#<< but yeah my threads are near-nonexistent I need to TYPE>>

[frosted-wonders]

⭐- Starter Call! Like this post for a starter from a random choice of my muses!

[itsyourstarboy]

Freebound

(Redacted Audio fanfic—1247 words)

Summary: Its the moonbound solstice, and Freelancer is freebound. Watch them cause chaos, on accident and on purpose.

Read here on Ao3

—

I.

The sunlight streamed through the curtains above the bed, cascading a golden glow across the room. Gavin, still dazed with sleep, stretched out an arm to pull his deviant close. His outstretched hand met cold sheets, and his brow furrowed as he felt around, cracking an eye open in confusion.

“Deviant?” He softly called.

When he was met with silence, he got up. It wasn’t like them to leave him in bed all alone. Quickly finding his pants that were discarded the night before, he exited their bedroom. Where were they?

As he neared the kitchen, he picked up on their aura. It was bouncing off the walls, feeling strong one minute, and practically nonexistent the next.

“Deviant?” He softly called, again.

They turned to him, a small smile on their face, “g’mornin’.”

The kitchen was… well, it wasn’t a mess, per say. It was… different.

“What are you doing in here, love?” Gavin asked.

“I’m rearranging the cabinets.”

“At 7am?”

Freelancer stared at him for a moment, “yeah.”

Gavin suppressed a chuckle, “may I ask why?”

“Well, I woke up this morning and I felt like I had bees in my bones, so I went to the grocery store down the street to buy six pounds of butter. Then when I got home, I accidentally set the couch on fire. Went shopping for one online, but I think I ordered 20.”

Gavin was speechless. “H-how long have you been awake?”

“1:14 am,” they laughed out in a sigh. They looked so tired.

“When you told me the solstices were often… interesting for you, this is not what I expected.”

“There is never a way to predict what may happen, I am a slave to my core for the remainder of this solstice. I think I just caused the large oak tree outside to become an even larger oak tree.”

At that, the ground shook, and Gavin’s eyes went wide.

“How about we go back to bed for a bit?”

II.

Lasko was doing paperwork on his coffee table. Nothing too strenuous—he was sunbound after all—just some stuff to keep him occupied while he felt like a dry apple slice.

Freelancer walked in the door, “hey, Lasko-babe.”

“Wh- oh. Hi, Freelancer. What are you doing here? And why didn’t you knock? N-not that I’m upset you're here, I mean, I-I’m always happy to see you, it’s just that you’re not exactly the type to just invite yourself into someone’s apartment… At least- at least I think you're n-not… are you?”

They sighed with a tired smile, “yeah I know, m’sorry. I would’ve knocked, but it’s too… too much. Too noise. M- no- that’s not… words.”

Lasko stood as his friend swayed on their feet, “are- are you f-feeling? Alright? Pft- no, what am I saying? Of course you’re not, it’s the solstice. Com- come sit down, how did you even get here, anyway?”

“Mmm,” Freelancer hummed as Lasko forced them to sit on the couch. They immediately sunk into the cushions, “I was feeling up, an’ I wanted to come hang out with you, but halfway here I felt not-up.”

“Not-up?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean- I guess that makes sense? Y-you are a freelancer, so you’re going to feel all kinds of… ‘ups’ and downs. M- Magically, anyway.”

“M’yeah, my magic has been ups and downs,” they mumbled, leaning into Lasko as he sat next to them. “I used psychokinesis to launch my phone into orbit.”

III.

Huxley was laying on his side, his head propped up on his arm, and his fingers threading through Damien’s hair. He was happy taking care of him like this. Right here, in this moment, with his boyfriend curled up next to him.

There was a knock at the front door.

“Are you gonna get that?” Damien mumbled when Huxley made no attempt at getting up.

“No,” he sighed contentedly, “whoever it is can just come back later.”

It would turn out that Huxley wouldn’t need to get the door, as whoever had knocked opened it for themself.

“The heck…?” Huxley said, sitting up slightly.

A familiar voice rang through the house, “Huuuuux? Damiiii?”

The two boys sighed in relief, glad that the home intruder was just Freelancer. Sweet, innocent Freelancer-

“Are either of you here? I think I drained the town's water supply.”

Huxley immediately sat up, telling Dames that he would be right back. The fire elemental could only let out an affirmative hum in response as he tiredly laughed at the freelancer's antics.

Entering the front room, Huxley found Freelancer hovering by a window.

“Freelancer? Dude- why are you all wet??”

They turned to him, panting heavily, “I was walking here from Damien’s place, and the Dahlia Spring decided to start chasing me, so I started running, but that made the water faster, so I jumped into your neighbor's pool to escape.”

Huxley slowly approached the window, “holy shi- Freelancer, the entire street is flooded!”

“I knowww,” they whined, “I’m sorry. I would clean it up but I’m afraid I’ll level the entire neighborhood.”

“Okay, well… let- lets just get you dried off,” Hux said, taking Freelancer’s hand to lead them to the bathroom.

“Wait, wait,” they pulled away, “is Damien here?”

“Uh- yeah, he’s resting in the bedroom.”

Freelancer made their way to the room and peeked their head through the doorway to see Damien all bundled up, “oh god that’s adorable. Is he wearing your sweatshirt??”

“Shut up,” Damien groaned, his voice all muffled from the blankets. “Why are you here?”

Huxley appeared next to them with a towel, “jeez, dude. You’re freezing.”

“It’s the solstice,” Freelancer answered, stubbornly trying to push Huxley’s hands away as he desperately tried to dry them off. “I remembered that you’re sunbound, so I was like ‘Fireboy must be feeling like shit right now, and I, too, feel like shit,’ so here I am, to feel like shit with you.”

Freelancer paused, hissing in disapproval, as Huxley ruffled their hair dry.

“I went to your place first, though. Let myself in. I cleaned everything.”

Damien sat up a little, propping himself against the pillows, “you… cleaned everything?”

“Yeah,” they wavered, leaning against the wall, “and then I remembered I was looking for you, so- oh god-” they keeled over, “I’m gonna throw up-”

Before either of the boys could react, Freelancer had run to the bathroom.

IV.

Damien’s phone buzzed with notifications from the group chat.

Gavin: does anyone happen to know where the freelancer is? I swear I left them alone for five minutes

Lasko: yeah don’t worry they’re here at my place

Lasko: they randomly showed up and eventually passed out on the couch

Lasko: sorry I would have told you but I was doing paperwork

Gavin: it’s alright as long as they’re safe

Damien: Lasko, I think you should check your couch.

Lasko: what?

Lasko: why?

Damien: Just do it.

Lasko: um…

Gavin: ???

Lasko: I’m so sorry

Lasko: they’re not there

Lasko: I lost them

Gavin: how did you lose them!?!?

Lasko: how did you???

Damien: Calm down, they’re here at Hux’s place.

Damien: They showed up a couple minutes ago.

Damien: They’re puking in the toilet.

Gavin: oh thank god

Huxley returned to the room, a sleeping Freelancer in his arms, “Dames, they tried to escape through the window, and when they couldn’t they said, ‘I’m going to stop existing now,’ and passed out.”

Damien looked back at his phone.

Damien: Please come get them.

—

[idk-maybe-i-did-it]

Scars: Year five, Chapter two

Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, implied nudity, bruising, implied self harm,

James no longer cared about the surrounding boys in that moment, all his focus was one the female in his arms.

The boy was sobbing into her hair and constantly pulling her body closer to him and he leant back on his foot.

He didn't care.

James didn't care that Sirius had placed his hand on James's shoulder. He didn't care that the door to the dorm was open and a small second year boy had been staring at him, James simply didn't care about anything other than the female in his arms.

Everything else was nonexistent and all he could feel, see and hear was his sister.

He, He didn't care that there was still far too much to fix in their relationship before he would be aloud to call her his family again because all he cared about was the fact that he could hold his baby sister in his arms again.

He had her back.

And James wouldn't let anything take her away from him after that. __________ Y/n L/n ended up sleeping in bed with James Potter that night and when she awoke he still wouldn't let her go ___

When she did awake though, the boys were still wary of her.

" Y/n we're not going to pry but why were you such a jackass before?"

The girl's face paled and she diverted her eyes from their faces, instead choosing to look out to window.

" Family stuff."

James looked back over to her as Sirius walked to where she had been standing, engulfing her in a hug that hurt her already bruised hips and waist. Remus, who had already been used to noticing her small unnoticeable action's noticed her wince as Sirius placed pressure on her hips/waist during the hug. He saw how she plastered on a smile through the pain and how she flinched even more when Sirius hoisted her up to get a better height advantage.

" Welcome back sis..."

____________________________

" You're going to the game with us later right Y/n?"

The girl nodded discreetly, not taking her eyes off the goblet of gillywater before her. James reached over and lightly fisted at her long-sleeved shirt. " Why don't you put on something different, it'll be hot outside N/n."

There it was again.

His use of the nickname. His concern that she would overheat.

And there she was again.

Remus Lupin wasn't the type to not notice things. So when Y/n said she had simply been cold, he knew something was up. Y/n was normally rather warm and even when she were cold she never wore long sleeves, only a cloak, a black cloak and her shirt. But never long sleeves.

He knew something was up.

And Remus Lupin would get to the bottom of it. ____________________________

After James and Sirius had broken off from the group to get in uniform Remus noticed Y/n's breathing shorten multiple beats.

And how she tried to hide it.

Later on in the game Remus noticed her rather subtle flinches when noise increased and how the grip on her left arm increased. Eventually Remus had leant over and lightly grasped her arm, taking it off of the other, and whispered in her ear, " Remember to breath love." ____________________________

" Hi Liz, I don't think my friends still want to meet you..."

She sunk down and placed the flowers into the vase beside her gravestone, sitting next it.

" I miss you, I know the truth too now... I still wish you were here."

The girl moved over and lightly leaned against the stone.

" I'm sorry about what happened too. You didn't deserve to die... you and mum should be here sitting next to me."

The girl let out a shaky sigh, not even attempting to stop the silent tears.

" Today was horrible... he threatened me again, said if I went back to the boys he would force me to do stuff again. I'm scared Liz... I'm so scared."

Y/n let out a quiet sob and pulled her knees up next to her on the ground and continued to sob onto the grave-stone as a group of four boys watched her from the woods edge with guilt.

The four of them had pushed her away earlier that week because Remus told them he'd watched Y/n leave the common room at midnight every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday before returning near three a.m. with hickeys and bruises covering her arms and neck. Now standing there, watching her spill her heart out to her sister's grave-stone, they all felt like piles of shite, especially the tallest of them all.

" I miss the boys Liz... I miss them so much and they won't even believe me."

Sirius, James, Peter and Remus slowly came out and started to walk over towards the sobbing, unassuming girl.

She reached out and wiped her face, forcing tears back, before reaching out into her pocket and pulling out a pocket watch. " Sorry, I'm crying too much and I'm supposed to be happy for you. It's your birthday after all, I remember you always wanted a pocket watch."

Her voice cracked and went up an octave before she broke out into sobs again.

The boys finally walked up next her and squatted down. Remus pulled her into his shoulder and wrapped his arms securely around her as James and Sirius placed their hands on her shoulder and Peter placed a few flowers with Y/n's.

" We're sorry we never believed you earlier love. We were just wary..."

James spoke up next, " You never denied us that he had been controlling you because you already knew... and you had been trying to point it out to us..." ____________________________

Later that day Y/n had been sitting with James on his bed doing a bit of last-minute homework. The girl knew that homework was supposed to be her biggest problem at the moment yet she just couldn't get what James had said off her mind.

Did we not care enough or did you decide that a bloody prick from Hufflepuff made you feel more at home than we did?!

Did James really think she felt more at home with someone who'd kept her under blackmail than with people who she loved?

Did Mr. Charlie Chadington Williams remind you of poor mummy and dad or did we just stop being your family?

Did he really think she had been attracted to toxic people?

Did James really think her cruel?

Does he really hate me?

Did they really regret befriending me?

Why was I such a horrible person?

I didn't want to be, he said if I didn't he'd-

" You okay love? James sent me to talk to you because you wouldn't respond when he talked."

Y/n's back straightened and her head snapped up to see Remus had been squatting on the floor before her. She didn't notice there were tears dripping down her face until Remus reached up and cupped it, wiping them away.

The girl dropped her head again, letting it plop onto his shoulder with a light thump.

When Remus had looked into her eyes only seconds ago he saw every insecurity peaking through Y/n's now thick wall of brick hiding her from the world and he just came to realize that while the girl had been an ass, she had emotions hidden behind a wall of anger. The boys had blamed her for all the pain and anger that she'd put them through.

In the small moment where he saw through her walls and watched as her insecurities came out Remus finally realized that Y/n wasn't the person they needed to blame for her faults.

They should've blamed whoever made her that way.

" Does James really think I'm attracted to toxic people? Do you really think I wanted to be such a jackass?"

She lifted her head up again and turned to look out of the window, keeping her gaze away from Remus's eyes.

" Was I really such an ass that you guys started to regret knowing me? I mean, if- If you did start to, I wouldn't blame you. I was a bloody cunt... but you guy's have to realize I didn't want to be one."

Her voice broke slightly near the end and Remus suddenly figured out why she had been quieter recently.

He immediately came forward and moved next to the girl on James' bed, gently grasping her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye. " No- No love, no. We- James doesn't think you're attracted to toxic people he was just upset that you'd stopped hanging out with us. No, We- we didn't know why you were acting like an arse but we also never thought you wanted to be like that either."

Her head shook and a few tears fell out of the windows to her soul again.

" We never regretted knowing you either Y/n. If we all had a choice we would never go back and change knowing you. Y/n darling you've helped all of us in so many ways you'll never understand, trust me, we would never regret knowing you."

Remus leaned forward and wrapped her in a one armed hug, lightly threading at her hair, and tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead.

" He says I deserve what mum does because I didn't listen to him when he told me to stop hanging around you guys... I think I deserve what they do because I listened to him and ignored you guys."

Remus was pissed that someone could make Y/n think things as such.

He buried his head into her hair and squeezed the girl tightly before pulling his head up and resting it atop her's, biting his lip to keep the slur of curses coming through.

" I don't give a damn about what you've done to us Y/n, you don't deserve that shit."

" And tell me what kind've blackmail Chad has on you before you show me your arms, hips and waist to make sure I have the right guy." ________________________________

" Y/n, wanna go down to Honeydukes with me?"

" Yeah but you can't get the whole stock of biscuits this time Peter."

∑(ﾟДﾟ)

" We can also stop by your sisters grave and give her more flowers."

" Sounds like a plan Peter." ________________________

" Re-Remus..." Her voice wavered and the boy saw her tear filled eyes start to water. He pulled off the cloak he’d been wearing and wrapped it around her nearly naked body.

" I'm here love, don't worry, I'm here now..."

_____________________________ Drop a vote, drink some water, eat some food and remember You Are Loved ^ - ^

[originalpistol]

𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎, 𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝗠𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘆. 

Running — That’s something I am great at. But I never ran from /you/. There was something about the way your arms wound around the small of my waist, pulling me in, and making me remember what it felt like to call a person home instead of four walls and countless marble pillars. Something in the way your breath would gently cascade in against the delicate flesh of my neck with every heated wind from the slow wind of my hips. A simple, slow tease. Oh, but I knew it was pure torture for you; that’s why I did it. Two small reasons why...why I never strayed, and why I held tight when your presence was nonexistent. I still remembered the shock that settled in the day you knelt down against the warm sand, and pulled out a ring. Pear shaped; my favorite. Simple, golden band. I never was one for over-complicated jewelry. Gross. If that shit has more diamonds than the most important one? Throw it out. But that was something he knew. Boy, did you really do a number on me with this whole setup. Lure me in, take me to our favorite beach, and low and behold? Sharks! The one and only favorite animal of yours truly. Great. Gotta love a man that knows exactly what to do. Fuck, me. So here we were, sharing the best memory I could ever hope for — a shark meet-and-greet. I was right at home in the ocean, swiping light fingers along the silken backs of them, completely mesmerized by the way they moved. And then? That was when he pulled me away; I didn’t mind, I knew the day was drawing to an end, and that was usually the time when sharks become ravenous with hunger. Wish I would’ve sank you to them, honestly. Shit, then I wouldn’t be standing here, feeling stupid. The thing I hate almost more than feeling vulnerable. Good job, pal. The initial pain that followed his disappearance was something that I’d honestly learned to tune out. Just busy, or perhaps just up to some shit I didn’t know or need to know about. Shit happens, Alice. You’ll be fine, just keep on building your empire. So that’s exactly what I did. I built a wedding line while he was off gallivanting. Seven of the eight pieces were nearly finished. All that lacked was the eighth and final dress. Something I had taken my sweet time in both designing, but also in bringing my idea to life. I never had issues on this until now. Where I couldn’t even find the headspace to slip away from the lingering memories of having him at home with me. I used to take my pieces home, give him a little show all his own, and allow him to tell me the small changes to make to the pieces. It was stupid, probably, but it always helped to steady my mind. I still can’t believe I allowed myself to lean on someone else so completely. Wasn’t that the first thing I learned in life from my lunatic mother? Crazy bitch; still locked away in the asylum. If there was one solid piece of advice I’d bother to lend to anyone? Never rely on anyone other than yourself. Your fingers, feet, will, and determination will take you a helluva lot further than anyone else ever will. If you find yourself wanting to lean into or on your partner? Fucking stand up — Stand tall. We don’t have time for that bullshit here. Waiting wasn’t the hard part. Continuing to have hope when you’re six months into being alone? That is the hard part. Going back, recreating each and every little memory you have of him while he won’t let you know he’s still breathing; that’s hard. It’s the whole thing of not knowing, for me. I never thought I would be the kind of girl to sit back and find myself a mess of confusion, anger, and doubt all because of this goddamn ring that sat so prominently against my left ring finger. But yet? I held on, refusing to let go or to give up. Not because of myself, but because I knew the feeling of coming back to an empty life, an empty home. Detriment was a kind way of putting that kind of hurt. Trust, love, compassion; these are all things we built together. Things to which were slowly slipping between my fingertips as the eighth month alone was creeping in. Settling into its place on the chalkboard calendar I’d hung to track both my progress on the wedding show, but also so I would force myself to be conscious in the time that lapsed. Eight fucking months of space between the two of us. I had never felt so empty. Both in mind and in soul. He’d slipped away so easily to my dismay. Not a word, not even a second thought. Maybe marriage wasn’t for me. Perhaps I was the kind of girl that would always find herself in these fucked up situations because this wasn’t something in the deck of cards I’d been playing with? We shall see. Teeter...totter. Back and forth she goes. Do I slip away like he did, or do I give it the full length of a year before I let this crash harder than a car at 80 stopping against a tree? Fuck it. Held on this long, suppose it won’t ruin me any worse to wait it out. Yeah? Yeah. Back to the dress. That’s right. It was mid July — only one dress remained. I slipped another pin from between my lips, into my fingers, and right by my thumb right through the soft — damn near silken, fabric. Weaving the pin into place, and securing it with a final thread of fabric against the shoulder. Draping it down to sit perfect against the shoulder of the mannequin at hand. They would slouch slightly, but never enough to reveal too much skin. Classy. Effortlessly classy. For a moment I pulled away from my project to look over it, eyes narrowing in suspicion and critique of my own work. Everything would be perfect, and without flaw by the time I was done. Nine months deep in this treacherous hell hole of a relationship, ey? Here I go again, making my rounds of excuses for why he’s gone, why he hasn’t said a single word, and why I don’t matter. Here I go venturing into the path of unknown on whether or not I’ll ever speak to the second most important person I’d met. Can’t believe I let him in to this extent. Still feel stupid. My will to push forward with my long-lived journey of waiting was dwindling. Quick. It was almost as if with every tap my nails made against the glass top of my desk, my patience were wearing further. Down the drain. Oh, fucking, well. I remembered typing out my release form, allowing me to escape the confines of this, but instead? I’d somehow turned it into a soppy form of how much I loved this man, and how I was still going to persevere so he would see the love I gave. I couldn’t tell you how badly I wanted to just be able to hear that deep, rusk voice of his. To know he was near. Little did I know, this need to feel him would be met only days later. I was dead to the world on the leather couch in my living room, bottle in hand, and drool dripping down the corner of my mouth. How lady like, Madame Lunatic would be oh sooo proud. Insert eyeroll here, please. Thank you. Anyways. I’d slept for a grand total of three hours when I finally heard the soft ringing of my phone. For the record, I had seven missed calls from Brooklyn at this point. What in the sam fuck is this? “Swain is here!” That was all I had to know, and I immediately sprung into action. Time to see /my/ man. When it was said that it was either Swain or nothing? People meant that. I cared about little to none unless it dealt with him. Dude had my whole heart tangled around his fingers. Even when he wasn’t around. But he was now. That is what mattered, for me. Fuck, yes. I knew there was a reason I kept holding on. This is exactly why I never gave up. He was coming back, he was always meaning to come back. Right? Of course! Wait...but then why had he left for so long in the first place? How could someone who claimed they loved you so fully just...disappear? What kind of things ran through his mind when it wandered to me, and subsequently; did he think of me? Did I actually matter? How could I? Truly, how could I have mattered to this man if he could suck the life from someone so easily? But then again, I couldn’t place that blame solely on him. I chose to wait. I put myself here, but love for me is a beast to remain unconquered. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t overcome if it came between me and someone I loved. He was the one person I loved more than anything. He wants to marry me. He wants to marry me. He’s here now and he wants to marry me. These are the words I had to forcibly think over and over as I pushed pins and needles in and out of the fabric of the dress. My very last dress. The only dress I would start and complete all on my own. The only dress that was completely created by Pistol. So here I was, completely knees deep in tulle and silk, and crystals alike. Beading sure was a fickle little bitch, and my compulsive need to have everything perfect wasn’t helping the situation at all. Guess that’s the price you pay when you know your craft, and you take pride in each and every facetted detail. A small smile managed to hem it’s way onto my lightly lined lips as I stitched in the last few sectors of the bodice. Lace was embellishing the tight corset, meant to strap in everything. There was a soft fabric draping the shoulders, and framing the bodice. That way it would look more vintage than new-age. Paying homage is the purpose, here. Must remain a take on a classic. That small reminder hit me as I was carefully weaving my needle in against the lace. Ocean inspired eyes watched over every stroke, making sure to take the time to correctly stitch everything. Lets see how many years this would take. Kidding. Only took the next two weeks. During those two weeks Swain and I went back and forth of colors for our wedding, the people we should include, and a date. A year. It had almost been a year since we’d gotten engaged and we were finally getting somewhere. Holy hell. I didn’t give a damn that he wanted to scrap the things I’d came up with, either. Not even the tiniest bit. Life was on overload as it was. Hell yeah, you can help! Do what you want, mister man. That was my way of thinking, at this point. I didn’t care if we didn’t invite a single soul to our wedding. I cared about the two of us and that was genuinely it. If you asked me? I was in favor of having this as small as it could be. I’d always been one to remain vulnerable with very few. Besides, he was all I truly needed. A marriage is between two people, not two people and everyone else. No thanks. Including other people in your relationship only succeeds to ruin that relationship. Outside opinions shouldn’t count or matter. This was about he and I. But the excitement that filled me to be able to say we had everything completely mapped out was unreal. I never thought we would get there. Not in the slightest, and especially not with nine months of space. Maybe this is that crazy level of love where nothing really forces you apart, or breaks you. Maybe. Just maybe. Slowly, though, oh so slowly he began to retreat back to the old habit. A few days at a time, at first, and then a week. See, I never was the girl that likes to nag someone because they’re absent for a week or two. Not when I’ve waited far longer. However, when you’ve got so many raw emotions invested into one human being? It’s genuinely a struggle to keep your head screwed on straight when that person starts fading once again. It’s like watching a relative relapse into the same shitty pattern. Over and over. This is where I had to sit back, on my own, and wonder how long until those little cracks in my heart would cause it to shatter? There has to be a limit to where I stay stable against the harsh reality that my favorite sense of comfort is about to wipe all that I’ve held onto, away, and into the nearest breeze. It’s almost as if I could feel the tension rising along my heartstrings. Each and every time I heard those fateful words, ‘I love you.’ There’s nothing more dangerous. October 31st, the big day. Holy hell, it’s finally here. I was going to be Kieran’s wife. His /wife/! The realization hadn’t even remotely set in at this point, but fuck it, I was hype. My nerves were non existent as I bustled to make sure I’d perfectly edited my vows for the man I loved endlessly. The erratic beating of my heart was unlike anything else, and even though I was surrounded by a group of people Swain and I had handpicked to witness our small ceremony? There was a huge weight of nervousness clouding my bronze shoulders. Lord, let's hope that my vows are enough. Nothing too short, nothing too long. Please, let me be enough. He said 2 o’clock. It is now well past 5p.m., but maybe he’s caught up and needs some time? Maybe a hundred different scenarios could’ve happened and that’s why he isn't here. Why I am standing here, wondering, waiting. My mind was running a million miles to the minute as I was being asked where he was, and if we were going to actually get married today. I hoped so. I remembered rolling the ring around the knuckle of my finger time and time again to ease my growing pangs of anxiety towards the situation at hand. He promised. He planned this. Why wouldn’t he show up, and how could /I/ not be enough to extract a goddamn hour of his time? One hour. That is all I wanted. Would I gladly accept and take more if the opportunity arises? Of course, but the chances of that were extremely slim. I knew that. I might’ve been in denial, but it wasn’t that goddamn strong. I could see two inches out from my feet, at the very least. As the hours passed, my anxiety level spiked, only to drop into the realization that it was now six hours later and not a word was said. No sorry, no dumbass excuse of what kept him from being here, from loving me. From making up all that time he’d already taken away. There really was nothing. Not a damn thing. You. I have loved you from the start. You drug me in with those stupid stoner jokes (that we both laugh at as if we’re kids), and kept me with your heart. When I think about you I see more than a body. I see your soul, your heart, and the mind that keeps it all afloat. I see you, Kieran. I’ve spent so many months learning any and everything from you that I can. And somehow it’s still hard to believe that we are here: waiting to be one. I know it’s probably weird for you to see this side of me; hell, it’s weird for me. But you allow me to be soft. To have emotion and to be vulnerable. You are my better half. You make all of the bullshit dissipate, and you are the light when everything seems to drown in black. I couldn’t be more thankful for someone than I am for you. But I’ve found myself thanking whatever higher power is there, for letting me find you. To have your love. And to be able to hide against you when shit gets hard. Marriage is something I /never/ thought /I/ would experience. But here I am. Here /you/ are. We’re fucking gettin’ married, and I couldn’t be more happy! I love you. More than a broken record loves to skip on the best part of a song. You have always and will always hold my heart and my hand. You are my most important. My constant. My rock. My ever-lasting love. The only one I would want to do forever with. You save me. In so many ways; from myself. You’ve always done that. Oh, but I doubt if you ever knew. You have bettered me in ways I don’t even know how to say, but baby? When I peer into those baby blue’s of yours I find myself watching out who life play out. The images I never thought I was worthy of. Being a wife. Being a mother. Owning about ninety-eight dogs. You’ve made me come alive in every sense of that word, and I love you even more for that. Loving. Admirable. Caring. Warm like the sun. Sweet. Honorable. Courageous. Funny. Talented. Wise. These are just a few words I have when it comes to you. These are aspects I watch flutter through your being each and every day. You inspire me to be a better woman in hopes that I will be the best for you. You called me the sun when you asked me to marry you, oh but you’ve never seen what you look like through my eyes, Kieran. You make me stand breathless all the time. And when I hear that deep voice of yours, signifying you’re home? Goddamn if my heart doesn’t want to run to you. Back to its home. Where I feel my safest. Because for me? You are my home. Fuck a house. It’s you. It has been you from the second week I knew you. So, Thank you, Kieran for always loving me. For staying even when I was the biggest pain in the ass. And for deciding you wanted to deal with my bullshit for the long haul. With that being said; please kiss me. Make me your wife, and let me take your last name, mister. Because I’m too in love with you for every passing minute it only gets stronger.‘ Those were the words that lay splattered across the back of this postcard I found nearly a year back. See, I wrote my vows far before I was ever even engaged to this man. He was my rock, my heart, my best friend. In every form possible, and I knew from the jump that it would always be him and I. Or, at least, that’s how it felt and seemed to be panning out. I felt like I was on top of the world when I felt the love he shared with me. He brought my heart to where it needed to be, and helped make me who I am. I knew that. But as I thought about the last year, I couldn’t help but to feel my pastel pink fingernails dig down into the weathered-most side of the postcard, tears welled, and soon strolled down the sides of my cheeks. I was slipping lower to the ground in hopes that I could avoid the incoming questions of our closest friends regarding our marriage. A marriage that wasn’t going to fail, because it couldn’t even start. I wasn’t worth the shot. The time. The effort...or the energy it took to simply show up. Processing the next few hours was something I didn’t fully understand, or know how to do. Maybe I’ll just push it away, or down? That’s usually how I would respond to a situation like this, but yet here I was. Still waiting. Everyone else gave up hours ago. Tears continued their way down my face, and I moved to get comfy in my favorite chair, in my home, that I shared as ours for over a year. Slap in the face. Insult to injury, as I thought more and more on this whole ordeal. What was I going to do? Was he ever coming back? Would he have the balls? OF COURSE HE WOULD! Here he was, in the early hours of the next morning. Did he apologize? Yes. Did it really mean anything? Not particularly. Did he give me an excuse? Also yes, but it wasn’t enough. Just that Halloween, the date he chose, was his favorite holiday (Mine too, but I don’t count, remember.) and he was busy enjoying it. You could’ve let me know, jackass. You could have taken three minutes to say you wouldn’t make the wedding. We either needed to reschedule or stop. Reschedule or leave. Those were the options I saw. The only ones that were worth a damn, and that would actually somehow save my heart a little bit. Would it fully save me? Fuck no, but in this case? I supposed every little bit really did count, didn’t it? Perhaps. We would see what came of this. To answer that one — A quick back and forth with how embarrassed I was, and how he didn’t care enough to save me from, what felt like, the ultimate embarrassment. I didn’t know what to do. I went back and forth with him. Fuck, me. Here we go again. How was it that all he needed to do was apologize, and I was going to nod my agreement to reschedule this? Yep. Yes, I was. Because why? Because I loved him more than I had anyone yet, and I had never been one to give up. Especially not when it came to anyone I loved. Perhaps that was my biggest downfall; the fact that I always loved to put those that I love before me. I could feel the rhythm of my heart picking up in pace, and the strong red discoloration coming into play along my chest and neck. God, I wanted to claw that skin away. Keep your hands away, Alice. Stop. It is going to be okay. I wanted to scream from the whole anxiety of it all. Not knowing what he would do next. Would he actually do what he said, or was this yet another empty promise for me to put weight into, and continue to feel my heart fall at the end of another dead-end result? September 1st.. That’s our new date for the wedding. Update all the guests. Everyone was ready. I was ready. Beyond so, even, and again? No Swain. Right back in stagnant water, huh. I needed to go, to get out. But I fought that overwhelming sensation turned urge to run from every part of this. I fought so fucking hard, and somehow I never got very far with it. Not in the slightest, and maybe that was one of the most devastating moments that compiled this shitty, shitty day? A sigh of defeat crossed my ruby red lips, and I nodded to myself in acknowledgement that he had fooled me this time, too. Here I was, with all the hope in the world, and a bouquet of daffodils. Soft, blue eyes swam in an ocean of pain as I sank into the nearest chair. Forget your life as you knew it, Alice. Forget the hope, forget the way he lies in his love for you. Someone who loved you a fraction of the amount he claims wouldn’t have done this. This guy is fine, just living his life, and at the expense of your raw heart. Pick yourself up, do better. But I can’t. I love him. Oh, the memory of it all was almost too real in this moment, and I could feel the want to let my tears form, but I would fight that, too. I was not allowed the right to be fragile or emotional, or vulnerable in any light. I am strong, right? Right...at least, that’s what I’ve always told myself. A day and a half later — That was the last time I saw him, and the last time my heart wept with weathered pain. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way he spoke to me that day. I was a stranger, not the woman he wanted to marry, and that much was clear. I’d never seen him so cold, and why? For what reason was I given this kind of treatment? Because I stayed, and never gave up or gave in…? Was it because I loved him so completely and unconditionally? Was my love something too heavy to hold, for him? Did I, unintentionally, become a burden in the enormous love I shared? Every one of these questions plagued me for so damn long. They still do. But closure is a friend I do not know, nor do I yearn to. I only wish I could erase one thing that was spoken to me that day, “You know that even when we get married, I’m still not going to be around much, right?” There it was, I guess. What I knew he was doing, but at least? At least if he didn’t say it out loud, I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of it all. I could just keep playing along as if my heart wasn’t slowly falling to a billion little shards, sharp as nails, and cutting me wide every time I attempted to bring myself together. God knows, he wasn’t going to even attempt to give me that small ounce of comfort that I was begging for. My pain was unimaginable. Sometimes it still haunts me. What makes me so hard to love...to deal with? Even with that guilt coming into play that I was the reason behind his drive to be so far? I found myself wanting nothing more than to love this man, who broke me so easily. “Never forget that I love you,” Boy sure did know how to sell it. All the way. Full fucking send. That was the last thing I told him, was how much I loved him. And then he was gone. I was broken. Void to everyone and everything around me, in entirety. I just didn’t care anymore. My wedding line was ready for the show in a week, and I was alienating myself from everyone in my life. Block them out. That’s all I cared to do. It wasn’t until the morning of the show that I found myself allowing a smile to crack along the lines of my lips. I had every dress perfectly organized in each bride’s dressing room, and on the eight one? I hung a sign on the door asking for privacy. She’d want to get herself ready for this day. Over the past few months, I’d gotten to know her fairly well, and I decided to do her this due justice. None of the other brides were aware of who the eighth bride was, and that was exactly as planned. I nodded to each of these women as I shut them into their spaces with their dresses. None had laid eyes on the finished product until this moment, and for once? I found comfort in not knowing the immediate reaction. Instead? I moved back down the long hallway, and stepped behind the door of my own little space. Here I could allow my soul some comfort, and a moment of peace before the runway bliss and clamor. Breathing was something that had become hard here lately. It was like I was suffocating beneath the pressure of tons of water. I couldn’t seem to get ahead of it, but yet here I was. Doing what I had always done, what I was good at — Acting like I was perfectly okay when I was anything but. One foot stepped down, into the dress, followed by the other. I’d made sure to have the perfect one for the show. Time in advance, and all. One couldn’t simply create a full wedding line, and look mediocre herself. I smiled up at myself as I lifted the dress from the floor, to my shoulders, and allowed Elie to complete fastening the back. Any other show? This would’ve been Swain’s place. To let his fingertips glide against the seam of my back, and drop a soft, simple kiss to my shoulder. But that was gone. A distant memory. Diminished, now, and I couldn’t allow myself that memory. Not now. Not today. I’d let Oscar take over guiding the girls in who was to take their walk down the runway, and when. I’d decided to take this time to myself, to ready myself. I kicked Elie out a few moments later only so I could wipe away the makeup I’d let a tear roll through, and for reapplication. Once that was done, I brought a diamond encrusted pin to slip between caramel locks, and fastened it in place. Both feet slipped down into my favorite pair of Louboutin shoes, and I took a few deep breaths before I headed out of the room, and down the hall...again. This time my heart was damn near jumping out of my chest, and I looked to both of these wonderful men for a brief moment before I moved to the stage entrance. All of the brides were lined up on the opposite side of the stage, where no one could see me from my current position. They’d taken their walks. Now it was my turn. Within the next few moments, life was a blur. It always was when I debuted a new line. Slowly, I stepped up to the stage, conscious of the dress, and overly conscious of what was going on. I allowed my smile to pour its way onto my porcelain features as I looked out at the hundreds of flashing lights, and began my journey down the runway. The dress was a tribute to a classic, just as all the rest. But this one hadn’t been touched by any hands other than my own. I’d taken months on months to create and sew this dress together. Lace, tulle, silk. All simple fabrics, with intricate weavings. Beautiful fabrics, for what was meant to be the most beautiful day. This was the first time I’d ever been allowed to step foot into my masterpiece. It never shined on its day of purpose. He’d ripped that away from me, hell, he’d never even known I was the eighth bride in my show. No one had. But here I was, making my way down, step by step, flash by flash, and with ease of motion. I’d learned how to fake it better than most, and this was where I used that to my advantage. The shoulders of my dress slouched along my slender shoulders, just as they were meant to, and everything fell perfectly into place. I had created something so beautiful, so perfect for my wedding day. It never shined on its day of purpose. “Oh my god, it was her this whole time?!” I heard those words as I was stepping back towards the exit of the stage, and I felt as if my heart was ready to shatter from the trauma of it all, all over again. And I was angry. So fucking angry at how I hadn’t been given the opportunity to shine, or to love, or to hurt. I’d only been allowed to deal with things as they came at me, in the moment, and never to process them. I continued to fake a smile as I stood alongside my co-creators of this line and took our final bows, but as soon as I managed to step away? I was gone. I needed to get out. I had to go. The urge to rip my skin off was rapidly approaching, and before my chest could start splotching, I needed to go. I knew exactly where, and truth be told? I never thought I would want to retrace my steps back to that spot, but here I was; already en route. My knuckles were white against the steering wheel as I flew down the PCH, throwing all caution to the wind, and not giving a damn about any speed limit in sight. Who cared, anyways. At this rate, it only took me a little over an hour to make it to the ocean. Well. The specific beach that Swain took me to nearly a year ago. Once I pulled in, I cut the engine, and sat there. Watching the waves crash against the sea-soaked sand, and rocks. I felt numb. I didn’t move, but instead? I reached over into my glove-box, and stole a cigarette to place between my lips. Lighter in hand. It was then that I slipped from the confines of the car, and made my way down the rocky path to where he asked me to marry him. I stood in the exact same spot I had then, and simply moved to unbutton the dress as best as I could. Rocking to and fro, ever so slightly, against my feet, as I did this. I didn’t speak. I didn’t think. I just let the dress fall to the sand. Leaving me in nothing more than my white, corseted slip, and heels. The cigarette remained between my lips as I flicked the igniter on the lighter, and took a nice, long drag. Ah, the ease of nicotine. Something to steady my restless and relentless nerves. In that same moment? I lifted the train of my dress, riddled with lace, and flicked the lighter to life once more. It took little longer than a minute to watch all my hard-work, love, and determination go up into flames. Just the same as my love for him. Burn the bridge, burn the memory. With the next drag of the cigarette, I was gone again. Sunk back into the seat of my ‘69 Hemi, and flying down the highway once more. It was time to go home. I am good at running. I am good at burning bridges. I am good at loving. I am good at many things. But what I am not good at is handling trauma. So, I’ll give you a Pro Tip: Never design and sew your own goddamn wedding dress. That shit will burn you far worse than any flame ever could. Much love, The Eighth Bride.