavy tension already crackling in the room.

Before long, her eyes are back on him, and the next few seconds are spent taking each other in, the way only two people used to being around one another every day can, quietly trying to gauge what effects their time apart had on the other.

His mind didn't trick him; she's almost exactly the way he pictured her, still wearing her work trousers and blouse, minus her jacket and her shoes. The main difference with his mental image is her hair, which isn't down but held together in one of her loose braids. She also seems...smaller, somehow. Maybe because she's not wearing any shoes, or he's simply reminded of their height difference.

His focus soon goes back to her face, taking in her tensed traits, the circles under her eyes, her pale skin. She's too pale. A few other images drift in his mind, memories of times when she'd looked too ragged, one of them being the few days that had followed her killing of 'Charlie Francis'.

She's more than a welcome sight, though, always most beautiful to him when she's at her most human.

Already, his body is reacting to her proximity, his breathing shallower than it was minutes ago, his heartbeat managing to gain more speed, fighting the urge to move closer to her just to be closer.

These moments of quiet observation don't last, their gazes soon meeting again, easily starting one of their wordless conversations.

Guilt is already taking over her every trait, and that's all it takes for his hurt to become front runner in the mess of emotions fighting inside of him. He's missed her, and seeing her again is painfully comforting, but he cannot just pretend nothing's happened.

She's done enough pretending for the two of them.

The thought is bitter, and it burns at the back of his throat. Her face somehow manages to lose what little colors had risen in her cheeks upon his arrival; she's sensing the return of his resentment, seeing it as well. He's not covering it up, tonight.

They still haven't spoken, and at this point, it's getting ridiculous.

Peter comes to the rescue, reaching inside his jacket. He pulls out what he'd wisely decided to bring along, holding out the flask for her to see. He'd procured the alcohol around the same time he'd procured his weapons – one of which is tucked in the back of his pants.

At the sight of the bottle, he thinks he sees the corner of her mouth quiver, but she doesn't smile. With her arms tightly crossed in front of her chest, she's in full Defensive Dunham mode.

"You wouldn't happen to have a couple of glasses lying around, would you?" His tone is falsely congenial, and it does nothing to ease the tension, somehow making her stiffen a bit more as she shakes her head.

He knew there wouldn't be any. He'd stayed in this very room the previous night; this motel is as cheap as it gets.

"Oh well," he shrugs, still in that same chipper voice. "We'll make do." He opens the flask, before holding it out to her again, as if to toast, almost an inside joke between them by now. "To the untold," he says with his fakest grin, before taking a swig of the liquid.

He watches her as he drinks, notes the way she seems to physically recoil at first, his low blow hitting home. One of her hands briefly goes up to wipe the corner of her eye with a knuckle. Her demeanor begins to change, though, her guilt turning into something else.

When she brings her gaze back to his, her eyes are blazing, and the way she glares at him burns more than the liquor tracing its path down his throat.

"You're mad," he points out, when he's done swallowing. While his voice has lost its ridiculous, friendly edge, now lower, it reflects his slight surprise. Very slight surprise.

Given the chance, Olivia will turn any of her emotions into anger.

True to herself, she's not overly obvious about it either. And, true to herself, when he daringly holds out the flask again, she does not back down.

She takes a couple of steps closer, her face set, her cheeks pinker, offering him her best glare. "Am I supposed to be pleased?" She finally replies, grabbing the alcohol from his hand. She does not step back. "You left, Peter," she says, as if she was scolding a misbehaving child. "I've spent the last three weeks running after you, when for all we know, the Other Side could be about to open fire on us. Not exactly the best use of my time or resources."

His irritation sparks up at once, clenching his jaw as his entire body tenses. "Spare me the lies," he says, his voice low. "You and I both know I was never crucial to the Fringe Division. The fact that I turned out to be at the center of this damn war can't even be that important either, considering you've all decided to keep me in the dark so, don't lie," he repeats. "You owe me that much."

She can't hold on to her anger for long, after that. It's gone as quickly as it flared up. She averts her eyes, looking at a point past his shoulder, her breathing too shallow as silence stretches once more.

And then: "You left," she says again. Her tone couldn't have been more different, though, her words quiet, and hurt. Accusatory.

But at last, she's being honest.

When she brings her eyes back to his, his own irritation has faltered. "You lied," he replies, as honestly, the pain her betrayal caused him clear in both his tone and demeanor.

She pinches her lips together, her cheeks flushed, although the rest of her face remains too pale. Unable to hold his gaze, she looks down at her hands, as if just now remembering the flask he'd given her. She brings it up, taking a swift mouthful he knows won't feel good going down – just like his choice of motels, the alcohol is cheap.

Sure enough, she grimaces as she swallows, shuddering almost violently.

"How long did you know?"

She licks her lips, something he tries not to focus on. "A few weeks," she answers, eventually, her voice lowered by the alcohol.

A few weeks.

Considering how much time he's had to think it all over since he left, he'd figured out she must have learned about his origins around the same time she became awkward around him. Around the same time his 'father' became depressed. Hearing her confirm it does not make him feel any better.

He can tell she's hurting from her own deception, from the pain it caused him, still too attuned to her emotions, to all the little ways it affects her. This is what happens when you spend months learning to read someone as withdrawn as she is.

And that knowledge of her hurts him, too.

It hurts him and angers him, because he feels like an idiot, like a fucking fool, having been so afraid to do anything that might push her away, always careful and patient; she'd meant too much to him to risk jeopardizing their friendship. And for what?

"You saw the glimmer, didn't you." He's not even asking, his voice thick with anger and hurt. "That night, in New York, with the building. That's why you started avoiding me all the time, isn't it? I've been shining like a Christmas tree ever since?"

Olivia tenses even more, not copping well with his anger. She'd seen him pissed off before, his trademark mood in the early weeks of their partnership, but it'd been a long time since he last talked to her that way.

Hell, he'd become as threatening as a fucking puppy around her.

She holds her ground, though, shaking her head. "It's not always there," she admits, quietly. "Only when I'm scared."

He didn't expect her to be honest. The fact that she is does nothing to soothe him, aware of the way her eyes dart around him, then, seeing something invisible to him. His heart sinks, feeling more disturbed at the thought of the glimmer than she probably is at the sight of it.

This is her gift, her curse. She sees things that do not belong to this world, things that should not be here.

"Am I glowing now?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"Peter," she tries with a shake of her head. Not in denial, though.

"Am I?" He demands, his voice booming in the small room.

She visibly flinches, instinctively taking a step back from him, her eyes to the ground.

"Yes," she breathes out.

He really didn't need her to confirm it. Her body language nothing short of screams 'fear', in all these little ways he wishes he could hate. What he feels couldn't be farther from hate, though, his anger draining out of him, realizing what he sounded like.

He's sickened by the fact that he can instill that kind of dread in her.

"You don't have to be scared," he says, his voice hoarse. "You know I would never hurt you."

She brings her eyes back to his, shaking her head again, barely, lips pinched. "It's not that kind of fear," she says, quietly.

He holds her gaze, swallowing hard. "What kind is it, then?"

Olivia stares back, her eyes welling up. She doesn't answer, of course, managing another small shake of the head, her lips stretching in a pained smile.

Truth is, she doesn't need to say it; he knows what she meant. He's known it for a while, or at least suspected it, that what he feels for her, she feels it, too.

But this guttural certainty did not match her recent actions. And he learned early on that Olivia's actions often speak louder than her words.

She had kept Walter's secret. She had lied to him.

"You should have told me."

He says the words quietly, his voice thick. He doesn't even sound reproachful, and somehow, it's worse. There is nothing left of his anger; only pain.

I trusted you, is what he's telling her.

She hears his silent accusation, her face constricting, causing a couple of tears to roll down her cheeks. She wipes these traitorous trails off with a swift hand, before going back to holding on to her elbows.

"I know," she whispers to the ground, soon bringing her eyes back to his. "I'm sorry."

His insides ache at the sight of her tears; such a rare occurrence. It does not feel good, knowing he's responsible for them.

Yet again, her actions often speak louder than her words.

"Why didn't you?" He asks, because if he doesn't, she won't say anything at all.

Small shrug, not in indifference, more in apology. "I wanted to," she admits, ashamed. "But I thought..." She shakes her head. "I guess I knew you'd leave if you learned the truth, and I just... wasn't ready to deal with that outcome."

He stares at her, perplexed. She's blushing again, unable to hold his gaze.

"You decided not to tell me I was stolen from another universe because...you were not ready to deal with that outcome," he repeats. Her blush darkens. When he scoffs, she looks back up at him. "This has to be the most selfish thing I've ever heard you say."

She becomes defensive again. "I never claimed to be selfless."

She certainly had not. "No," he concedes. "You just act like it."

She takes the blow, looking away, biting down on her lip. When she meets his eyes again, she seems worn out. "Fine. I was selfish. I acted...irrationally. I broke most of my own rules on integrity and trust. I agreed to keep your father's secret, because it benefited me."

"That man is not my father," he replies at once, his anger quick to resurface at the thought of Walter.

Olivia tilts her head, as if to say 'Come on.'

"You should have let him explain why he did it," she says. "If you knew the whole story–"

"I don't need the whole story," he cuts her off. "I figured it all out, remember? His son died. He crossed over to the other universe, stole me from my family, from my world and my life, because he couldn't cope with his grief. How am I doing so far?"

Judging by her expression, pretty well.

'And all of this for what?' he wants to ask. The trauma of being kidnapped was intense enough for him to forget everything from his childhood before the age of eight, but he remembers the subsequent years all too well.

Walter, consumed with his work, descending into madness. His 'mother', consumed with what he now knows to be a poisonous mix of guilt and grief for her dead child, having to raise this stolen version of him who only got angrier as he got older.

"You would have died, Peter," Olivia says, her voice thick.

But he doesn't want to hear it.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was supposed to die?" he replies, not doing any better. "That if the Peter from your world died, it was meant to be my fate, too? He shouldn't have intervened, crossed the lines he crossed, just to save me. I wasn't his to save. This world would be better off if he hadn't, there wouldn't be–"

Peter has to stop, the lump in his throat making it impossible for him to continue. He closes his eyes, fighting against the sudden burn of tears, shivering with pain.

In two and a half weeks, this is the first time he talks about it, about all these things he realized were his fault, a direct consequence from him being here. All these deaths they investigated this year alone. Charlie's.

His mom's.

"Peter."

He reopens his eyes, startled by her proximity. She's moved, now standing very close to him, close enough for him to touch.

He doesn't.

"What Walter did...it's unacceptable," she says, her voice low. Her eyes are reddened and bright, but like her tone, they are fervent as well. "I'm not going to tell you you have to forgive him. Believe me, I get it. But you're not responsible for what happened because of it. You were just a boy. And even if you're not anymore, it doesn't make it any more your fault."

If he hadn't felt so miserable, he would have called her out on her hypocrisy.

Olivia Dunham, telling him he's not responsible for what Walter did to him as a child. She, who's always so quick to carry the whole damn world on her shoulders, believing herself to be accountable for everyone's safety except her own, because that's the burden that was forced upon her at age three.

But he's unwilling to listen to what she's saying, to think about the similarities between his situation and hers.

It doesn't change anything.

"Olivia," he says, his voice constricted in dejection, wishing he could explain the extent of his homesickness, convey the depth of his sorrow, feeling like he not only was betrayed by his family, the entire universe abandoned him. "I don't belong here."

I don't belong in your world.

He doesn't know how to deal with this truth. With the knowledge that beyond the fact that he's been traumatized and lied to his whole life, he comes from the enemy side, from a place they all abhorred and distrusted for months.

He comes from the world that sent these shapeshifters over, these soldiers who among other things tried hard to kill her, who murdered her partner and forced her to shoot a monster in his skin.

He was born in the very world she was made to hate, by the cortexiphan in her brain, and in retaliation for what it took from her.

Olivia is hurt by his words, the ones he spoke, and the ones he didn't need to, her brow furrowed, her eyes brimming with tears. She shakes her head, imperceptibly, with another pained smile.

"Yes, you do," she says, very quietly, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head. "You do, Peter," she insists. "You've helped save so many lives, these past two years, people we probably wouldn't have been able to help without you. Look at what you did here, this week. You saved another man's life, because you were in the right place, at the right time."

Look at what you did here, this week.

Looking for a way out, his brain latches on that statement and discards the rest. For the first time since he talked to Mathis, he thinks about what Olivia's presence in Noyo County means, professionally speaking.

His eyes roam the room, soon stopping on what he knew he would find.

"You've read Mathis' report," he says, bringing his gaze back to hers, successfully changing the subject.

A blush is creeping back as she averts her eyes. "I wanted to know how you got involved in this case," she says, her voice quiet and low.

He remembers giving that statement, a couple of days ago, explaining to Mathis how he'd come to be one of the last persons to see Krista alive. That report must also state that his alibi had been confirmed, that he'd indeed spent the night in the lobby, waiting for Krista to join him.

The untold hang in the air, the tension somehow thickening. They can't even discuss it.

Olivia will never ask him if he's spent the past couple of weeks fooling around, and he's not about to tell her that no, he did not sleep with the girl who was murdered that night.

What Peter feels then is the strangest kind of irritation and frustration. He should not have to justify himself.

She might think she knows enough about what kind of guy he was before they met to imagine he would get back at her by fucking his way to Washington State, but more importantly, she knows what kind of person he is now. She must be aware that he dated about as many people as she did in the past eighteen months – meaning no one.

They'd never committed to one another, but the commitment had been there anyway. Unspoken, yet binding.

He feels it, under his skin, in his bones, feels her.

Here she stands, close enough for that scent of hers to have invaded his lungs, looking almost small under the weight of her guilt and insecurities, yet too proud to ask, and it hurts.

It hurts to breathe, it hurts to be, because he loves her. He's loved her for so long he feels like he's loved her his whole damn life, which makes no sense at all, yet here he is.

In the wrong world, in love with a girl he was never meant to meet.

She'd been his closest friend, yet she'd betrayed his trust out of fear, convinced he would leave her if he learned the truth. Because that's what her experiences conditioned her to believe, the way his experiences conditioned him to run.

What she'd failed to realize was that his hasty departure and seemingly indifference to her calls were a direct result from hers and Walter's deception.

"I would have stayed."

He speaks the words quietly, but the silence in the room is so thick, he could as well have shouted them.

Her breathing hitches, as she raises her eyes to meet his, almost cautiously.

"If you’d told me," he continues, in that same voice. "I would have stayed for you."

Her eyes are filling with tears again. She's so close. Her gaze drops to his lips, darkens, comes back up.

"Will you come back?" She murmurs, as if afraid to speak the words.

Slowly, he brings a hand to her face, unable not to, swallowing hard when he feels her lean into his touch.

But he cannot go back. He cannot face Walter, face all these evidence of a life he'd built upon nothing but lies.

When he shakes his head, barely, Olivia's face constricts, a few more tears escaping.

"I'm sorry..." She says again, breathing out the words, averting her eyes as tears begin to come more furiously, burning the skin of his palm, and he hears the words she doesn't say.

I'm sorry I failed you.

This, her standing shaky, scared, and defeated in front of him with his hand on her face, this is New York all over again.

And something breaks inside of him when he realizes that she thinks he's rejecting her.

When she tries to move away, her breathing loud and distressed, he refuses to let her go. His other arm comes around her instead, pressing his hand into the small of her back as he tightens his hold on her face, pulling her closer, until they're forehead to forehead, nose to nose, feeling her wet skin against his own.

He breathes in her next wobbly exhales, before breathing out her name against her parted lips with the slightest hint of reproach, because how could he be rejecting her?

They remain almost completely still, one of his thumbs caressing her cheek, while the other one caresses her lower back through her shirt, breathing the same air; he feels her progressively relaxing against him, her tears stopping, as she lets herself accept the fact that he’s not letting her go.

More than that, he’s pretty sure his need for her is seeping out of his pores, now, and he senses her responding to him, their body language changing, their dialogue wordless yet unambiguous.

They don't move, at first. And then, they do.

She's pushing as much as he's pulling, feeling her fingers reaching for his nape as his lips find hers. And again, they stop, simply returning the pressure for a moment, more a seal than a kiss, bodies shuddering.

He hears a low thump when the flask she was still holding hits the ground, her free hand slipping inside his jacket to come rest on his side, soon clutching the fabric of his shirt.

Even when they lessen the pressure, creating a space between their lips to breathe, she doesn't release her hold on him. She tightens it instead, her hand leaving his nape to better wrap her arm around his neck, fingers curling in his hair. And he feels that same upward push again, as he imitates her, wrapping his arm around her waist to press her to him and reclaim her lips, his own fingers sinking into her hair.

This kiss is slow, and deep; inevitable. She tastes of the ocean, first, salty, and fathomless. He tastes the remains of his liquor, then, bittersweet, and smoky.

Soon, it's only Olivia he's tasting, and he drowns into her more than ever would in any sea.

She feels too good to be real; not just the press of her against him, but the way she holds on to him, moves into him. Slow down, and go...slow down, and go...slow down, and go...

When her hand pulls at his shirt to gain access to his skin, slowing down becomes speeding up, the feel of her nails raking his back doing more to him than her tongue against his own. Before long, he feels her grab at the gun tucked at the back of his pants. She punctuates her discovery with a bite, nipping at his bottom lip just hard enough, and he lets out a low groan into her mouth.

She pulls the weapon out of his waistband, pulling away from him as well, enough for their eyes to meet. She looks down briefly to inspect the gun, checking if it's loaded – it is. She's flushed, her gaze dark and hazy; even with her cheeks glistening with vestigial tears, there's a definitive hint of Agent Dunham in the way she soon stares at him, half-questioningly, half-disapprovingly.

"Do we need to talk about this?" She asks, her voice husky, with an edge of concern.

Peter hasn't changed his mind and still believes he did see Newton all over the county, but he doesn't think he can manage intelligible sentences at the moment, their bodies joined at the hip, his heart busy pumping most of his blood away from his brain – something she's well aware of, considering the way she was swaying against the evidence of it a minute ago.

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. "Not now," is all he says, leaning down to recapture her lips, because he's waited too damn long for him to let this turn into another Fringe conversation.

But Olivia evades his attempt, pulling away a bit more by using the hand that had been in his hair to push against his shoulder, looking more agent–like by the second. "Peter," she protests. "I've read that report. If Newton is after you, then I need to call Broyles. This might be our only chance to –"

She never finishes her sentence.

He pushes her quite roughly toward the bed, until she's falling upon the mattress with him on top of her, swiftly using her surprise to his advantage, slipping a thigh between her legs to apply a deliberate pressure against her. With his forehead upon hers again, she gasps inches away from his mouth, her fingers back in his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

"Later, ‘Livia," he almost growls, slowly but decidedly rolling the entirety of his body into hers, feeling her shudder almost violently, a similar tremor spreading through him. "Just drop it."

He meant the gun, but she gets his point.

Always the trained agent, she does not simply 'drop' the loaded weapon on the floor, wriggling and stretching in his arms so she can put it on the nightstand instead, next to her own gun. He uses her outstretched position to redirect most of his focus on her neck, diving, breathing in that intoxicating scent of hers, before nibbling at the tense skin.

Another rasp escapes her, her whole arm slipping inside his shirt to grab at his shoulder-blade as he continues his rocking motions, soon replacing his teeth with his lips and tongue.

And again, he's consumed with the feel, smell, and taste of her, aching to be inside of her, his body so deprived on a sheer carnal level that it doesn't seem to register the fact that they're both fully dressed, imitating the act despite their many layers, acutely aware that she's moving along with him.

In between the rolls of his hips, he finds the helms of her blouse near her waist, his impatience making him pull at the clothe with no restraint, until the buttons pop, one by one. He moves his head from the crook of her neck to look at her.

Olivia is already heaving under him, her pupils wide, her cheeks a dark pink, messy hair having escaped her braid, a vision that makes him throb painfully inside his jeans. She doesn't let him stare long, both her hands reaching for his face and pulling him down into a hot, scorching kiss.

He's spent months fantasizing about this, about her. About touching her to insure she was real and alive, kissing her to erase any worry line from her skin, pleasing her to relax her very soul.

Loving her because he could.

And these weeks of longing are what guide his hands and dictate his every move, roaming the newly exposed skin of her chest; goose-bump erupts under his fingertips, feeling her muscles twitch, her breathing hitch, until he's unceremoniously pushing the fabric of her bra up to access the soft flesh of her breast. Her nipple hardens against his palm as he massages her, soon putting his thumb to work.

She lets go of his lips with a gasp, and somewhat freed from her hold, he uses this opportunity to descend on her again, entrapping the sensitive knob in his mouth. He sucks and twists, before flattening his tongue and pressing down, running over it, fast, then slow...fast, then slow...fast, then slow...until her back is leaving the bed, arching into him with a loud moan, and he slips both his arms around her to keep her pressed against him as he focuses on her other breast, as deserving of his devotion.

Both her hands are on his jacket, grabbing at it unsuccessfully, trying hard to pull on the rough fabric. "Peter," she pants. "Your clothes."

He knows what she wants, what she needs. She craves for that skin–to–skin contact as much as he does. Yet again, it's been months, and the most arrogant part of him, that part that is very good at holding on to a grudge, isn't about to just give her what she wants.

What he wants is to watch her squirm, to feel her break against him.

He's drawn quite a few more throaty moans from her before his tactic changes, lulling her into a false sense of security, always the con artist. He relaxes his muscles and relinquishes his holds on her, feeling her do the same. He pushes himself up, kneeling between her legs, before grabbing her arms to help her sit up. She follows, getting rid of her ruined shirt as his fingers lose no time and find the clasp of her bra. He unbuttons her pants just as quickly while she throws her bra aside.

She's quite a rousing sight, her hair almost completely out of her braid now, long strands draping her skin, a skin that is flushed deep, deeper across her heaving chest, courtesy of his truly. Nothing quite surpasses the pull of her gaze, though, capturing his eyes as soon as they travel back to her face.

And Peter lets himself be pulled, cupping her cheeks again and doing some of the pulling himself, being intentionally slow when he sucks her lower lip between his own. She opens up to him, feeling her sink into his kiss, sink into him, and he offers no resistance when she ends up almost straddling his lap, holding on to both his forearms.

When she begins to move more decidedly against him, though, showing every sign of wanting to take the lead, having let go of his arms to grab at his clothes, it's his cue to refocus. While he helps her discard of his jacket, positively boiling under all these layers, that's as far as he lets her get, stopping her when she makes to pull at his shirt.

He grabs both her wrists instead, swiftly pushing her back down until she's pressed upon the mattress again, hands pinned on each side of her head. With him fully between her legs, he resumes his rolling motions at once, grinding; she instinctively clasps her legs around him, responding to his thrusts, and he swallows her next moan, kissing her deep, and slow, but mostly kissing her breathless.

When he lets go of one of her hands to put his to better use, shifting upon her, her fingers sink into his hair. At first, she's merely trying to twist it in her grip, and he almost wishes he hadn't had it cut the previous week. When his hand has traveled all the way down between them and his fingers pass the threshold, slipping through wet warmth, her grip becomes so tight that the short length of his hair doesn't matter much, the twist now a delicious, painful pull.

Peter lets go of her mouth, raising his head in time to see her bite down on her lip, hard, brow furrowed, eyes tightly closed, swallowing back her own moan, a sight that sends searing prickles of pleasure down his spine, concentrating low within.

He could die a happy man, with his hand pressed against her warmth, lost in the act of pleasing her. But even now, he feels his meager control slipping from him, steered in equal parts by his need to please her and his need for her, all too aware of how close he is.

Unable to think, only to feel, he gives in to his own urges, this time, pulling his hand out to grab hers from his hair, pinning it back against the bed near her head, fingers intertwined, mirroring the other side.

Already, he's shifted again, back to grinding their hips, pressing his hard arousal against her swollen core, slow...fast. Faster. And he almost feels that escalating pressure inside of her, in the squeeze of her fingers between his, of her legs around his back, sees it in her gaze, trapped in his, hot breaths and groans melding, his own pleasure mounting in steps with hers.

Olivia comes, hard, and her orgasm hits him like a bolt of lightning, sizzling and blinding, a blast of energy that spreads throughout his nervous system and splits his atoms apart, fusing them back together with hers.

As their breathings slow down and they lie there entangled, sweaty and sticky, still fully dressed for the most part, the situation has the potential to become awkward. It doesn't.

If anything else, their next moves are on the clumsy side as they begin to disentangled themselves from one another, inconvenienced by trembling limbs. They don't share a word, though, solely directed by a mutual yearning, needing to do this properly, and to do it now. The almost sloppy removal of clothes only becomes secondary to the meeting of their lips, halting the process quite regularly to sink into kisses that are famished and languid, the kinds that belong to lovers.

It takes a while, but one by one, every item is removed, and more skin is exposed, increasing that contact they're both craving for. The more of him Olivia gets to touch, the less idle her fingers become, decidedly bolder and typically her, too; by the time they're bared of all clothes, they're entangled in such a way that he's once again fully hard, throbbing into her hand and moaning against her skin as she keeps on nibbling his earlobe.

With her help, Peter finds his way into her as easily as if they'd done this a hundred times before.

The feel of her is the most excruciating kind of ecstasy, forcing him to stay still, at first. He's never known this to be this intense and annihilating, her thighs squeezing his waist, her legs locked upon his lower back; one of his arms is wrapped around her, pressed between skin and mattress to keep her close to him, as close as they can possibly get.

All ten pads of her fingers are digging into his face, lips millimetres apart, yet not kissing anymore, too focused on sensations to do anything but feel, the air humming all around them, since there isn't an inch of space left between them.

Like their two universes, they're vibrating at different frequencies, identical yet slightly different.

And when stillness makes place to that dance that is as old as time, they're like these metronomes, too, their tempos quite similar, yet slightly out of sync, as he moves into and against her and she meets his every thrust, only occasionally finding that shared synchronicity.

In a fleeting moment of despair that mingles with aching pleasure, Peter wonders if they're breaking the very laws of Nature by this act, and if they are, what the consequences might be to the fabric of their worlds joining the way they are, hipbones meeting, sweat melding, her breasts pressing into his chest with his every sway.

And deep inside of her, lost in the hot, burning feel of her, in the depth of her eyes, it dawns on him that he doesn't care.

He doesn't care.

Because their frequencies are harmonizing, their tempos adjusting as they fall into step, so that the amount of shared synchronicity soon overtakes their lapses, encouraged and driven by the sound of her voice and the clasp of her everything. And it doesn't matter if their eye contact breaks as Olivia throws her head back and moans his name, because she sees him anyway.

He's a boy from the other side, after all, and this is her gift; her curse.

He comes with his face buried against her neck, his entire fucking soul entrapped beneath her skin; he might have found the irony of it amusing, hadn't it been so damn devastating.

His breathing is harsh and ragged against her skin, odd, rasping sounds coming out of his throat, now, and the tremors that shake his body are caused by much more than aftershocks. Olivia understands what is happening long before he does, and she tries to soothe him, gentle fingers in his hair, soft hand moving across his back.

Every part of them is still entangled, yet she holds him to her tight, as he attempts to rid himself of a sorrow that is etched in his very DNA.

This is where you belong, she tells him without a single word.

With me.

And when she murmurs the words into his ear, Peter might just believe her.

FIN

#fringe #fringefox #Peter x Olivia #polivia #it's fine i just spent 14 hours on this today im ok im fine im good #i have to be up in 7 hours *WEEPING*#Northwest Passage #S for smut

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ninetiescat · 8 years ago

Text

the story of the start of an eating disorder

Trigger warning. Story below the read more.

I have so many messages to reply to I’m so sorry everyone; writing this has been good, finally getting words out

I didn’t realize they changed the DSM. I fell under EDNOS in IV, but in 5 the definition changed—anorexia nervosa now. I’ve earned my wings, dark black wings. Here we go.

Now that I’m home I don’t have anyone making sure that I eat, I don’t have access to much and when we go shopping I don’t ask for anything because I don’t know what I want, I have no lunch plans I can rely on, no one watches over me. This is the only time in my life I’ve been upset about it, genuinely upset. I don’t like this. You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone I guess.

I remember it all too well. I remember it. Water. I didn’t want to leave in the first place. I can still feel the vibe in the room. I remember parking and how it looked from the outside. That’s where it began. Just water. It was crowded and loud and yellow. My anxiety was high and I was sick as hell. I was against the wall. I was nauseous. There were too many people; it was too loud. My head was too loud. I wanted to go home. Sure it was part conscious defiance. It was about ten percent “I’ll show you.” The rest was “I feel like dying, so why aren’t you listening?” I remember the inside joke, just not its origin. I didn’t want it. I could be quiet and dissociate and not a bother. You didn’t need to yell at me. My anxiety was high and I was sick as hell. It felt like my skin was peeling off. I needed air. No one cared. I remember it all too well. That’s how it began. Five months later it was official. But that was when it began. But that was when it began. That was it. If only I had protested harder. If only I channeled my anxiety into throwing up. If only my words had meaning. If only you had protected me. You could’ve protected me. You should’ve protected me. Bullshit, it was all a cop out. It felt like I was drowning in air. I couldn’t do it. That ten percent dropped to zero. I was one hundred percent sick. I was one hundred percent terrified. I didn’t need a voice raised at me. I didn’t need your silence. I was fragile. I was learning how to not hate myself; I didn’t need more ammunition. I was fragile and susceptible to anything and everything. I didn’t want anything. Pass. Water. I was trapped. I was drowning. I can’t remember the root of the inside joke, just the friend it started with, an irrelevant detail, maybe never mentioned. After a long series of events I learned that zero in tennis is love, the only real love. I lost the notebook with my old lyrics in it—I remember taking it to practice and editing them on the fly, but I must’ve thrown it away with my hopes and dreams and all the cliché shit—but I wrote so much of love I could never have, all splattered in tears of the frustration buried in every line; “I wish I knew that you would save me, / but believing that’d be wrong.” “I’m at the end of the line. / You’ve run out of time.” “You should have made a choice / just before you were given a voice.” “You aren’t here to sing me lullabies / when I am filled with fright.” “All these things I have to say turn into these songs. / I’ve never seen love and I don’t believe in it because—” Oh heaven help me. That was the first and that was the last. Water. There’s no turning back. I guess I ran out of time. You could’ve stopped it. You could’ve stopped it all. You could’ve been there. You should’ve said something. My palate couldn’t handle it. My gag reflex was triggered. I was nauseous. Water was too much. Someone could’ve stopped it. A simple “don’t treat her that way” could’ve spared it all. Sure, maybe by the time April came I would’ve fallen victim anyway; maybe it was in my blood, burned into the back of my head, a section of my DNA; maybe it was lying beneath the surface waiting to be set off. I remember it all, stumbling out the door bleary-eyed 4am “Call 911” and “Please Don’t Go” memorizing the highways, the twists and turns, sights and songs; I remember it all. I stood on stage for two years with my stomach sucked in and sang the woes I could never speak; I couldn’t force the words out after I tried and instead of being respected was forced to eat. I’ve been choking on my emotions ever since, drowning. I feel limitless on stage; there’s nothing to hold back and no one to hold me—to hold me back or to hold me. I feel powerful, cue Ellie Goulding’s song. I wanted to say it all. I had so much to say. I was thoughtful. Hell, after years of unsaid thoughts, I had blood to spill all over stage, overflowing from my mouth, drowning, zero. I had so much to say; I lost my chance; I was sick; when will I have that chance again? You weren’t there when I sang the woes; I don’t even know if you know. I was trying to practice one night and slipped out of my chair; I’m glad I caught it on film. You should’ve been there. I was almost willing, you know? I was really close to being willing, wanting, making amends or something. Now it’s just bitterness burning a whole right through me. It’s acidic.

Yellow walls. Clear water. Zero in tennis, zero in all black, zero with my black wings tucked in. In therapy, way back at the start, I represented myself as a black caged bird in a blocked off room; it seemed right, it fit, it didn’t have an origin, or so I thought. It doesn’t matter now. I guess you never noticed how the light escaped my eyes every time you walked away. I sang those words at the top of my lungs, the top and all the way down, with the deepest breaths, all the way down. I remember it all. I kind of hate “The Light,” but it started as mine and then got a whole life of its own, a totally surreal blessing. I sang it on the happiest day of my life. I let the blood run free, spilled all over the stage, and I left my heart there. I was delirious. I’ve never felt more alone; being on stage is the loneliest, most powerful place to be. Damn, I wish you could’ve seen it. The air was so pure. Everything was so pure. Dreams came true, purity, I found heaven alone, with no one to celebrate with. People screamed, cheered, hugged, elated, and I stood by and watched on the outside. Encore, they said. Dreams came so true. I sang of love I never knew, watched on the outside. I wonder if you would’ve been proud. Do you even know? Spotlights are warm. I wore jeans the first time. It was a mistake. I was boiling alive under the lights singing my lungs out, spilling the bloody feelings everywhere. It’s funny—flash back to my first round, eight hundred, one light, black backdrop of heavy curtains, black shirt black skirt black shoes, I couldn’t make out any of the faces in the crowd but the song was sent out to you; I stared into the spotlight across the room, eyes burning, imagining that light was there with you beside it. I was so furious, enflamed, burned vexed, but I let it all out. I was sucking in my stomach. I only wanted water. I remember. The happiest day of my life, I wasn’t alone on stage, but microphone in hand, no one else exists, nothing else exists. I was, for all intents and purposes, alone. I wore jeans the first time, boiled, and didn’t do it again on my happiest day. It was powerful. I want to go back to that day so badly; I want that power again; I want to live that day again at this age and feel powerful over my eating disorder. I don’t feel like it controls my life, I’ve moved past that part of it, but it originated from exactly what I sing about, scream about, bleed about. I wrote “The Light” either right before or right after it all began; it hurts. Powerful. My second day in the psychiatric ward, Staff said I didn’t eat the day before, but I never noticed, I never experienced hunger. All of my rights were taken away from me, they would’ve forced me to eat if I didn’t nibble on my own, but they wouldn’t have made me feel like shit over that. No one there would’ve protected me, but that’ll always be different. I felt attacked, you know? The world against me. Food against me. Under attack. Zero. You’re supposed to understand. You were supposed to understand.

I relapsed into cutting and my eating disorder during this academic year; despite everything I did so well until I got pushed ever so slightly too much. December 4th I found peace walking the streets of Salem in the dark, walkways lit by stores’ Christmas lights before sunrise. I was cold and alone. The streets were my lonely stage. It was a gentle peace. My last cut was the 8th, but I kept torturing myself with my eating disorder, ripping it all apart, my silent disease. People with brown eyes and black hair must be destined to rip me apart by—well—everyone already knows. It’s all the same. Stumbling out the door bleary-eyed 4am memorizing the streets.

So I remember it all.

I remember it all.

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