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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years ago

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Can I request a Thomas (tmr) x f!reader soulmate au maybe where he comes up to the glade after she’s been there for a while with her name on his wrist. And that brings back her memories of him? Thank you!!

Of course, sweet Anon! 😊 I don't usually like AU, but I actually do like the soulmate trope lol. Also, this took too long, I know. I've been so unmotivated and I have no idea why and I still have like 4 more imagines to do hahahahahaaa......ugh

Aaaanyway...*cough cough* this is...what it is. I have this disease, called "backstoryinitis" where I add too much backstory to an imagine, so, uh, sorry?

~~~~~~~~~~

Wiping a bead of sweat off your brow, you stopped hoeing the ground when you heard the loud alarm that rang every month.

Another month, another Greenie...

You'd lived in the Glade for a couple years now, so you were used to new kids coming up in what everyone called the Box every month. It's really the only way you could keep track of how long you were stuck in this place.

Every month, you wondered if there was going to be someone like you sent up; a female. Being the only girl in a group of dozens of boys, it got lonely. Of course you had friends, but it just wasn't the same to you. And what was even weirder, you had a tattoo on your wrist, a name.

At first, when you came up in the Box without your memories, you actually thought it was your name, until you remembered your actual name.

Looking at your wrist every day and night, you tried to comb your brain for any sliver of memory that could answer your hundreds of questions that you had. Why was this name on your wrist, and who was this person? You hoped you'd find out, one day.

You ran alongside your friend to the Box, Chuck. Well, more like closest person you considered a younger brother. He very well could've been for all you knew, but he was just one of over fifty other boys that could've been a relative. But you always called Chuck "baby brother," not that he enjoyed that nickname, in public at least. He did get teased a bit by the other guys if you called him that within earshot, so you eased up on the name a bit. But you couldn't help that protective sister side of you when you thought Chuck was getting too close to the Box when it still hadn't come up all the way.

You looked around at all the excited faces of the other boys, anxious to see the new Greenie, anxious to hassle him more like.

You always tried to be nice to Greenies, remembering how poorly you were treated when you arrived in the Glade a couple years ago. No one would really take you seriously because you were a girl. You didn't even get a job assigned to you until a few months later, of course besides the stereotypical doing the laundry and helping Frypan in the kitchen, until you almost burned down the whole shack. Turns out, you were a terrible cook. Fry still teases you about it from time to time.

Eventually, you gained everyone's trust, even Gally's, that kid definitely took some convincing though. You thought he hated you if you were being honest, but in time, you saw through your anger and understood why. Some mysterious girl just shows up with a name tattooed on her wrist when nobody else did? It probably would've freaked you out too. Thankfully, everyone stopped asking you about it when you didn't even know yourself.

You winced softly when a dull pain shot up your hand, the ink in your wrist started to itch. Huh, it's never itched before? You tried to think nothing of it when the Box finally came up all the way, Gally reaching down and opening up the hatch doors.

Everyone peered over the sides of the heavy metal doors, trying to get a good look at the new Greenie. Of course, it was another male, cowering in the corner in terror like so many other boy you've seen. An odd feeling washing over you, like nostalgia but mixed with an almost sense of overwhelming joy. The feeling was so all consuming that you didn't even notice the new Greenie taking off in a dead sprint until all your fellow Gladers started to whoop and holler, obviously finding the Greenie's fear amusing, the boy faceplanting only adding to their boisterous laughter.

You rolled your eyes, mumbling to yourself, "The dude's just scared."

Of course, the Greenie being terrified out of his mind didn't stop the Keepers from deciding to keep him in the pit until he calmed down, a sentiment you did not share. Newt chuckled, gaining your attention quickly. "What're you laughing at?" You asked.

"Nothing, just adorable how you feel for the Greenies."

"Oh, shuck you."

"Why so defensive?"

"I am not." You pouted, crossing your arms. "It's not like he's the only one that's totally freaked out on the first day. He shouldn't be locked up in the pit."

"That is true, but you know it's for everyone's safety, including his." He said, walking away.

"Yeah, yeah..." You sighed, uncrossing your arms and choosing to lean against the hoe that you were holding, eyes completely focused on Alby and the new Greenie. To say you were curious would've been an understatement.

It was strange, you usually didn't have such a peaked interest in Greenies like this before. You felt yourself drawn to him, for some unknown reason. And another thing that was strange, your wrist tattoo had been tingling ever since he came up in the Box, but you just wrote that up as a coincidence. There was no way it could be correlated...right?

"Y/n!"

You turned to Alby, quickly making his way to you with almost angry expression on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Do you know the Greenie?" He asked, his expression not changing.

You furrowed your brows, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips. "Of course not, why would I?"

"Your name is on his wrist."

You froze, your confusion clearly etched on your face. "W-What?"

"You really don't know him? If your name is on his wrist, then I think it's pretty safe to assume that the name on your wrist is his."

"No, that's...impossible. I..." You were at a loss for words, how could this be happening? All this time, you just thought, maybe you had a partner before your memories got wiped and got their name tattooed; but now, you had no idea the hell was going on.

"The Greenie also claimed he didn't know where the tattoo came from, or who the name belonged to."

"You didn't tell him...about me?"

"No, not yet. I wanna keep this under wraps until we figure out what the shuck is happening here."

"But Alby, everyone knows about my tattoo, if someone sees his-"

"He's wearing a long sleeve. If he knows what's good for him he'll listen to me when I told him to cover it." Alby sighs, hardening his expression once more. "I swear, Y/n, if you know something about this-"

"I don't." You assured, you were just as confused as he was.

"The bonfire tonight will be a good opportunity to talk to the Greenie, everyone'll be too drunk to notice."

"Alby, you still trust me, right?"

"That remains to be seen."

The anxiety that you felt the rest of the day finally bubbled to the surface when the bonfire party started. You pretty much avoided the Greenie all day. You didn't know if you had any reason to be scared, but so many fears plagued your mind. So many "what ifs." But were sure nothing would be worse than having to wait to find out.

Looking over to see the Greenie and Newt sitting together away from the bonfire, Alby gave you a look, stern but not stern enough for you to feel threatened, although you still felt nervous.

Slowly walking over to the Greenie, you kept telling yourself over and over that this is the moment you've been waiting for ever since you were sent to the Glade, the moment you found out if this boy was the one who's name was permanently engraved onto your skin. You could finally have some sort of closure, maybe not complete, but just knowing would be enough.

You nervously cleared your throat, both boys looking your way as you stood above them. "Hey, Newt." You quickly started, "thought I'd introduce myself to the Greenie." You gave Newt a look that told him to leave the two of you alone.

Newt chuckled. "Right, of course. I think I'm gonna get myself another drink." And off he went, leaving you and the Greenie in an awkward silence, but more of an anxious silence on your part.

"Sorry I haven't introduced myself yet, been a busy day." You forced a smile, taking a seat next to the Greenie.

"Do you guys throw parties like this every time a new...Greenie shows up?" The boy asked, a slight bitter tone to his voice.

"Yeah, pretty much. We only really started this tradition a year ago, we thought we might as well celebrate another month of surviving here, also welcoming the newbies."

"Yeah, well, doesn't really feel like a warm welcome, despite the bonfire." You chuckled. "Are you...? Uh, never mind."

"No, what?"

"Well, just looking around, you seem to be the only girl here. Why is that?"

You shrugged. "Beats me. I came here just like everybody else, no memories. I wish I knew. Speaking of, have you remembered your name yet?"

The Greenie frowned. "No." He whispered, suddenly rubbing his sleeve covered wrist.

"What's wrong?" You asked, noticing his discomfort.

He sighed. "Uh, nothing. My wrist just hurts a little, might've sprained it or somethin'."

This was taking too long, and the bonfire party was starting to die down. It would be over soon, you had to speed this up.

"Alby told me..." You started, nervously taking a deep breath before continuing, "about your wrist."

The Greenie looked to you with wide eyes. "He told me to keep quiet about it, why would he tell you?"

"Because...the name on your wrist is mine."

He furrowed his brows, his mouth slightly agape, rolling up his sleeve slightly, just enough to see the top of the outline of your name. "Wait, really? How is that...?"

"I don't know. But I'm guessing," You rolled up your own sleeve, "this is your name?"

You held up your wrist, the light from the bonfire illuminating the ink enough for the Greenie to read what it said, "Thomas." Thomas' confused face mirrored your own, both of you feeling a strange mix of emotions all at once. He reached out, you flinching away slightly. "Can I?" He asked.

You nodded curtly, extending out your wrist for him to hold.

As soon as his skin made contact with yours, you felt a spark of electricity rush through your whole body, so intense that it made you jolt with a quiet gasp. Thomas seemed to have felt the same, his grip on your wrist tightening as he felt the same rush.

You suddenly felt like you were hit in the head with a brick, sharp flashes of images of you, but not in the Glade. These were different, you saw yourself smiling, laughing, with an older woman, smile lines and subtle wrinkles around her eyes, tuffs of greyish white hair scattered about in random spots amongst her lush natural colored hair. You instantly teared up...this was your mother...you remembered your mother.

"I remember." You and Thomas said at the exact same time.

"My name is Thomas." He confirmed, tears welling up in his golden brown eyes, giving them a shine. "I remember everything, my family, my friends, why I came here..."

"I remember my life before here too. I was...taken. They took me away from my mama." You quickly felt a surge of anger rush through you. "W.C.K.D. They did this."

Thomas sighed. "I know..." He took hold of both your hands. "I remember you too, Y/n." A slight rosy blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Me too." You said softly.

You both had worked at W.C.K.D. together, you both had the same distain for the company and wanting to take them down together, both of you being betrayed and sent here. You knew it was dangerous for W.C.K.D. to send you both to the same Maze trial, how could they make such a stupid mistake.

"We have to get everyone out of here, Thomas."

"We will."

"Together."

~~~~~~~~~~

Well, that escalated quickly. Hope you enjoyed it regardless, Anon😊

#the maze runner #tmr thomas #thomas x reader

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redwinterroses · 3 years ago

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RIIIIIIIIIGHT SO.

I just finished chapter 13 of Dog At The Door and holy hot cross buns batman if you're not reading this fic you NEED to. It's literally one of the best written fics I have ever read in my life and I've been reading fanfiction for over 15 years, lol.

I went back and reread the entire fic to lead up to chapter 13 and I decided to treat it like I used to treat things I had to read in college so I took notes as I went and please I am warning you this post is incredibly long. Almost 3k words. PLEASE do not hit that "read more" button unless you're good with having to scroll past it all and also spoilers ahead. Proceed with caution.

~*~

Rereading Dog at the Door reactions (spoilers, obviously):

· Doc finding Ren’s body to be cold and for a second thinking he’s actually dead—my heart

· “That’s Ren, alive and kicking.” Oh…no, Doc. No it’s not.

· The first “Where is my hand?” hits different the second time through

· Gah the ice and winter imagery ALL over the place—my English degree brain wants to watch and see if that shifts to warmth at any point as we go? Thoughts for future Red to think.

· It’s fascinating to me to see Doc constantly thrust into the prey role. This is a guy who is very much not that person normally, but something about the Red King is beyond anything he’s really encountered before—or at least not since Dinnerbone—and it pushes him into an entirely new role that he clearly chafes in

· “I should get back to work on your new arm soon,” he says, making a mental note to add claws to the fingertips. Honestly Doc why tho. XD

· “It feels like something Ren would want him to do.” </3

· Side note: I just watched Doc’s freaking hour long shulker farm vid, and that’s making it a lot easier to hear his voice in this fic

· I’m more curious about the hand.” New Ren laughs a bit at his own words, as though there’s something funny about that phrasing. I MISSED THIS LINE THE FIRST TIME THROUGH

· The bead curtain being cursed hippie treasure XD

· The fact that Doc just so quickly accepts that Ren is gone—maybe not permanently, but at least for now—is kind of heartbreaking. Because you know he hasn’t really accepted it, he’s just… deciding not to feel anything about it. Just nod and move on and pretend you don’t need to stop and cope with the possible/probable death of your best friend and the fact that Someone Else is wearing his skin. That’s so sad.

· “high-fiving the finished hand with his own metal hand.” Aww… Doccy.

· “He shoos away the images of New Ren holding him up by the throat supervillain-style and turns around.” Hmmmmmmm want that fanart. Scary New Ren/RK is good stuff. (post-chapter-13 Red popping in with a WHAT THE HECK)

· “that makes him seem like a ghost in Ren’s body.” YA KNOW. LIKE HE IS.

· Okay side note time: why is the Red King here? Ya know? Like – in 3rdLife the idea of a possessing spirit of bloodlust makes some sense. But why stick around? Was RK trying to escape the 3L server, or was this not deliberate? At what point did he take over from Ren—at Black Heart Altar? In which case, was the whole idea Ren’s to begin with, or was he influenced? Maybe it happened the first time Ren died? The Red King took over then—or at least started to? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts…

· Wait more theories—what if RK is connected to the ????? entity that spoke to Martyn when he died? In which case, cMartyn said he was considering making that canonically a Watcher (he ended up not doing it, but he also didn’t do anything that contradicted it either). I’m not saying RK is a Watcher… but boy he sure does stare a lot, don’t he.

· Holding the screwdriver like a dagger—mmmm

· Okay funny thought: all this frost, RK’s gonna need to be real careful about rust lol. And straining the metal, tbh, all that freezing and thawing is going to have an effect but the rust idea is making me laugh

· Until I realized it would look like blood and it’s not funny anymore

· “Renbob is in the beanbag stuffed next to the driver’s seat” right so is this where Renbob sleeps because I have been wondering—

· “something about having two people look like Ren when neither of them are makes Doc stop to take a shaky breath” *sob*

· “Renbob clears his throat, looking up at Doc with a smile that is so obviously fake that it hurts.” Ugh the LOT of you stop repressing everything you’ll give yourselves a collective hernia

· “he’ll probably have to break the news to the other hermits, too, Iskall and False and all the others.” All these painful lines I somehow missed the first time through

· Awww warm air comes in when Renbob opens the door—with the flowers and everything, Renbob is so easily associated with spring, I love this contrast.

· Aaand there it is, yup, RK is shocked to see his face on Renbob, and Renbob is shocked to see that this is so clearly Not Ren.

· They both recover pretty quickly, though. Survivors, both of them.

· RK calls Renbob their “ferryman” and I’m not sure if I was supposed to get “crossing the river Styx” vibes from that But I Did. (does RK think he’s dead? That they’re all dead?) (post-chapter-13 Red here with a little bit of wordless screaming.) (and also a bit of pride that I picked up on this.)

· “And what a help you’ve been! Fixing me up, replacing my hand.” Hi yes, 911? there’s a dagger stabbed into my feels.

· “he’d rather remember rage than see another person’s heart break.” Dang that’s such a raw line. Oof.

· ”the Red King says, his voice hoarse with tears.” Really interesting that this blood deity can feel such emotions—like, anger or even fear, I can get. But to see this entity upset to the point of tears is fascinating.

· “There is a crown on Doc’s workbench.” Right, yeah so like—is RK unwillingly manifesting these artifacts? Because that’s wild, man. …how long before he manifests an “enchanter”?

· “I’ve never seen it [the crown] clean before.” Okay that definitely implies that maybe RK didn’t come around until after Black Heart Altar?

· “The Red King has the crown in his lap when Doc turns back around, claws gently tracing over the engravings, leaving frost patterns behind.” I really wish I had art skills because there’s this image in my head of a drawing of the crown held in RK’s hands, with his face (one eye glowing, one in shadow) reflected in the surface, and frost patterns following behind a claw that’s daintily tracing the surface. But I can’t draw so—

· RK asks for a change of clothes. What was he wearing when they rescued him, I wonder? The Red King outfit with the fur capelet? Or Ren’s Stargazer outfit? Which begs the question: where does Stargazer fit into all this? Was Ren’s return to Hermitcraft RK free, but when he came so close to dying to Sith, RK found that as a gateway to take over? (Post-13 Red here, Looking Intently at this note.)

· Awww… the image of a one-legged RK clutching new clothes to his chest and hopping down to change in the bathroom… That’s weirdly endearing. He’s less menacing when he stands up somehow. Less lurking, maybe.

· Oooohhhhh he messed up his back sleeping on the floor. Gotcha.

· Doc keeps telling himself (and RK) that saving him and working on these parts is “the right thing to do” and while he’s not WRONG I just want to see him realize that it’s not only the right thing, it’s realistically the only thing, because if he didn’t, then he’d have to deal with the fact that he’s lost his best friend and we can’t have that.

· “I don’t need to eat” ummmmmm no hold on this definitely implies that RK is possessing a dead body and I’m not okay with that where is Ren

· LOLOL “I can’t stand to see [you do] this” is such a raw line to be about watching Doc eat cereal with his hands

· “The voice doesn’t belong to who he thinks it does.” Ugh, Doc. This isn’t the first time he’s lost a close friend to Something Else, something otherworldly.

· “All of them are waiting for him, waiting for him to do something more, something better—” aaand there it is. Doc’s characterization in this fic in a single sentence.

· Doc waking up and thinking he’s seeing Ren and RK’s hesitation and the gentle “I’m not Ren”—OH MY HEART

· RK’s coffee = Renbob’s friendship bracelets

· Randomly can I just say that I love how RK’s dialog is all in italics? It concerned me at first because I thought it was going to keep pulling me out of the narrative, but instead it really just feels right. Also I’m looking forward to the moment when he says something and it’s not in italics because it’s REN and oh my lands please give this to me I beg you (post-13 Red here with a bit more mindless screaming)

· “watch your tongue with me, Atlas, because I’m the one person you can pass the sky to.” Okay okay okay—English studies brain coming out. This suggests that there is a burden RK and Doc can share: something Doc is currently struggling against that only RK can help him with. In the moment, I don’t know if this is really fair of RK to say—after all, Doc does technically have Renbob too, if we’re just talking about Doc’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. In fact, if that’s the context, then Renbob is a much better fellow-Atlas because he and Doc have known each other much longer and they’re both dealing with the loss of Ren. BUT, knowing about the upcoming conversation where Doc and RK both realize that they’ve lost someone (Ren for Doc, Martyn for RK) this line suddenly has a lot more weight. Again, I don’t think that in that moment RK quite has the right to pull this zinger. But in later context, it turns out to be true after all. They are the only two with this particular shared pain.

· Doc upset with himself because he can’t get over his “stupid hang-ups” DOC MY LAD. “I’ve lost my best friend, you’re in his body, and I don’t know how to process any of these emotions” is not a “stupid hang-up” PLEASE stop blaming yourself for everything!?

· “I’m so tired” in the middle of his nightmare—oh my gosh. That hurts so much for some reason.

· I also very much wish I had the ability to draw the image of Doc with tears on his face, staring dead-eyed down at his workbench while RK looms over from behind, pinning his wrists to the table with one metal arm and one frost-bitten one, a look of exasperation and concern on his face. Why can’t I draw the things

· “How do you know Etho” “I watched him die.” OW ow ow ow ow

· Doc takes this as calmly as only someone used to living in a world where death has low consequences can. Oh. Oh—that means… huh. Doc isn’t used to losing people permanently on any basis, especially not death. So no wonder he doesn’t know how to process Ren being gone (I can’t bear to write “dead” there). He literally doesn’t have context for it… and what context he DOES have is like—I mean, Etho and Bdubs came back. Ouch.

· “Twenty-five.” The Red King makes the number sound like a threat. Yet another banger line I missed the first time through. Imagine waking up and thinking you’re in 3rd Life again but instead of 14 players there’s almost twice that many and you think you don’t know any of them.

· I still don’t quite understand the “when was etho added/should have known there was something different” bit or why RK is so emotional about it… but I have trust that it’ll make sense at some point. (post-13 Red: ...is this something about the fact that he thinks he's dead...so he thinks Etho has died before? Like, that 3rd Life wasn't Etho's first hardcore? ...I feel like I'm almost grasping this but I'm missing an element somewhere.)

· And now a sword. RK. My man. You need to stop manifesting things—especially when they scare the ever-living daylights out of you.

· I absolutely adore the in-universe lore that Fire Aspect is a PvP enchantment because it threatens dropped loot, and yeah I very well might steal that. (Along with something I read at one point who-even-knows-where that Knockback is a coward’s enchantment, because I love that too.)

· He really shouldn’t. / Doc picks up the sword by the scabbard and hands it to him, hilt extended. Doc you already trust this guy so much and you don’t even know it—but is it just because you still subconsciously trust the face he wears? Or is it something deeper?

· Ugh, the “I was supposed to kill someone for him” conversation/scene is SO FREAKING GOOD

· “I don’t want it. Not like the crown.” Why, though? Why doesn’t he want it? Because it’s more to do with death than kingship? OH. Oh, I hadn’t even considered that. I’ve been thinking of RK as this like, god of blood and vengeance but maybe he’s not. Maybe he hates the bloodshed (“the blood! It’s drippin’ in me eyes… I’ve been blinded by the violence…”) just as much—more?—than Ren did/would have. Huh. That’s a new facet.

· Oh my heart the “have you ever lost someone and it was your fault” line. Dagger to the feels. Dagger to the feels.

· This like… “I’m on a roll and even though I know I should stop I really don’t want to” mode? Man. That’s relatable. Especially when you’re working to avoid dealing with something else.

· “Not making it for you—it’s for Ren” oh ouch ouch ouch the denial suddenly breaks through it’s okay, Doc I’m with you on this

· The second time reading through it’s far clearer that Doc has a blind panic attack here—when he starts rambling that Ren’s coming back, he’ll be there for season eight and RK goes to…do whatever he was going to do and Doc just blanks out. The manic productivity should have been a warning sign, the poor guy is crumbling.

· “Doctor” and “he’s not sure he deserves that title right now” UGH Doc needs a hug someone please hug him and tell him it’s all going to be okay. Someone please hug me and tell me it’s all going to be okay.

· “his hand on his throat” over the scar from the Red Winter axe? </3

· “I did do that. I have done that.” RK admitting to it actually having been him in Doc’s nightmares?

· Okay sorry the conversation about beating Dinnerbone will never not be funny to me

· RK mentions that people used to call him m’lord or Ren, and then mere minutes later you have “Ren. You couldn’t save him because of me, could you?” He knows exactly what’s going on here. Not maliciously, but he’s no dense-head, he’s put the pieces together. (post-13 Red: MOST of the pieces. Most of them.)

· Watching Doc slowly stop fighting his nightmares—like, the first time, he fights. The second time, he accepts it but still struggles. And this time… this time he gives up before it even starts. That hurts, man.

· Good grief the whole “get my head chopped off” / “you really don’t want that” bit. O.O I’m not sure what emotion I’m feeling but I’m Feeling An Emotion.

· “Snow’s new. Dream’s not.” </3

· …Doc’s not gonna be a fan of snowier-snow after this trip…

· "Dr. M77" Actually he’s Doc Monster, RK, but we’ll let it go. XD

· OKAY BUT THIS EXCHANGE? The “how are you feeling” / “better” / “you’re a bad liar” / “I said better not great” that’s such a good exchange and I don’t know why every other time I’ve ever seen it used they stop at the lying accusation? Doc with the snappy comebacks, man.

· Aaah, Doc and RK, two establishment bros bonding over a shared disdain for hippies.

· The bit about the fella who wore an iron helmet and called it a powdered wig—fear is in my heart. *shoves Scar into an obsidian box and blocks it closed*

· “Who was Ren to you?” </3

· Doc is more than willing to spread the flames, to sear his loss into RK’s bones. / The king’s face stops him. Ren’s face stops him. Holy CRAP is that a good set of lines. So much going on there, and ALL of it good.

· Again. I wish I could draw. I would draw RK sitting on the edge of the bed, gently hugging a collapsed-in-on-himself Doc. </3

· “And I hate the devil that forced us apart, that mixed my blood with his.” *adds another layer to Scar’s obsidian fort*

· OKAY STARTING CHAPTER THIRTEEN I made the mistake of logging into Tumblr earlier and saw people screaming so I’m sure I’m not ready for this but here we go

· Oh no RK has been hippie-ified

· “You started a paramilitary organization because you have hay fever?” *dies laughing*

· Ugh I need to go back and watch s6 I’ve only seen the tail end of Mumbo’s side of things and there’s so much I don’t know.

· HAHAHAHAH I do know the trident bit though—

· Wait he said Scar

· PANIC

· “Kingslayer. bloodthirsty. Time King. The coward. And the mastermind behind it all, the loyal soldier to the very end, the whole damn reason either of us are in this mess.”

· HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY—

· “Is this the afterlife I deserve? After everything, this is the hell I’m going to endure?” I AM SCREAMING

· Doc pinned to the wall with ice, struggling to breathe—I CAN’T WHAT IS HAPPENING

· ((You know I’d get through this a lot faster if I stopped pausing to write reactions—))

· “A break in the ice. A whisper of spring.” Symbolism. Symbolism.

· “Ren was dead when I found him again,” NO I REFUSE TO READ THIS

· “don’t use the hand I built you to hurt yourself” DOC. SIR. MY HEART.

· RK don't run, RK get back here—what are you—

· I

· JUST

· ACTUALLY

· SCREAMED

· AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

· *several long moments of just breathing*

· *rereads*

· Holy crap on a garbage cracker with an extra serving of what-the-heck sauce

· REN

· Okay lol okay hahaha calming down

· I literally threw myself back in my chair away from the computer reading that last paragraph. I don't usually... physically react to things I read. LOL. Heh. I’m. Ah. I’m not emotionally invested in this or anything.

· Holy crap.

· Okay. Okay. Okay.

· Um.

· Great chapter, guys. Awesome stuff. Really good. I’m absolutely okay right now and it’s all totally fine.

· …please enjoy your break and get lots of rest and I very much look forward to the return of this fic you have no idea.

· I need to go breathe for a little bit.

EDIT: no, you know what--I'm not going to be a nice polite fangirl over here and quietly hope y'all see this I'm straight up tagging you, @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands. THANK YOU but also how dare.

#The only reason I'm even posting this is for my own remembering later #and i guess if fluffy or solar want to see my mindless ramblings -- go nuts #long post #redwinterreacts #redwintertalks #dog at the door

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years ago

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Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 2

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Gender Fluid!Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of past trauma

Word Count: 3165 words

Summary: You spend a day with your new companion

Chapter 1

“How about this one? It looks rather ripe.”

No, Mistress. The air of decay lingers around it, I fear it will begin showing signs of mold within a day.

“Oh, good eye.” You set the orange down, making sure to hide it away so no other unlucky customer may buy it, wiping your hands on your skirt. “What about this one?”

That one’s fine.

“Sweet.” You say, adding it to the pile of fruit accumulating in your arm. You double check the list. “Alright, I think that’s about everything.” You come up to the stand-worker and set down your fruits on their scale, finagling for the wallet in your pocket.

So many different types of produce. Is this merchant’s estate really so large that they can grow all these things?

“Uh, not exactly.” You mutter, before reminding yourself to speak inwards, as only you can hear the demon lingering nearby. “They actually represent several farms, giving them a cut of the money so the workers can focus on cultivation. Some farms have their own stalls for specialized goods, but these bigger ones are typically conglomerates.” After successfully grabbing your coin purse, you hand the worker some coins and begin loading your bag.

Ah, how convenient.

“Yes, I’d say so.” You once again check your list, mentally checking off the needed groceries. “Okay, I believe that is all the essential stuff. How about we check out some novelty stalls? I hear there’s a fine jewelry maker near the center of town.”

The only jewelry in the Nine Hells is that forged by the damned. Carved out of the husk of dead dimensions.

“So, is that a yes?”

Yes please.

“Cool.”

As you walk along the thinning market crowd, dodging between bakers and families, your shadow twists and turns. Occasionally and discreetly, it will fall behind you and stare at a particularly interesting stall, before leaping back into the darkness and reattaching to your feet. The crowd is so focused on their eye-level, what to be bought, who to sell to, no one really notices the abnormality.

After that night, that horrible night, you woke up in your bed; Sweaty and exhausted, but nonetheless harmed. Your mother had rushed to your side with a pitcher of water, relieved that your fever had finally broken. You had been asleep for a whole 24 hours, your parents finding you in your bed after you didn’t come down to breakfast. Your temperature ran high and you had tossed and turned with some kind of night terror, but recovered rather quickly.

After you had shoo’d your mother away, accepting the large breakfast and assuring her you were fine, the demon had appeared from behind the door frame. You nearly threw a fork right at its face.

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“So that was….It wasn’t just a nightmare?” You muttered, eyes lost in your bowl of cheese grits.

“Yes, my mistress, it was real.” The demon steps out from the shadow of the door, causing you to flinch as their long horns scrape against the low ceiling of your room. They take another step back. “Your body gave out after you spoke your demand. I do apologize for the intrusion, but I searched your mind to find your home and brought you back to your own bed. Was that a correct assumption?”

You nod, shakily stirring your spoon, absentminded. You force your eyes to meet the demon’s, trying to contain your quivers.

“And now-” You gulp, keeping what little composure you have left, “-are you here to collect?”

The demon quirks their head, horns audibly scratching the hardwood. Their brow furrows as they contemplate, before their eyes widen with understanding. They shake their head and take another step forward. You clench your fingers around the blanket, but hold your flinch.

“No, mistress. You are not in debt to me, not in any way. That is not the ritual which was performed.”

You quirk your eyebrows, befuddled. “But, I thought that-”

“The wish you made was not so heavy to require the payment of a soul. Nor would you have been able to make such a wish in the first place.” Without you realizing it, the demon had walked over to your bed. Their staggering height should be intimidating, but the intonation of their words and the look in their eye is calming. Almost reassuring. “The payment was made when you gave me this permanent physical form.” The demon explains, flexing their fingers and faintly tracing the lines of your bedpost. “By pushing your body to the brink of death, you were able to reach across the veil and pull me through . Usually, a soul-paying ritual brings a demon temporarily to the mortal realm, to enact the wish and then take their payment. The summoning spell you performed takes a much stronger mind and body; Not only to bounce back from death, but to carry a new weight with you.”

The demon slowly sets to its knees, laying it’s head down on your blanket. “In that way, I am indebted to you, my mistress, for taking such risks to bring me here.”

You blanch, words escaping you as this massive creature pledges fealty to you. When your vocabulary finally returns to your brain, you shake your hands furiously.

“T-thank you, for your kind words and your help. But you don't need to. I mean, I-I have no want to force you to stay with me. I didn’t even fully understand what I was doing-”

“That is not a requirement, mistress. And you are not forcing me to stay, I want to stay.”

The demon urges, picking its head back up from the quilt. “If it is your wish, however, I can stay in the shadows and not bother you, protect you from afar. I wouldn’t wish to interfere.”

You shake your head once more. “No! No, that won’t be necessary. That sounds even worse, to be honest.” You mutter, picking at the quilt squares with your fingers.

The silence lingers. The Demon, still looking at you in admiration. It’s irises glow even in the soft-morning light, their pupils a deep void amidst the unnatural yellow.

“Well, I am going to eat. Feel free to….look around.” You say, gesturing to your tiny bedroom. The demon nods, slowly retreating from your bedside to the corner, eyes darting around the wallpaper until eventually settling on your dresser and small vanity.

You eat, taking hesitant bites as you watch them wander towards your things, taking the time to observe your minimal decorations. You had a tiny book collection, some knick knacks you had gotten from town or your parent’s travels, and a myriad of plants on your window sill.

The demon hadn’t shown any ill intent, not in their actions nor in their tone, but you still weren’t sure. You had heard stories of tricksters, who lure you in with false promises and sweet lies.

If four young men could do it so easily, imagine what a demon could accomplish.

You shake their faces out of your heads, brushing off the imaginary fingertips clutched around your arms. It’s over; You are safe, in your bed. God knows what happened to them. You fight away that thought as well.

As you slowly finish your breakfast, the Demon is looking at the cover of one of your books. Technically it’s an encyclopedia, filled with all the different types of marine flora and fauna. Your mother had gotten it for your birthday three years ago.

“Umm...demon?”

They pause, setting down the book and looking at you.

“Yes, mistress?”

“I was just wondering, since you’re going to be here for the foreseeable future, what should I call you?” They’re brow furrows, head tilting like that of a befuddled pet.

“I had not really considered that, mistress. Is it important?”

You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding their piercing gaze. “Not particularly, I guess. It just feels a bit rude to acknowledge you only as ‘The Demon’.”

The Demon’s face scrunches up, still confused. “In the Nine Hells, I was referred to by my title, I do not see anything wrong with that. It is a correct statement to call me a demon.”

“Well, maybe. I guess up here, your own name is personal. Something that defines you, a part of yourself. Kind of like the way you look, or how you present yourself.” You say, mussing up your bed sheets in an effort to calm your nerves.

The demon pinches their face once more, eyes darting to the book laying upon the desk.

“Is Captain a military rank in this plane as well?” The say, claws tracing the engraved title of the encyclopedia. Sort of confused by the change of subject, you glance towards the book cover. Captain Amelia’s Guide to the Unknown of the Ocean.

“Yes, but it also describes the heads of ships. Those who sail across the seas, discovering new things or dealing in trade. Pretty sure the only requirement is a boat, not a military career.”

The Demon hums, eyes still locked on the cover, decorated by a painting of a large ship, locked in combat with a Kraken.

“Then I think I’d like to be called Captain.”

You nod, fingers still entangled in your bed sheets. Captain looks back to you, sending a calming smile. As calming as a creature with more canines than a wolf can be. Your own smile is shaky, still wary of what is to come.

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That was about a week and a half ago now, Captain staying by you as you rested. Your parents only allowed you to help around the house after 3 days of solid bed rest, most of which you spent reading, crocheting, or talking with Captain. When they went off to work, you gave Captain a tour of the house, showing them all the tools of the kitchen and the apothecary.

Their presence had quickly become commonplace, your body no longer jolting when you caught a glimpse of the dark figure in the corner. You two would chit-chat and entertain each other, but knew when to give the other space.

Captain also demonstrated their shape-shifting ability, although it was not as dramatic as you had read about in grimoires. Mostly it was a day-to-day tiny change, one you had learned to acknowledge and inquire how they would like to be referred to as. Captain had been a little bemused by the limitations of your pronouns, but was rather swift in adapting to a strategy which best suited them.

It was nice, if a little bit strange. Although you weren’t sure if the two of you could be considered friends just yet, if not for the short time or them being a Demon bound to you by a blood contract, but you were definitely closer than acquaintances. Comrades, ship mates? You still didn’t know. But as the domestic days dragged on, you find you’re not afraid to find out.

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What animal is this, Mistress?

“I believe it’s a seal? Or a sea lion, could never tell the difference, if I’m being honest.” You say, fingers brushing over the wooden charm hanging off the market shelf. It’s small, the details defining but rudimentary.

You have lions which live in the sea? How fiersome.

“Not actual lions, but I’m sure they could put up a good fight. Are there any oceans in the Nine Hells?”

No. Not ones made out of water anyway; Usually its blood or other excrement.

“...Oh.” You mutter, shoving that image out of your mind. Captain didn’t often talk about their home plane, only offering terrifying details that made sense of why they so desperately wanted to escape. As curious as the thought of another dimension was to you, you tried to avoid the topic all together. Captain didn’t seem to mind.

Looking at the small charm, with it’s adorable, puppy like face, you gesture towards the shopkeep.

“How much for this?”

“Only two silver, miss.”

You look down at your spare grocery change, sending a tiny glance to your shadow.

“Would you like this, Captain? We’ve got the coin for it.”

There’s a brief silence, your shadow staying uncannily still.

….For what purpose, Mistress?

You shrug, tapping the dangling charm and watching how it twirls. “No purpose. It’s just rather cute, and well…” You brush a finger over the woodwork, feeling the tiny indentations carved, “If you’re going to be staying with me, you should have some stuff of your own, right? Seems only fair.”

There’s another pause, long enough that you risk another glance at the shade. Even without any definitive form, it looks pensive.

Yes, I would like it, Mistress.

You nod, quickly passing the silver. From the corner of your eye, your shadow seems to perk up. As you pull away from the stall, you slyly drop the charm down and into the darkness, the demon leaping out a hand to catch it. From inside your mind, the warm feeling of contentment and excitement resonates like an undercurrent, bringing a smile to your face. You can picture Captain fiddling with the toy in their massive paws, eyes alight. Butterflies flutter to life in your stomach.

Thank you, Mistress. I would not have thought such a tiny thing would bring me such happiness.

You shake your head.

“It’s no problem. If you see anything you like, let me know.”

You’re jolted out of your mind when by a large splash, a woman squealing as mud clings to her skirt, and a young man scrambles to his feet.

“And stay in the mud, you low-life pig!”

“B-But Jezebel, I-I can explain!”

“Explain what, exactly?” A small crowd is beginning to form around the commotion, but you find yourself frozen to your spot, thoughts thrown all over the place.

Three women, all beautiful, stand in the small entryway of a house. At the bottom, now covered in mud, is Richard.

“That you’re cheating scum? That you don’t deserve our time?” The first woman shouts, gesturing to the two others. She’s making a scene and she knows it, reveling in her screaming and his embarrassment. “And I’m not Jezebel, you idiot! I’m Viola!” She nothing short of screeches, leaning down and hurling a chunk of dirt at Richard. The other women huff in agreement, looking at him with disgust and spitting at his feet.

A low murmur has fallen over the crowd, gossip thriving as the women stamp their heels and Viola huffs back into the house. The door is slammed shut, the focus of everyone’s eyesight on Richard.

He looks haggard, dark circles and greasy hair indicating he hasn’t slept, at least slept well, in the last few days. His clothes, usually refined and tucked in, were loose and nearly tearing. Amidst the chattering group of people, remnants of conversations linger into your ears.

“They made the right decision, shipping him off.”

“Honestly, it was about time. A cocky brat like that needs some discipline beaten into him. I’ve heard Ivy’s Military School is ranked top in the country.”

“God knows he will need it. The boy hasn’t had class since he learned how to speak.”

The belittlement, the desperate look in Richards eye, looking for sympathy, should enthrall you. That knot of satisfaction should burst, reaping the reward of your suffering, revel in his despair.

But everything about this pitiful man terrifies you.

You nearly drop your groceries, pushing away bodies as you flee the scene, barely finding time to breathe. Your shadow has trouble keeping up with you, bending between foot steps and keeping track of your shape as you dart away, away, away.

You find solace in a dark alleyway, but peace still escapes you. Your heart and brain pound with pure adrenaline, finding purchase on a nearby wall as black spots dot your vision.

All you can see are Richard’s dirt filled fingernails, dragging across your throat, pushing you down. His knee digs into your back as you kneel on wet ground, the cold metal of a knife pressed against your neck, dangerously close to your racing pulse point.

Your shadow shifts and grows, Captain’s shape stepping out of your large shadow, taking tentative steps towards your quivering form. Your knees soon give out, sending you to the ground, but they catch you just in time. You barely feel the contrast of soft fur compared to rough concrete, curling up into a fetal position as you try to force the images from your mind.

Captain sinks down, claws petting your back. With a small voice, they instruct you calmly.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like that, mistress.”

The simple instructions give you something to focus on, something other than your fractured mind. You instinctively curl into their chest, their warm fur brushing against your cheek as you shove your face against them. Your eyes are clenched tight and you cling onto their shoulders, chest wracked with your heaving sighs. But the deep baritone of their whispers and affirmations slowly seep into your haze, pushing out the memories.

You continue to breathe in and out, Captain’s warm hands caressing your waist as they hum lightly. They tuck their chin above yours, their hot breathes blowing across your skull.

“It is alright, ____. You can do this, you are safe. I am here for you.” They mutter.

In minutes that feel like hours, your heart rate slows down, your mind loses it’s buzz. Captain hums an unfamiliar tune as they continue to cradle you, claws drawing shapes into your back while rocking your back and forth.

When you finally feel aware, present in the moment, you wipe away the tear tracks running down your face.

“Captain?” You whisper.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Can we go home, please?”

They nod, standing with you still in your arms.

“Of course, my dear.”

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You unload groceries automatically, muscles and spirit tired after your crying fit. Captain helps, making sure to stay in the periphery and out of sight of your parents.

You give an excuse to them, explaining that the heat got to you, and collapse onto your bed. Captain lingers in the corner, poised for a command.

“Captain?” You mutter, fingers twirling a thread tassel on one of your pillows. They look up from their position. “Thank you, for being there for me. Today and…..last time.”

They nod, taking small steps towards your bed. Once close enough, they lightly wrap one of their fingers around yours, petting your knuckles.

“Of course, ____. I will always be there for you.”

You nod, a small smile crawling its way across your lips. You slip your palm into theirs, feeling their calloused finger pads, pulling them slightly closer to your form. Your eyes dart up to theirs. With a small blush, you whisper,

“And I will always be there for you.” Captain’s eyes slightly widen, but a large grin appears, a hint of their fangs glinting from behind their black fur.

“Thank you, ____.”

#monster romance #monster x reader #demon #demon x reader #female reader #reader insert #my writing

201 notes · View notes

yongiefilms · 4 years ago

Text

EVANESCENCE.

pairing: mark lee x reader (female)

genre: fluff; angst; hints of humor; best friends!au; high school!au; college!au; unrequited love!au

warnings: language, heartbreak, indirect mentions of depression, crying is involved, mentions of death and loss, complex feelings, if you have a weak heart this may be hard to bear, you are literally in for a ride with a lot of ups and downs (i don’t know this is hard to put warnings on for some reason just beware with angsty teen feels aka angsty teen mark)

word count: 6.4k (how did i write this much? it is surely a mystery)

summary: distance is hard for anyone. it’s especially hard for couples, and maybe even more so best friends. with hundreds of thousands of miles separating you and mark lee, it’s impossible not to note the countless possibilities of what could go so wrong by being away from each other for an unknown amount of time. to cope with that longing mark lee writes to you, and he can only hope the feelings he pours out to you on paper are enough to keep that one thread you both are hanging by, unwavering and simply together.

author’s note: this fic is dedicated to our favorite giggly, watermelon loving, and adorably awkward social boy—mark lee. it’s officially his birthday in the states so happy 21st birthday, my precious and sweet boy. thank you for always brightening up our world and putting a smile on our faces. also, huge shoutout to my proofreaders/beta readers ( @wooqzi and @mjlkau ). you both were literally lifesavers and i can’t thank you enough for enduring through this semi-long fic with me, but i love you my renjun enthusiasts, you’re amazing.

THE CONTENTS OF THIS LETTER IS CONFIDENTIAL AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE OTHER THAN Y/N L/N. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

march 16, 20XX

my dearest y/n,

i remember the first time i saw you. i remember it so vividly that it seems like it was just yesterday, a fleeting instant in time that managed to stand still, being permanently engraved in my brain. it was november 15th, 20XX—our sophomore year of high school. i recall walking into our school’s library at around 3:25pm because i had to return a book from my literature and composition class. at that point i was also still waiting for my ride to come pick me up so i thought why not kill two birds with one stone? however, i wasn’t prepared for what i would see. (call me cheesy, though i already know you did once you saw the first couple of sentences).

when i strode in i saw you as if we were in the movies, where the male lead is stunned into awe at the gorgeous girl he comes across. you were sitting at a table by yourself in the center of the room with your back to me and the infamous large window that covered nearly the entire wall behind you. for some reason that same day was exceptionally beautiful. the sky was a vibrant blue shade with a few remains of scattered clouds, dotting the sky in white freckles. the sun shone a little brighter than usual, its warmth felt like a blanket wrapped around the body and it reflected across your face at the heaven-sent angle when you turned your head the tiniest bit, adoring you in a pleasant glow. i strolled in right at that moment when the sun decided to showcase you in its beauty and i couldn’t help but be astonished. you looked so ethereal and virtuous. i simply couldn’t look away. your arms were rested on the table, on either side of the book you had opened and when the sun was covered by a transient cloud, casting you in its shadow, is when you became more real, more like someone who was attainable. you then suddenly groaned and put your head down rather harshly on top of the book, emitting a loud sigh. i was quite surprised that no one called you out due to the noise you were making, you were in a library after all. (just know i can picture you rolling your eyes just about now).

yet i perceived it was odd that from merely hearing your sound of distress, i wanted to protect you. i wanted to shield you from future harm and future inapt doings. you made my heart clench so tightly i wondered what was wrong with me and how i could feel so deeply. i didn’t even know you. i hadn’t even seen you around school before. you were a stranger to me so why did i feel a certain way? i questioned myself and even still, to this day, i can’t bring myself to give you answers for that query nor can i find them. i suppose that is where i put the blame for what happened next.

i was so caught up in my head that i didn’t notice my feet had moved on their own accord right next to your table, where your head still rested. i know i must have looked insane and i don’t inculpate you for your reaction in the slightest. i was brought back to reality when the sun shone in my eyes just allowing me to turn my head to see you in your empyrean grandeur. the timing was appropriate too, because that was when you snapped your head up to meet my eyes. i was as startled as you, but it showed more clearly in your eyes rather than mine, considering i was so disoriented from reality. your eyes were wide, allowing me to clearly see the stunning color that was full of curiosity. you tilted your head to the right like a lost puppy kicked to the curb, waiting for someone to finally claim them. nevertheless, your own surprise didn’t last long since mere seconds after you scoffed loudly and turned away from me to bring your attention back to your assignment. your next words were the ones that sealed the deal and i seriously must have been crazy to be attracted by mere words that offended me above all, but they didn’t. if anything my heart clenched in my chest even more. (i must have been so out of it…i know you are laughing your ass off right now because of the dilemma i had. cruel). but you said, “what the hell are you looking at? you weirdo.” i knew then that would be the start of a glorious friendship and it was. i never happen to be wrong and that was one time i was thankful, even if it isn’t my most fondest memory (shut up) it still sparked the start of something much greater. something that i felt could last a lifetime.

so yes, we became the best of friends ever since that day and what a wild ride it was to get to that point. i knew you considered me too weird, too quiet, and too awkward for your taste, but we made the friendship work. we became inseparable even in our differences and for the rest of the years to come in high school, we were joined by the hip. there wasn’t you without me and there wasn’t me without you. you always had mark lee with y/n l/n and vice versa. i guess you could say you had me marked in your heart as you were in mine. (cue another eye roll and a laugh. i know you laughed). we were known for being that inseparable duo of best friends. you couldn’t have one without the other. some thought it was peculiar to see the once lonely boy and spirited girl befriend one another and be so compatible. it was unexpected, but they got used to it like all the other things that come and go. they came to accept it and even if their opinions didn’t matter to you, those things did to me because i wasn’t like you. i couldn’t brush off dislike or unacceptance. i didn’t have the power to do so, but don’t worry anymore, my love, i have come a long way and perhaps it is all due to you.

i’ve always wondered how we balanced each other out since everyone said we just didn’t quite fit the picture. you were dauntless and confident, knowing exactly what you wanted and you weren’t afraid to go out to get it. while i was embarrassing and closed off, not knowing the path to follow for my life and too scared to make mistakes when i knew i couldn’t fix them. although through our own struggles we were able to help each other grow and find ourselves. we became comfortable in our own skin and accepted who we were with all our faults, failures, and imperfections. you were someone who guided me and i only hoped that i was able to guide you the same way you did during this absurd journey of teenage life.

i suppose that is why i am afraid to tell you these next few words, these next few paragraphs that place my heart out for everyone to see and hear—but i don’t care about them, i only have ever cared for you and i always will. you may have assumed this from the start of this letter or it may have gone over your head as something that is normal for everyone to experience with another attractive soul at first glance. or you may have known throughout our years of knowing each other. you could have picked up the signs of things that weren’t so platonic—the gazes, the touches, or the words that meant something more than just friendly. you could have noticed, but refused to acknowledge the deeper undertones for your sake and most certainly my own. i know you and i know the last thing you would want for me is to be hurt or disappointed. to feel like you failed me when in reality if you knew that wouldn’t have mattered, since to me our friendship is worth more than any romance, if there would have been one at all. so you know, i am certain now, but it still scares me to write it down, to have it on permanent record for you to read whenever you want.

so here it goes.

over that time, over the course of us getting to know each other and becoming who we are today, the best of friends, i slowly started to fall for you—the person you were, someone i couldn’t be even if i tried. someone so raw, beautiful, and most of all real, both on the inside and out. you know i never was shallow, i never cared about someone’s appearance as what held significance to me the most was the heart. if your heart was good and wholesome and filled with love. that is what matters and the only thing that should. so while you are gorgeous (don’t let that get to your head now), you had a golden soul that i fell for ever so intensely.

i guess that’s why i decided to be daring that day—our senior graduation. you may be confused on what i mean since nothing was out of the ordinary that day, well for you at least. for me it was a different story. you see i had decided to do something, something out of my comfort zone and i honestly don’t know what came over me to do it in the slightest. you know how i am, i never like to be put into an uncomfortable situation since i don’t know how to deal with them. my social awkwardness just gets the best of me, but in that spur of a tick, realizing this was a huge milestone in our lives that we were overcoming, a milestone that would release us into the real world, i mused there was no harm. i really didn’t have anything to lose, except you that is. i could lose you, but i guess i knew deep within my heart that was a slim possibility because nothing could tear us apart, not even stupid teenage feelings. so you could say i finally gained enough confidence after spending so much time with you to do something out of the ordinary—to be bold like you. to just confess the truth and not worry about the consequences after. to just speak my mind and not surrender to fear. you helped me get to that point and while it did take some time, i was happy with who i came to be. someone proud with who they are, even for split second and i knew i had to do it before i turned back into a coward—before it was too late.

i had the ideal moment planned prior to it happening. i was going to tell you after we finished taking our graduation photos. there wasn’t a better time than that, when we were trying to capture the last moments of our high school career together. taking pictures with those we grew closer to over the years, those that made everything a little more sane, a little more fun. so when we look back we can reminisce about those times, no matter how many ups and downs there were because we finally reached the end goal. we made it.

after searching for you amongst the growing crowd for several long minutes after we proceeded off the stage, i saw you come towards me first, with your blue gown flowing in the wind. you literally ran full speed ahead and when you were a few inches away, you crashed into me. i had stumbled from the impact, taking several steps back so we both wouldn’t fall, as my arms came to rest around your own. you maneuvered your arms around my chest to give me a bear hug, stripping the oxygen away from me. when you let go after being in my embrace for what felt like eternity, i could clearly see your face. you were in a great mood—a beam on your face, your cheeks flushed from the sun’s heat, your eyes wide open with stars that filled the void, and your skin left in a brilliant glow. happiness surrounded you and a grin made its way onto my face at how in your element you finally looked. i knew it was then or never again, for your encouraging grin left me weak, yet strong. the perfect moment. yet, no moment is perfect. no one moment ever seems perfect for me. it doesn’t work out because fate wasn’t on my side—nor would it be for a long time.

you must have wanted to tell me something too that fateful day, since i could feel your excitement in my own bones and spot it a mile away, as right when i was about to confess, right when i opened my mouth to say those three dreaded words, you cut me off. you told me you had news, exciting and life changing news. news that would shatter me and wither my confidence away till what was left was speck of dust. you told me you were leaving to go to the states. that was the first pain i felt in my body. your admission letter had come in the mail earlier that morning when you were about to leave the house, on your way to the graduation ceremony. you were too anxious when your father relayed the news that you had gotten mail as your foot was almost out the door. you couldn’t wait to open it as your eagerness didn’t allow you to, so when you were handed that one large envelope addressed with your name from your dream college, your hands didn’t stop from ripping it open.

you got in.

you got into harvard university, the one college you told me since sophomore year that you wanted to go to, if it was the last thing you could do. i was so estatic for you, i was, because i knew how much the acceptance meant to you. you were working hard ever since you could talk and your passion was a huge part of that dedication to excelling in your academics. you deserved it more than anyone i knew, but my heart couldn’t help but crumble out of that exuberance.

you were rambling on about how thrilled you were and what you would do at college, all the classes you would take, the extracurricular activities, how you would have your own dorm or apartment and decorate it the way you wished. you just looked exactly how you did that day i took you out on a picnic to watch the sunset on that hill that overlooked the town—without a care in the world and so very content. so i couldn’t confess now, when you were going places, the places you dreamed of and when your life would take off for the better. you were just getting started, yet i couldn’t say what i so desperately wanted to say when you simply told me you were leaving, and so soon at that. i didn’t want to hold you back and i just know you are telling me i wouldn’t have, but i know the truth as do you. you would have stayed behind because you care too enormously with your heart to ever let me go, to ever have me sorrowful. so i didn’t say anything when you backtracked and asked me what i wanted to say before you spilled the news. i was thinking more with my head rather than my heart at that juncture. you gazing at me with your star-filled eyes and dazzling smile, i couldn’t do it, no matter how much energy coursed through my veins. i kept my mouth shut and told you it was nothing. you accepted the excuse though i know you knew it was a lie. we could always tell when the other lied and i was just glad you believed it at that point. i held back my feelings and my wants for your feelings and wants��for your needs. your life, your wishes, and your desires always meant more to me than my own. so we took those graduation photos and laughed with the rest of our friends. we were joyful then even if the future remained imbalanced and unsure.

you left later that month since you had to settle into a new country, a new state, a new culture, and a new life. in that time it wouldn’t be us if we didn’t spend every minute side by side and we did since you wanted to cherish our time together—our last time together. you would be on one end of the world and i would be on the other, thousands of miles separating us and a wide expanding sea. it was surreal and it still is. so we treasured all of it, even the little moments of going to each other’s houses in the wee hours of the morning to just watch the sunrise or late at night to watch the stars, to go get ice-cream when we felt like it, to watch movies in your bedroom with the lights down low—to just bask in each other’s presence. we made even more memories, granted that we had plenty to go around. those last weeks with you were the best of my life, even if it felt like nothing was changing, even if it was our normal routine before the shift. even so it still made me fall deeper as i saw your true colors in an even brighter light as if i never truly saw you before. there was so much about you that just made me curious even if i knew every part of you, every aspect of your being, from the simple things like your favorite color to your hatred for pineapple on pizza, and to the deep things like your fear of being forgotten or not being good enough. even if i knew so much, there was still more to unravel and discover as you were so complex. there isn’t another person like you in the world. there can’t be since you are one of a kind. they may have your face or outward appearance, but they can’t have your fair heart or pure soul.

i shouldn’t have been dazed that these emotions i had for you would solely blossom beyond belief. i couldn’t protest either because i knew they would grow more fervent since it is so hard to control myself around you. i sound like a giddy schoolboy, but with you i can’t help but let everything run wild and free. i put my entire heart and being out onto a silver platter just for you and i knew you would only ever take good care of it. after all if anything they would be yours to either tear or mend.

so when that dreadful day arrived i wasn’t ready for the whirlwind of storm to be released and let loose. you were leaving and wouldn’t come back.

i had been in the car with you that day as well as with your parents since they were flying over with you in order to help you maneuver around a new territory and get you settled in before the start of your semester. i couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you before so i tagged along. we all strolled up to the gate and your parents passed through, leaving you with me so we could have some privacy to say everything we needed to say. albeit there weren't enough words in the world to tell you how i felt at that stage, enough words for the both of us. therefore, we let our actions speak louder. you latched onto me, putting your arms around my neck and hugged me so closed till i was sure there was no room between our bodies in that suffocating airport.

you know you told me a hundred times, maybe even a thousand times during those last weeks before you left, how much you loved me. how much i meant to you and how much you cared for me. i don’t even think the amount of times i heard that from other people could compare to how many times you said it. while they may have meant it, i know you truly did and that was the deepest sorrow to know, which broke me a little further. regardless, i did tell you them right back, how could i not when it was you? i told you those three words and eight letters every time in response, twenty-four hours and seven days a week, but when you said them there, in the midst of the crowd in the airport, it felt different. it felt more meaningful, like there was an underlying tone i couldn’t decipher and it broke me the furthest i could go.

tears came from me and you, flowing between our clashed bodies. they made their way down your face and stained my own, out of jubilation and utter devastation. when you said it in between your sobs, repeating the words like a mantra against my neck and pulled me in even closer, i told you those words back. i whispered them against your temple, kissing the side of your head every time i repeated them and i meant them with all my heart because i truly did love you, so much, just in a way you didn’t love me, and never could.

i was sure i couldn’t recover from your departure once i saw you walk through those gates and let go of me. i wondered if i could ever hold you back again like i did at that moment. it felt like a part of me was being left behind. we were two halves of a whole and with you going, there would always be a missing puzzle piece. a piece of me would always be incomplete and i didn’t know how to feel, nor do i now. there is a hole in my chest of where you belong and i think there always will be until we connect in person again.

looking back i still smile at that memory—at all our recollections together. the woeful ones and the euphoric ones because they help me burden the pain, the heartbreak at your withdrawal from my life. it may sound dramatic considering we are still part of each other’s lives, just not in the way we were before. for distance separates us and threatens to split us apart.

you may think it doesn’t, but we both know the actuality. distance is the cause of these things—friendships, relationships, and love breaking beyond a point that is impossible to fix. where all those things are left in the dust and are fragments of what once was. now distance endangers our own foundations, our own very little things, so it’s illogical not to think about how it might destroy us. i never was a pessimistic person, but now being miles away from you, it’s hard not to think this way. i try to block it out. i try so hard, but sometimes i can’t help but allow negativity to take over, for without you here to shed light, the darkness swallows me whole.

i already know how you look reading this letter, in fact i knew from the very start what it would result in. i knew your emotions would get the best of you as they overwhelm you and you can’t hold them in like you desire to. maybe it happened from the very start or maybe it started now, but i want you to stop the tears that are already cascading down your face. don’t cry reading this. this piece of paper is not worth your tears, even if you think the opposite way and maybe those words i just wrote don’t mean anything because you are already sobbing, but stop them before they consume you. i am not worthy of those tears nor is it my intention to ever make you weep.

you know you always said you couldn’t cry, your body wouldn’t let you wail even if you begged it to. you told me that the day your grandmother died and you came over to me after the funeral. you told me no matter how glum you were and how much pain you felt, you couldn’t mourn for your grandmother. that you pushed your body to release tears but it wouldn’t so you looked unmoving and without emotion during the service. while that may have been the truth just that once, i knew well enough that was a lie. you were numb to feeling since you lost someone, but you body did want to grieve since you were just holding yourself back from looking weak. nonetheless you never are so-called frail because you are the toughest person i know and tears don’t dictate that strength regardless.

so in the deepest part of your room, at the latest times of the night when you thought no one was looking or knew, you cried your heart out. you whimpered too often and i was able to tell even if i never voiced it, but somehow you knew that i knew and you were okay with it. you were okay with letting me know you were and are human. so every time when you would cry i told you that you were too beautiful for it, in order to give you a piece of how i saw you in my head. to allow you to understand it was okay and normal above all. even now, though i can’t see your tear stricken face, you are stunning. so don’t bawl, but rather smile for me.

good.

your smile was always one of my favorite characteristics of yours. the most blinding beam that could light up a room and make anyone forget their worries.

you know even if it may seem gloomy, blame the mood in which this letter took a turn, i still am grateful we keep in contact even if you are so many miles away, because that’s the only thing i ever wanted, to keep in touch with you—to remain best friends. a factor that we still are…(for now).

so yes, it may be six months since i last saw you face-to-face, six months since you left, six months since we managed to stay in contact, but i can just feel you slipping away, becoming someone without me by your side through it all. yes, i know you and i are still who we are since those months ago, since sophomore year, but it’s just something that i can’t help but feel.

in fact i already sense it, it is near, but yet far. you know how i know? when we were on call the other day. it was last wednesday i believe and we were chatting about how our day went, the usual things in our routine, that is until you casually mentioned someone asked you out on a date last week. the mere fact that you didn’t tell me the day of or the day after it happened hurt more than your following words, albeit they equally packed a punch. you told me it was that one boy from your history of psychology class, the boy you did countless assignments with before, the boy you befriended nearly the first day your classes started. the boy i felt would take my spot from your life, if not as your lover, then as your best friend. i forgot his name, but i recollect you said he had that incorrupt look on his face that you perceived him to be pure the first day you laid eyes on him, although after learning more about him, he was far from being innocent. you told me in explicit detail what he looked like and the personality he had. i recall bits and pieces, even if i desperately tried to forget. delicate hands, an artistic gift, a slightly short stature, a cute grin, and a savage attitude to contradict the façade. exactly like you, exactly like the day i met you with your sharp tongue and doe eyes in the library, the complete opposite of each other. while i know i reach far in many regards calling him a soon to be lover or best friend, he still has potential even if he may not have any of those labels. i know he might not be the one—the one you’ll end up marrying in a few years down the road when you have a doctor’s degree in one hand and a ring on the other, but he might as well be. he might as well be that man because the future is unimaginable to foretell, but he can still be that shell of someone you want, he can still fill the void until the time comes. so yes, he very much will have your heart for a while, if you deem him worthy enough, if you pursue him the way he wants to pursue you. the way you were talking about him with your tone and the smile i could hear it in your voice gave it away. i knew something was there and you would give it a shot. he might be one of many before you find the ideal one over the years and he very well might be the one, but even if he was not, he would be your first in more ways than i was. he’ll be someone i wish i could have been. someone i wish would allow me to shoot my shot, but i didn’t since with all my talk i still, deep down, was a coward.

you can’t say i am wrong anyways since sometime, someday, some when it will happen. however, what still remains, in this bit, right now, as you read, is that we are still y/n and mark. mark and y/n. we are still us, but why does it feel like we aren’t at the same time?

it’s a deep question i must admit, it is what keeps me up some nights as i search for the answer and ponder for the meaning. i still don’t know the full answer, but i know enough. we are growing up. we are growing up y/n. we aren’t 15 anymore. we aren’t those sophomore kids that had no idea what the real world had in store and were gullible in every way, shape, and form. we simply aren’t high schoolers who only cared about our grades or appearance or the plans we had after school. we aren’t those kids. we are slowly becoming adults. we are slowing steering away from our teenage years and in that comes this question of self-identity.

who are we?

that is what we are trying to look for. we are finding who we are through everything we do—through our daily lives. we are finding ourselves…without the other. we have been so close for so long and grew into that space in an unhealthy amount of time. we grew accustomed to each other’s presence so now it is almost unbearable being apart for so long. we became so attached we don’t know what to do with ourselves and it’s the cold hard reality. it’s the truth that we don’t know ourselves individually, only together and that’s why it hurts more than ever that we have to be led astray, sometime soon. to know that soon enough that time will come. to know that yes, we still contact each other every day, we still have our weekly face times or calls and what you deem our “online friend dates” during the weekends, but as often as they are, they will change. we will no longer have the time to do that as college gets crazier for both of us, as we become more involved in a college life full of parties, friends, clubs, and whatever else it may be as we move out of being freshmen and get closer to our real life careers. you and i will know when that happens as our calls will become less frequent, our check-ins almost nonexistent with the other being left in the dust for days to weeks to months on end. we merely won’t be in contact anymore and i am sorry when that comes, my love. we’ll forget each other, its expected especially as we grow older, as we date, as we find love, as we befriend new people, as we move in the direction we are meant to be going and with that the worst part follows because i know sooner or later we will have to let each other go, if we don’t neglect. we can’t hold each other back and we will dwindle to a memory of what once was, of a simpler time before. i will be the forgotten one, the one in the background of your most prominent memories, someone you can’t help but look back on.

although we aren’t there yet, but we will be.

soon.

even if at this point you hate how many times i have written that word and so do i, but don’t you dare take the high road since we all know at some point all marvelous friendships die for an unexplainable reason or reasons. ours would just have to be because of life. that’s what makes life well...life. it is all part of the journey, the road to an unforeseeable future, but there can still be hope, it doesn’t just diminish like a candle flame put out by a gust of wind. no, hope still exists, you just have to grasp it when it comes around.

if. i always hated the word if, but if it’s meant to be then we will find each other, we will come around full circle at some point. have hope for both of us when i have none.

still, when you get this, it may be too late. maybe you will have unremembered about me in the seconds of time in between the unwavering silence. only then would we have both moved on, since there is no point in reaching out for something that isn’t worth saving when it all faded away before. only then will i be just a memory and reading this will spark those thought of i knew him once before during a ephemeral moment in my life when i was a teen in high school rather than a college student, but i know i am not late.

it is one thing i am sure of.

until then, until that foreboding time arrives i’ll hold dear what we have. i will try to preserve this friendship for both of our sakes until it’s time to say goodbye or more accurately a see you later if you want to be hopeful.

whenever that may be.

i know you hate goodbyes more than anything, the word itself rattles in your bones. so y/n, see you soon, in person—someday if it’s what’s right.

it has to be right doesn’t it?

fate has to be on our side because it knows us, it knows that there isn’t me without you and there isn’t you without me. when that time arrives of us seeing each other or withering away like every flower does at the end of its life, i hope, i pray that you won’t forget me as i most certainly won’t forget you.

so just call to mind in everything you do, in everything you say, dwell on the time before college—of a time when you were a child, someone lost, someone finding themselves and in it all remember there was someone who loved you before. someone who loved you at your worst as well as at your best, before you became who you were truly meant to be, and he loved you with all his heart.

he promises he always will.

that he is me.

i love you, y/n l/n. always and forever.

never forget it.

yours truly,

mark lee

on march 16th, 20XX at approximately 8:02pm mark lee sealed his letter to y/n and put it in his coat pocket. on march 17th, 20XX at approximately 10:32am mark lee made his way to the postal office to drop off his letter and at 10:36am the letter dropped into the box on its way to the united states. on march 20th at approximately 11:42am mark lee’s letter arrived at the massachuesetts postal office and was separated upon arrival to be delivered sometime within the week. on march 22nd at 2:07pm, mark lee’s letter arrived at y/n’s apartment complex and was dropped in the inboxes of the residents. on march 24th at approximately 7:02am y/n went to pick up the mail, but what wasn’t in the pile was the letter from mark lee. sometime between when the letter arrived in the states to the mailman driving to the complex, his letter had gotten lost. the truck’s windows were open and mark lee’s letter was at the top of the pile when the truck was parked. an unsettling breeze was felt against the mailman’s face as he gripped the entire pile of mail, though mere seconds before the letter was picked up by the wind and whooshed onto the ground several feet away. the mailman did not take note and continued on, not noticing something was missing. y/n never received mark lee’s letter and neither of them would have known how things would have ended up differently if she had. for from that point on they would be a fading memory to each other and their friendship would wane away. y/n would begin to forget the calls with mark. mark would no longer reach out after months of silence from both parties. y/n would date the boy she told mark about, his name was huang renjun and they would fall in love, but mark would never know his name or know what came to be. they would become strangers and not best friends. lost to the tragic distance that separated them across the sea. if only y/n received the letter. if only mark lee confessed. if only he had know y/n felt the same. if only their friendship hadn’t evanescenced into nonexistence…like all unrequited love stories do.

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bloominghope · 3 years ago

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FOR TONIGHT ( x )

Inside a Mercedes GLC Coupé, late night — or, potentially, early hours of the morning —, late September: the slow exhalations falling through parted lips. Lips that had been permanently curled upwards all Sunday long; soft smiles when eyes met and the recollections of hazy days, filled with elation, with the utmost joy, were silently shared. Crinkly-eyed grins, displaying tenderness for what once was. Slight, fleeting smirks, accompanied by the silent nudge to a leg underneath the table, so casually that it almost felt normal.

Lips that now taste the salt, the wetness that he would have mistaken by a droplet of rain, hadn’t he been cozied up under the glimmering stars of the SUV’s roof. Refusing to acknowledge the single, oval-shaped tear making its path down his cheek, leaving a trail ( of the remnants of the past, of a heartache, of what could have been ) as it descends, won’t do anything for him. It won’t ease the heavy feeling on his head or erase how his heart plummeted down to his stomach as soon as he signaled to the right and brought the car to a halt on a, frankly appalling manner, parking spot.

His brown eyes are shut tight, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his favorite jumper like a child’s would and he’s unspeaking. Is he aware, in the intensity of the moment, that life scurries by in all its ordinariness and vulgarity, imposing itself all around him — in the dark corner of the street where a couple is far too enthralled by the kisses they share or the late workers, speeding by the empty, well-lit streets, caring little about traffic rules and regulations. Is he aware or is he unscathed, unaffected while he glances at something deeper… His own version of life in all its glorious ugliness or maybe… glancing at something concealed, hidden underneath the layers he spent years developing, creating with his own imagination and bringing to life with a lot of hard work.

Soft strands of brown hair stand in an unruly fashion - one going left and the other right, one swiveling up and a few others resting idly on his forehead - as a consequence of all the tugging and combing, the numerous times he ran his long fingers through it in the previous hours. Simultaneously, his backs moves, ever so unhurriedly, to gently rest against the comfort of seat and a gentle sigh bubbles out, cutting through the silence established in the car. A second, two, three… a long minute, he remains motionless. Stagnant like his life seems to be, he thinks. And then… then he’s reaching for the phone, unlocking it, staring to a background that should have been changed a year and a half away when the future became the past and the plans became memories. 3.27, he whispers, but in an act of courage ( or desperation ), he dials a number. The number that remained engraved into his memory like it was ink to the skin. No answer. He did not expect one. The green icon of the messaging app calls for his attention and without any thought he clicks it, beginning a new chat but words fail. There’s a mess of thoughts, racing and clashing, spiraling in and out his brain, and he laughs. No use for this literature degree sometimes, rushes to the forefront of his mind. He touches and holds the recording button, instead.

“Rylee—“ his voice comes out huskier than he expected, carrying out the exhaustion he hadn’t felt until now, honeyed and low like anything would break if he would raise it an octave, like he would wake her up. It throws him off. He releases the button with a frown, groaning once he equates he also sent the audio message. No point turning back now, he reasons. You might be gone in the morning anyway, the remembrance sends a shiver down his spine and the frown grows deeper. Shaking off the thoughts, he begins again, thankful she hadn’t seen - or heard - the nonsensical first message.

“I think we’ve been done long before everything begun between us — harsh, maybe. I just mean that… in hindsight, it’s as though it was always the destiny playing a twisted joke on us. Your father has always been your father— bless him— what I mean is, you were always predestinated to be in the spotlight, the public eye, one way or another and by the time we met, I already knew I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle the fame. I know you have always been honest with me— you never hid the fame was unwanted but that it would be there, regardless. Yet…” He laughs, humorlessly, the sound melodious but brimming with all the hurt, the emotion. When he proceeds, his voice grows softer. “Honesty is just a game, isn’t it? Life is just a game. I knew we were done before it all begun, yet I lead us on, I continue to let it happen, because I still can’t give it up. Yesterday I couldn’t sleep until some ungodly hour, and I had to fight myself not to go and lie with you… because I knew you’d leave in the morning - or later that day - and even though I know it’s what we both wanted, I know it’s wrong to lie with you. Even if it’s all I wanna do. Even if we’re safe behind close doors and the world can’t see us or touch us. Sometimes I want to shut down the rational part of my brain and throw away every single point that proves we shouldn’t be together, that it wouldn’t stay secret or private for long. But I know it’s a Russian roulette. Did we become insensitive to what is wrong, after we saw each other at that supermarket? My mind went empty, you know? All I wanted to do was hold you and kiss you and mend everything. All I wanted to do was keep you in my arms for as long as I could. All I wanted, all I really wanted to do, was travel back in time and be so close to you that I could tell what scent you were wearing that day and it would forever be engraved in my memory, alongside every little detail of yours. Like how you relax whenever I draw my fingers up and down your arm or how you smile, no matter how pissed off you are, whenever you see me smile at you. Then, you spoke and I broke through the haze because if seeing you was enough to bring it all back, I didn’t want the rest. No longer wanted to hold you because I know the feelings would eat me up alive. Then there was this weekend and… shit…” A sniff ends the audio, the screen of the iphone lighting his face and collecting tears he hadn’t processed were falling. For now, he ignores them and holds the recording button one last time, “I love you. More than I ever realized, and to a point where the whole loving someone until it hurts quote is starting to make sense. I love you in the purest, most ridiculous of the ways, in a manner that doesn’t compare to anything else, to any other feeling. I love you to the point where just seeing you has my heart racing and hearing your name brings a smile to my lips. I love you to the point where I would happily lie with you and hold you in my arms, for the rest of my life. And I don’t think anyone or anything will ever compare. I don’t think I will ever get over you or us, I don’t think I will ever be able to take someone else to the places we used to go. Did I tell you a few months ago, I was entirely convinced I had gotten over our breakup and then, I was driving and our song— can I still call it that?— started playing and it was all it took to erase my beliefs. It’s all it takes to remind me you aren’t out of mind and to make me smile in the most stupid of the ways. I have no idea why I’m telling you this. I’ve been parked in the same spot for a while now and… just… nights are hard. Heartbreak is harder at night. And… And I’m evidently avoiding the fact there are two suitcases in the car’s boot and I have a flight to France in a few hours — and the imminent, looming issue that if I don’t take it, I’m about to be fired. Funny huh? Got a nice job overseas and I’m wallowing in self-pity over how much I love you. Is life ever this laughable? Is it always this comical… Anyway… I’ll go now, I hope I didn’t wake you up. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the job thing, I didn’t want to see your reaction because then I might just actually throw every fucking reservation away and stay with you. I know you… I know you told me you would never move on — and its rich of me to ask when I just said myself that I wouldn’t move on either — but I want you to try and be happy without me, okay? I’ll always be yours. The past eleven years of my life will always be yours. You’ll always be everything I want but I think I should really leave… I— yeah, I should leave now. I’m gonna miss my flight. I love you. Always, always, always.”

#&. — henley : cause all i wanna do is lie with you.

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kom-wanheda · 5 years ago

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What a Catch

Evan Buckley Week

March 26th - Day 4: “You want to marry me?” + love

Maddie’s looking at him with a strange expression, almost secretive, almost… guilty? Chimney is standing off to the side, hands shoved so far into his pockets that he’s about to lose his elbows in there.

Buck straightens. “Maddie? What’s going on?”

“I found… something I probably wasn’t supposed to see,” Maddie winces out.

Read on ao3 or under the cut.

“Hey, Buck, can you give me and Chim a hand in here?”

Buck looks up from the poker game he’s playing with Bobby, Athena, Hen, and Eddie towards the kitchen doorway. Maddie and Chimney had mysteriously disappeared there almost thirty minutes ago.

“Uh, Mads, I’m kind of in the middle of something!” he yells, concentrating on his cards, eyeing up his opponents playfully. The center of the table is a mess of poker chips and actual chips from when Buck got a little too… enthusiastic. Buck makes a note to clean that up later.

“We all know you’re not going to win, so just save us all the theatrics and come here, will you?” Maddie calls back.

Everyone at the table laughs at Buck, who manages to look affronted for a few seconds before he deflates and throws his cards face-up on the table. It was a shitty hand, he has to admit. “Fine, maybe, but they didn’t know I was going to lose!”

Hen scoffs, knocking elbows with Athena, who is smirking over her cards at him. Hen looks back towards Buck when she says, “Buck, I’m sorry to say, but your strategy sucks.”

“Okay, rude, I hate you all,” Buck huffs out, standing from the table dramatically. That gets a good chuckle out of everyone, even Eddie, the traitor. Buck can’t help but grin, losing any believability he had for actually being upset.

As Buck passes Eddie, he reaches out and squeezes Buck’s hand, a silent acknowledgment. It’s just a quick squeeze of hi yes hello, but it sends a thrill up Buck’s spine, anyways. Buck’s smile turns a bit dopey.

He passes by where the kids are stationed around the sofa. Albert’s got every single one of them entranced in a story about South Korea, including May, whose attention has strayed from her phone for so long the screen’s gone black. Karen abandoned poker a long time ago, and she’s sitting next to Denny, stroking her hand across his back, baby Nia nestled securely in her lap.

Buck leans down to give Chris a quick kiss to his head, and while Chris doesn’t look away from Albert’s gesticulating hands, he does reach up and touch Buck’s cheek gently. Buck’s heart melts a little more, like it does every single time Chris does something so obliviously sweet.

As Buck gets to the kitchen, he grabs onto the door frame and swings into the room, eyeing up his sister. “My dearest Maddie, what is it you needed my help with that could not have possibly waited until I lost fair and square?”

Buck straightens. “Maddie? What’s going on?”

“I found… something I probably wasn’t supposed to see,” Maddie winces out.

“Found something? What do you mean?”

Maddie’s words start coming out in a rush. “We were just cleaning up after dinner, and your bag was sitting on the counter, so I went to move it and then it fell off the table and some stuff rolled out.” Maddie wrings her hands together before gesturing to the island in front of her. Where a small, dark purple jewelry box is sitting.

A very familiar jewelry box.

Buck springs forward, snatching it up. “Maddie,” Buck hisses, “you went through my stuff?”

“I didn’t mean to! It just fell out with all your dirty clothes when I picked your bag up!”

“The box was in a sealed pocket, Maddie, there’s no way it could have just ‘fallen out’! You were snooping!”

“I was not! I’m not twelve,” Maddie says indignantly, “Also, how was I supposed to know that you were hiding an engagement ring in your work bag?”

“Shh!” Buck says, frantically waving his hands at her. “Keep your voice down!”

Maddie covers her mouth, perhaps just now realizing that the hopeful recipient of said ring is just in the other room.

Buck glances down at the box in his hands, runs his fingers over the familiar velvety soft exterior before clicking it open, just to check. He must have done that a thousand times already since he picked it up that morning on his way in to work. Both rings are still nestled there safely. He catches the pair watching him, and he snaps it closed, hiding the box behind his back, as if Maddie and Chimney — who has remained questionably silent this entire time — have no object permanence, and once hidden, the knowledge of the box’s existence would be gone as well.

Maddie switches gears, eyes going all soft. “Buck, how long have you been carrying that around with you?”

“I just picked it up today, that’s the only reason why it was in my bag to begin with. I bought it a few weeks ago,” Buck mumbles.

Finally, Chimney seems to get his voice back. “I know you guys have been dating for a while, but you really think it’s time?”

“Remind me, Chim, how many months was it again before you asked my sister to marry you?” Buck retorts, raising an eyebrow.

Chimney laughs, right hand ghosting over to touch the metal band around his ring finger. Buck isn’t actually upset, of course he can’t be, not when Maddie and Chimney are so obviously perfect for one another.

Maddie wraps her arm around her husband, smiling softly down at the ring on her own finger. It makes Buck happy to see his sister and friend happy, but he can’t deny how desperately he wants a taste of that, too.

“It’s only been about a year since we started dating, but I know it’s what I want. I’m pretty sure it’s what Eddie wants, too. But god, Maddie, I’m so nervous. The last thing I want to do is move too quickly, especially since all of this is totally new territory for me. I’ve never been married before, but Eddie has, you know? I don’t want him to feel like I’m trying to replace Shannon, especially when it comes to Chris.” Buck says more than he planned to, but now that both of them know, he needed to talk to someone. It’s not like he could confide in his best friend for advice, since it’s his best friend he’s going to pop the question to.

“Well, I don’t have much advice for you there,” Chimney says, “We were just doing the dishes one night after dinner and it just kind of… popped out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes. “The least romantic engagement story I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey!” Maddie laughs, gazing up at Chimney with obvious love in her eyes. “It worked on me, didn’t it?”

Buck shakes his head, turning his attention back to the box cradled in his hands. “I just love them both so much, you know? I love our life together. I just want to make sure all three of us are ready, and when the time is right, hopefully I’ll know what to say.”

It’s then, when all three of the kitchen’s occupants are either distracted by each other or distracted by what ifs, when Buck hears a choked sound coming from behind him.

All three of them turn quickly, and Eddie is right there, a collection of empty beer bottles in his hands. “I, uh, was just coming in here to recycle these,” Eddie explains haltingly. He thrusts the bottles forward, as if to prove his story. “I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”

Buck is a little dumbfounded. As soon as he turned around, he had shoved the ring box into his front pocket, and it’s a tight fit and so obvious he almost wants to cover it up with his hands. As if that would help.

“Why don’t we grab those bottles from you and take the other trash outside, huh, Maddie?” Chimney says quickly, moving forward and collecting the bottles from Eddie’s lax hands.

“Sure, sounds like a two person job, definitely,” Maddie rambles a bit. She pats Buck on the head as she scurries out the kitchen door with Chimney, and despite her having to stretch to even reach his head, it still feels a bit condescending. But mostly comforting.

Good luck, Buck.

He’s left face to face with his boyfriend. Maybe more, his brain unhelpfully supplies.

“Hey, babe,” Buck stutters, a nervous smile on his lips, “How much of that did you hear?”

Eddie takes a step closer, and it’s so easy for Buck to fall into Eddie’s orbit, to lean into his embrace. “Enough, I think. You want to marry me?” Eddie murmurs softly, eyes not traveling any higher than Buck’s neck. They’re so close now that they could bump noses if one of them tilts their head right, so Buck does, trying to get Eddie to look at him. Ah. There they are, those warm brown eyes Buck loves so much. Eddie still looks hesitant, uncertain, and that hurts Buck a little.

“Eddie, of course I do. You are my most favorite part of every day. Chris, too,” Buck adds, leaning down to maintain eye-contact as Eddie tries to duck away. “I know we haven’t talked about it in so many words, but… in theory,” Buck stresses, and Eddie laughs a little, “would you want to do… that, one day?” Fuck, he needs to practice saying those words if he’s stumbling this hard right now and it’s not even real.

Eddie can’t fight the hesitant smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do,” he whispers, and hearing that combination of words jumpstarts Buck’s heart.

“Good, because that’s going to happen one day. Not tonight, I haven’t even gotten the rings engraved yet,” Buck complains, “but someday. We’re going to get married, I’m going to move in, and then we get to plan the rest of our lives together.” It all sounds like a dream, a dream Buck never would have known he wanted just a few years ago, but god, he does want it, and he wants it with this man standing in front of him. Buck can’t help it: he leans in and presses his mouth to Eddie’s, gently biting on his lower lip before pulling a hair's breadth away to speak. “How’s that sound?”

Eddie’s never been good with verbally expressing himself, and Buck knows he’s been trying. He can see the thoughts as they race across his face, can almost read the words desperately trying to get out, but they never quite make it to his mouth. That’s okay, Buck doesn’t mind. As soon as Buck gets those rings on both their fingers, they’ll have the rest of their lives to work on it. Together.

“Sounds like something I could get used to,” Eddie finally settles on, pulling Buck’s face back to his, stealing another kiss. Buck presses closer, feels the jewelry box cut into his hip as Eddie pushes into him. Buck opens his mouth to bite Eddie’s lip again, but that’s when Eddie pulls away.

Buck makes a face and Eddie laughs at him, his hands ghosting up from where he was cradling Buck’s neck to his cheek, thumb brushing gently along the end of Buck’s eyebrow.

“I don’t really want to get too out of hand at your sister’s house. Especially not with all of our friends in the other room,” Eddie explains.

Oh, Buck gets it, but he still pouts a little.

“Come on, cariño, I want to watch you lose at poker again,” Eddie gently jabs, smile never leaving his face.

Buck allows himself to be pulled back into the living area, and it appears the rest of the world kept on spinning as Buck’s spun into a new orbit. Buck and Eddie are quickly welcomed back into the casual joviality of the group. Buck catches Maddie peering around the corner spying on them, and he sticks his tongue out at her. You know, like an adult. She smiles gleefully back.

“Can’t we just play go fish or something?” Buck whines, tugging on Eddie’s hand.

“Why, you wanna lose at a child’s game, too?”

Laughter erupts as everyone apparently catches that. Buck can’t even pretend to be mad, the presence of that box in his pocket making him feel damn near weightless.

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dgmagines · 6 years ago

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Lavi, Kanda, Allen, and Cross finally seeing a romantic crush (exorcist) they hadn't seen in a good while with new and subtle but serious looking battle scars when you pay attention to them and their placement.

Oof this took more time than usual and it came out a lot longer than planned but!! here you go non!! i hope none of those are too repetitive and I hope you enjoy! ;; v ;; Also I’m gonna put it under Read more because its too long pft - Min

Allen panted below the body thatpinned him to the floor of the training room, the light above their headsmaking a halo around the other person’s head of hair. After long months of beingthrown into countless missions and minimal rest, some of the exorcists had beenallowed to return and rest- _____ and Allen taking the chance to train theirhand-to-hand combat skills.

“I win,” _____ breathed, a grinplastered on their face. They rolled over, spreading out on the training roomfloor just as how Allen was doing and closed their eyes, licking their lips and slowly trying to regulate their breathing. Allen praised all the lords thatexisted at the moment because he was sure that, if ______ had been on top ofhim any longer, his entire body would have been red and hot and red- just likehis face.

If anyone asked though, he wouldsay it was from overexertion and totally not from the fact that he gotflustered by his crush.

He turned his head to stare atthem, taking the chance to engrave each and every detail of their features intohis head while their eyes were closed. He had missed the Order sure- it washome to him in more ways than one- but he had missed ______ the most. Theydidn’t cross paths that often given their roles as exorcists in the Order so itwas nice to see his fellow exorcists when he returned home.

He sat up, glancing over at the(h/c) to ask whether or not they wanted to have a rematch when his breathcaught in his throat, his eyes glued to their stomach where their shirt hadridden up from being too rowdy. From all his practice sessions with them in thepast, he could’ve sworn that he’d noticed if a scar that big was there; it took up halftheir stomach!

“Hey,” his breath returned to himand he snapped out of his staring, vision obscured by _____ who had noticed himstaring and fixed their shirt, snapping their fingers in front of his face. Acheeky smile was engraved on their lips, a flash of amusement and a tinge ofsadness evident in their eyes.

“My eyes are up here,” theysnorted, sitting up so that they could be eye-level with the stunned Allen.

“I- Wait- What??” ______ grinned,clearly amused at his bafflement.

“What’s up? What’s on your mind?”Allen blinked, disbelief permanently etched onto his features now. Theycouldn’t be that dense could they?

“Wh-How’d you get that scar???”for a moment, Allen was sure that they would’ve asked some stupid question likewhat scar what are you talking about- just as they had done with him when theywanted to keep a secret to themselves. But to his pleasant surprise, ______laughed.

They laughed.

“It was a level three I think. Iwas trying to protect a kid and ended up almost getting torn in half-“ theylaughed, pausing before grinning back up at the boy. “-I got an earful fromGeneral Klaud and the Head Nurse for it but I don’t mind,” their grin calmedinto a smile and there was a sort of wisdom present in their eyes that Allenhad somehow always missed before- how did he miss that given his long period ofcrushing on them?

“It’s as you said, we’re here toprotect,” they smiled, finally standing and brushing dust of their clothes.Extending a hand towards Allen, they grinned.

“You don’t have anything to sayto that, do you?” the white-haired boy blinked, sighing heavily as he tooktheir hand. He gripped it tightly and, instead of being pulled up, he pulledthe down to him roughly, catching them in his arms as he held their head to hischest.

“Be more careful would ya… It’sbad enough that none of us meet each other on the field. I don’t want to comehome and suddenly find out that you’re gone, _______,” (e/c) eyes widened insurprise, their eyes pricking with tears and their heart filled with emotions.They breathed out quietly through their nose, burying their face to hisshoulder so that he wouldn’t see the full extent of their emotions.

“Yeah… That goes for you too,dumbass,”

“Heh. Of course,”

“I thought I might find youhere,”

Even under the effects of themedications they had to take prior to numb their pain, ______ was a hundredpercent sure that they weren’t hallucinating their friend’s voice. Their eyessquinted against the light streaming into the medical wing of the Order, blinkingas a dark figure obscured the lights from above.

“Hey,” the gruff voice grumbled,flicking their forehead in greeting eliciting a loud cry of pain from thedisgruntled exorcist. They growled in annoyance, eyes finally adjusting to thelight and the person’s face finally coming into view.

“So you’re not a ghost??”

“You’re hallucinating. Of courseI’m a ghost,”

“Ughh a hallucination of Cross? Imust be on my way to hell the-“

“Oi!”

“Quit hitting me!” the two yelledat each other, _____ glaring at the red-haired general. “You disappear foryears and the first thing you do when you show up is cause me pain!” Cross felt the urge to laugh but he suppressed it; instead he sighed loudly, exasperated, and ran a hand through his bangs. He fell back intothe chair placed beside their bed, leaning back as he crossed his ankles ontheir bed.

“Get your dirty shoes of the bed,General,” _______ swatted at his ankles, putting more spite into histitle than they had meant to – which caused said general to lift a brow,curious of their behaviour. “Head Nurse isn’t gonna appreciate you dirtying upher bed,” Cross hummed, complying with the order only because he owed the nursea great ton.

_____ was quiet after that,rearranging themselves on the bed while Cross studied them silently- from thecrop of their hair to the clothes they were wearing; the dark circles undertheir eyes and the tell-tale signs of healed wounds and faded scars appearingever so often on their skin. He caught a glimpse of their shoulder and abdomenjust before they fixed their clothes, eyes moving back just in time to meetwith theirs.

“So,” the (h/c) finally spoke, asort of resolution in their eyes as they stared him down. “Why are you here?”

“You’re ignoring me,” Crossstated, staring at his gloved fingers as he played with them. He could see thelook of hurt on their face but, before they could explain themselves, Crosscontinued.

“You really shouldn’t practice somuch. You tore open your wound last night, didn’t you, you idiot?” Cross threwthe question out as if he wasn’t the one who was first to apply medical help tothem; as if he wasn’t the first to rush onto the training grounds and see thegashing wound on their side; as if he wasn’t the first to see the fresh scarson their skin that, if he guessed right, would’ve killed them had it been alittle higher.

He remembered shaking so badlylast night – even though he’s seen many bloody wounds and deaths; he didn’tthink that seeing them actually get hurt would affect him to that point.

Had it not been for the fact thatthey had been friends for years and that ______ had learned to adapt hisbody language and behaviour in mind, they would have missed the shaky sigh theman let out as he fixed the stupid mask he always used. The (h/c) never didknow why he covers his face with the thing; he always jokes around that it was sopeople don’t fall for my face.

“I’m used to it Cross,” theysighed, chuckling and shaking their head and they moved to sit up- flinching atthe stabbing pain on their side. A look of disbelief crossed the general’s facebut it was quickly replaced by irritation; to which ____ waved him off.

“Not everyone can be as carefulas you. And knowing my innocence type, I can’t really leave a battle unscathed,ya know?” they shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing on earth. Crosswas silent, both irritation and mild concern bubbling in his heart. He stood,the (h/c) watching his every move as he leaned closer to them.

They thought he was going toflick their forehead again- or knock them upside the head; but he did neitherof that.

His gloved hand reached out and______ was shocked to suddenly be in his embrace, one of his hands holding theback of their head to prevent them from moving. They were stone cold for asolid minute, brain racing a mile a minute as they registered what was happening.

“C….Cross…?” they mumbled slowly,still wondering if this was the medication messing with their head- only to becertain that it was real when the red-haired male tightened their embrace,burying his face in the crook of their neck.

“Stop being reckless you punk,”Cross sighed deeply, his harsh words and his caring demeanour clashing andmaking ______ burst in laughter. They finally wound their arms around hisfigure, feeling him tense up at the foreign touch, and buried their face in hisshoulder, eyes closing to take in the moment.

“I can’t promise that one yet.But I can promise to stay alive for as long as I can,” Cross knew therewas a smile on their face and, even though his heart ached with worry andregret and mixed feelings, he closed his eyes and accepted the empty promise.

Yelling out in frustration, Lavigroaned as he messed up his hair; He was tired! He didn’t wanna write anymore!If he had to write one more page, his hand was going to fall off! Let! Me!Rest! Lavi huffed, glaring at the book he had been writing in as if it was thebook’s fault for not writing the events that he had seen.

He’d been cooped up in either hisroom or the library for days now! The only sunlight he had seen came frombarely open windows and the occasional midnight snack-run to the cafeteria- and there wasn’t even any sun at that time of day! Hesighed, stretching his arms above his head as he yawned loudly, the libraryempty of any other human being-

Or so he had thought.

“Hey,” startled, Lavi whippedaround and almost knocked over the tray the (h/c) was holding, the otheryelling out profanities in surprise as they quickly regained their balance sothat both of them wouldn’t have to go to the infirmary with burns.

“Geez, you didn’t have to attackme like that, Lavi,” they laughed, snapping the redhead out of his stupor. Heblinked, watching as they cleared a spot on the table he had been working onand set down the tray of steaming hot coffee, pouring it for the both of themand offering him a cup. He accepted gratefully, taking quick note of theircasual attire.

Seems like they’d returned homesome time ago.

“Are you still not done? Bookmantold me you’ve been at this for days,” they leaned forward, sneaking a quicklook at what Lavi had been writing; to which the man responded with a loud“Hey!” and quickly shutting the book, playfully glaring up at the fellowexorcist.

“You have to have Bookmanprivileges to read these,” he tutted, shaking his head as if he was chiding achild. _____ pouted, huffing as they leaned back and took the empty seat besidethe man. They chuckled, taking one of the cup of coffee they had pouredearlier and taking a sip from it, blissfully unaware of the scrutinizing stareLavi was sporting on his features as they mumbled a short “Whatever,”.

He’d seen something earlier- itwas only a glimpse but he knew what he saw; it was too close for him to mistakeit for something else. His brows furrowed, his body moving of their own accordas he leaned forward and pushed ______’s shirt collar back, the otherstiffening at his sudden action. They stared at the unblinking Lavi, nervesworking itself up into a mess the longer he remained quiet.

“Lavi wh-“

“What happened to your neck?”_____blinked, taken aback but also making some sense into his behaviour.Lightly, they touched the scar on their throat, swallowing thickly as theyrecalled vividly what had happened that day. Their lips trembled and theaverted their gaze, putting the cup they had been drinking away back onto thetable before it fell from their shaking hands.

“It was nothi-“

“You almost died, didn’t you?”_____ felt their breath hitch, air stuck in their throat as they stole a quickglance towards the usually playful bookman. There wasn’t a trace of a smile onhis face and the light in his eyes seemed to have disappeared; he was, in everysense of the word, intimidating.

_____ nodded meekly, shrinkingunder his gaze as their eyes started to prick with oncoming tears. They heard aheavy sigh, Lavi’s hands engulfing their shaking owns and he brought them tohis lips; pressing them to the back of their hand. He was shaking.

____ could feel his handstrembling against theirs, shaky exhales from the young teen causing the (h/c)to lean forward. They called for him gently, eyes trying to catch his as hetried to avoid their gaze. After what seemed like forever, Lavi let go of theirhand, leaning away as he wiped the tears that had accumulated in his eyes. Hemet their gaze, a trembling, nervous smile on his lips.

“I’m glad I didn’t lose you.”

Being off-duty was amazing butbeing exorcists by occupation, they had to keep both their health and theirphysical fitness at peak performance; a fine line to walk on really. Kanda wasbarely two days in bed-rest and he was already up and about; restless to gethis muscles moving and aching as they should be.

Pushing open the doors to thetraining room, he was met with the sight of a lone exorcist sparring againstone of those wooden dummies the Order kept around.

“Hey,” he called out roughly,dumping his bag near theirs. He had gained the exorcist’s attention, an arm onthe dummy to still it and a smile on their face as they met eyes. _____ walkedover to him, bending down to grab the bottle of water they had brought withthem beforehand.

“You just got back, yeah?” Kandahummed, tying his hair up as he prepared to practice. _____ was always in herewhen he wanted to train so he assumed they would be staying around or joininghim in practicing as well but to his surprise, they started to pack up theirstuff. He stared at them in curiosity, tilting his head slightly as a slightfrown formed on his face.

“You’re not joining me?” ____hummed, shaking their head as they turned their head to meet eyes with him oncemore.

“Head Nurse told me to stay offtraining or my wound would reopen so I figure I should train anyways but, youknow-” they paused, shrugging as they zipped up their bag. “-for a shorter period,” theygave an awkward grin and Kanda swore his heart melted—but amidst his meltingheart, his eyes narrowed at the tip of a scar under the collar of their shirt,disappearing from view as they stood up and placed their bag on their shoulder.

____ spoke nonchalantly, turningto the man to ask him a question when he roughly grabbed their hands, pulledthem close, and pulled the collar of their shirt away from their skin;revealing the gruesome scar he had seen in all its glory. The frown previouslyon his lips turned into a full grimace and his eyes flickered with an emotionthat the (h/c) couldn’t pinpoint.

“What did you do,” his voice waslow, menacing to some but ______ could hear the underlying worry in his tone.They averted their eyes, aware of his gaze on the old scar of a wound that verynearly killed them.

“It was…. Nothing… Just a slip upon my part,” _____ sighed deeply and closed their eyes, feeling Kanda’s loomingpresence getting further away from them.

“Ow- Hey! What was that for!” ithad been a quiet few seconds before Kanda flicked them on their forehead. Theyglared at him with him glaring back, scoffing as he turned his head away andbrushed his bangs back.

“You got cocky, didn’t you?”

“I di-“

“You know what, doesn’t matter.You need to train with me today. I can’t help you if you get distracted on thefield like an idiot,”

“Hey! I’m not an idiot! And I’msupposed to rest!” Kanda groaned, rolling his eyes as he became more and moreirritated at the thought that he could’ve lost them. They could have beencremated and he would have no idea. What a messed up world huh?

“Fine! Whatever! After yourecover then!” the exorcist snarled and ____ couldn’t help but laugh.

“You care for me, huh Kanda?”Kanda paid them no mind – though the telltale signs of the tip of his earsgaining colour was all the answer the (h/c) needed. He huffed, moving to thecentre of the training room to begin his routine as _____ stayed and watchedhim for as long as he would allow. Heaven knows he doesn’t like when peopleonly watch him train.

#Anon #imagines #allen walker #lavi bookman jr.#kanda yuu #lavi bookman jr #lavi bookman #yuu kanda #cross marian #dgm #d gray man #d.gray man #d. gray man #dgm hallow #i hope its not repetitive ;; v ;; im always worrried about that-#also writing for cross here really broke me gbfdhjg fstupid man-

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widowblck · 5 years ago

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Below the cut is me rambling about Natasha post-snap and just basically expanding on some of her feelings/thoughts during this time. (It’s by no means well organized but... I never said my brain made sense. So have fun. I’ll be adding on to this.)

I’ve been watching Captain Marvel on repeat for the past couple of days since I’ve gotten it on Blu Ray and I’ve also been watching some clips from Endgame/looking at gif sets of certain scenes from Endgame so I’m sorry (but not sorry) for everything that will be below.

So as everyone’s seen, Natasha is pretty much crying 99.99999% of the time during Endgame. This is pretty much just how I imagine a lot of her time going (also if someone wants to give me a thread post snap I’ll probably love you forever)

------

After the snap first happens, all of the team is together, trying to figure everything out -- Natasha’s spent countless hours researching every last fact about what’s happened around their planet. She knows it’s not just earth -- it’s everywhere. But somehow she can barely focus on that simple fact since almost every friend she’d ever had disappeared right in front of her.

Sam. Wanda. Bucky.

Natasha doesn’t exactly know where to start, but she knows that they all need a plan. Her and the remaining amount of the Avengers needed to find a plan to stop Thanos and to stop this madness. They needed to get everyone back and when Carol -- Captain Marvel -- comes to earth, she finally feels a bit of hope. For the first time since the snap, Natasha feels as if they have a shot at turning this all around.

That hope doesn’t last long -- the moment Thanos is gone, killed at the hands of Thor, she knows that they have no chance at getting everyone back.

At this point, she begins to spiral. She knows that she’s never going to be able to see her friends again. She’ll never be able to have a normal life again because now? Now there’s nothing to save. No one to help. The entire universe went silent with just a snap of the fingers and Natasha feels lost for the first time in her life. The Avengers were the one thing that helped Natasha feel like she had a purpose since she’d left the KGB and it was gone in the blink of an eye. Her friends -- her family -- just simply gone without a trace.

As the others begin to leave the headquarters, Natasha vows to stay and continue to do research into how to reverse the snap, but it’s futile. She begins to focus on keeping the group together, because it’s really the only family she has left.

Thor leaves quickly, then Bruce, Tony, Rhodey -- everyone. Even Steve.

Steve seemed to hurt the most, as he was the leader of the group and without him? Were the Avengers even a concept anymore? Or was it just another memory from the past? Were the past few years of her life just another chapter in the book of hers that felt never ending?

All of her life, Natasha has dealt with nightmares. They’re a regular occurrence, often waking her at odd hours of the night, her body filled with sheer terror. The memories of the Red Room never left her mind as every tiny detail had been engraved in her brain permanently. Some days, she wakes up, unable to breathe and others she finds herself not even in her bed -- but in some other location with a weapon in her hand, ready to defend herself at a moment’s notice. Now, instead of the memories being filled of her distant past, they’re now filled with visions of the snap. Of Bucky disappearing into dust right in front of her. Just imagining Nick disappearing -- the person she’d considered a father. Her family was gone. And it was all because of a madman insistent on saving the universe in such a terrible way.

Other days, the snap doesn’t take the same people. It takes Steve. Or Tony. Bruce, Thor... all of the ones that were left. And some days it takes her and every time it happens, it’s a feeling that she can’t describe in words. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to. Often, Natasha wonders why she wasn’t one of the ones to disappear. Was the snap truly random? Did she have a reason to be one of the ones alive? Or did she just manage to get lucky?

Now that she’s alone in the headquarters, the quiet halls echo with her small footsteps. Her normal locations consist of the study and the training facility. She even tries to avoid her bedroom, knowing that if she tries to sleep, she’d quickly be taken over by a nightmare and would falling asleep be worth it?

To her? Not at that point.

Often, she finds herself falling asleep at the desk, hunched over the table as she sits in the chair. Or, she finds herself boxing or running into the late hours of the night, only to take a small break before returning to her spot in the study waiting for anybody to contact her with news.

Steve and Clint were the two people who were really able to connect with her and to get through to her and she was forced to do all of this without them. Steve stops by sometimes, but she knows it’s just to make sure she’s not spiraling any more than she already has. She does a good job of hiding her emotions from Steve -- most of the time, even if she had previously been crying, she could easily distract him or change the topic and he’d barely notice. He makes up excuses about getting something he had forgotten at the headquarters or that he needed some kind of file, but she knew that he was doing it to ensure she stayed sane.

But sanity felt out of reach for her. She was trying to hold on -- to hold her family together. But every day felt like another impossible challenge and she wasn’t exactly sure how to accomplish that task without the help of others. She couldn’t keep her family together if they didn’t want to be together anymore.

#there will most likely be a part two but i just had a lot of feelings after the captain marvel mid credit scene #i'm not sorry #this is mostly me rambling but yolo i guess?#i'll be adding onto this but hey #have some sad natasha #slight depression tw #?#not explicitly stated but i don't want to not tag anything #headcanons #musings #about #i also didn't proofread this so sorry in advance

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superiordragonlorde · 6 years ago

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Scars

Day 3- Scars for @fma-angst-week. Oh boy, another one. Sorry, but the only thing I’m kinda good at for this is writing, so voila! Warnings: Scars are described in some detail so if that wigs you out please don’t read. Also, talks about death.

I guess you could see edwin if you tilt your head just right...

Ok, well enjoy!

Winry Rockbell has seen a lot of scars in her time as an Automail Mechanic. Plenty of people have them (from work, surgeries, past injuries), but she’d never met someone with as many as Edward Elric.

Scars are permanently tattooed over his body. There’s the largest and most visible of them on his shoulder, right where the automail port used to be, then the less visible but still monstrous one on his thigh where the automail leg connects, and thousands of smaller ones she'd heard varying degrees of stories for. They decorated his torso, right leg, and left arm in jagged, crisscrossing lines. There was even one placed on his forehead, just above his right brow. The ones she hated the most though were twins, mirroring one another over his left hip: one on his stomach, the other on his back.

She’d only seen them when she’d demanded to see his newly acquired arm, after the Promised Day when they’d returned home. At first, she had only been able to marvel at the somewhat foreign arm. It had been so soft, thin, and underused, lacking the muscle and harshness the other arm had. It’d spoken of an innocence long forgotten and was strangely devoid of the puckered, paler strips of skin the rest of him shared. She’d also wanted to see the scarring left by the port on his shoulder to determine what surgeries he’d have to undergo once again, so she could remove the bolts drilled into his shoulder bone. He’d slipped off his shirt without fuss, obviously pleased by her reaction and still elated about having his beloved brother back in his own body. A smile had seemed to be forever engraved into his face. That was until he’d heard a sharp gasp.

He’d looked up to see Winry placing a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and filling with tears. Ed had blinked, blindsided by the sudden change in mood.

“Winry.” He’d stretched out his new flesh hand towards her. “What-”

“Edward.” Her voice had been hushed and shaking. “What did you do?” His hand had stopped, hanging in the air. What had he done? He’d done a lot of things: things he’d regret, things he would never apologize for, and things that were absolutely stupid and amazingly ingenious. He hadn’t been sure which one she was referring to.

Winry had fallen to her knees and her free hand had reached out, trembling, to trace the thick, ridged flesh above his hip. He’d opened his mouth, prepared to say something, but words hadn’t been able to form on his tongue. Her fingers had brushed over the scar, tentative and fearful as if the force of her touch would solidify the horrifying reality. A shaky sob had escaped between her fingers. She’d pulled her wet blue eyes away from the disfigured flesh to lock onto Ed’s. His eyes had softened as they’d met hers, probably already guessing what thoughts were racing through her head.

“What happened?”

She didn’t get an answer then. He’d looked away, face partially hidden by the fringe of his bangs, and had pulled his shirt back on. She’d wanted to demand him to tell her. She’d wanted to lug her wrench at him and force him to talk. But her fear, hidden by anger, stilled when he’d murmured, “It’s hard to think about.”

Edward never backed down for anything, not even his fears. If he didn’t want to tell her then he must have had a good reason, Winry had tried to reason with herself. He wouldn’t keep a secret like this just because of his pride or anything like that, right? Still, the questions she couldn’t ask never ceased to nag at her.

She’d catch him, every once in a while, reaching or stretching at an odd angle and biting down a hiss. He always had tried to be subtle, straightening himself out, then placing a hand on his hip. But his hand was always too high up to rest on his hip, and his fingers would slowly massage the area where the scar was. She’d seen him massage his back too, exactly across from the old wound, and her stomach and heart had both plummeted at the thought of two of those scars.

She wasn’t the only one that saw it. She and Alphonse had shared a look at one point after Ed had twisted around to reach up and grab a plate from the kitchen cabinets, only to nearly drop it, face pinched before quickly smoothing back over. No one made any comments about it.

It appeared as though everyone wished to forget those scars, ignoring the suffocating elephant that followed Ed wherever he went. Winry guessed that Alphonse already knew the story behind them. He’d always get a flash of worry in his eyes when Edward tried to hide his pain, but it never lingered for long nor did it look like he was trying to puzzle out how they'd appeared. But she still wanted to know. She still wanted an answer.

The plausible stories behind the scars swam in her brain as she sat next to Ed on the couch. All four of them had been in the living room, enjoying the soft music on the radio and reminiscing about the past. Now, the radio had been turned off, Al had passed out in his chair, and Granny had called it a day, heading off to bed. Winry had rested her head on Ed’s shoulder with his arm laying along the back of the couch. Her fingers had been rubbing and tracing the hem of his shirt, but during their talks it had ridden up, showing a sliver of his abdomen. Along with the raised ridges and valleys of the scar. Her finger had brushed against it on accident at first. She’d stilled when Ed inhaled sharply at the touch. He’d stiffened but otherwise didn’t move and Winry decided that tonight she would push her luck. She traced her fingers along the edge of it. Ed remained stiff, the muscles around the scar jumping and twitching at the contact. When she’d navigated the perimeter of the corse tissue, she grazed her fingers over the rest of it, catching every dip and rise. It trembled beneath her hand, but Ed never moved. She glanced up to see his face but found it turned away. She could see his jaw working, grinding his teeth against one another. Her hand stilled as she waited. He was going to do something. He always ground his teeth when he was about to do something he didn’t want to do but felt like he needed to do anyway. She had to prepare herself for whatever it was.

“It was in Baschool,” Ed started. His voice was quiet and Winry felt the need to hold her breath so she could hear it all. “After Scar pretended to kidnap you, Kimblee went out looking for you guys. I tried to stop him and I thought I did. But he pulled out a damned Philosopher’s Stone and destroyed the whole mine shaft right under our feet. I fell and when I woke up a- I got a-” He paused, his jaw working furiously. He released a whooshing sigh and covered his eyes with his hand. “A metal pole went straight through me. I had to pull it out. Heinkel and Darius helped me, but I had to use my soul like a Philosopher’s Stone to heal myself enough so I wouldn’t bleed out. They still dragged me to a damn doctor though.” His hand slid down from his eyes to settle over his mouth, his gaze traveling to the ground. “Using my soul though, it took a lot out of me. I’ve probably cut my life short by a few years. I guess that’s better than dying under all that rubble and letting Kimblee win.” He let out a forced chuckle, the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t dare look at Winry. He knew he’d made her cry. It seemed to be the only damned thing he was good at, aside from getting his brother’s body back after fucking up their lives. But she wasn’t sniffling or giving off soft sobs. She hadn’t even moved the entire time he’d been talking, like his words had turned her to stone. Or she was furiously fuming and trying to restrain herself from gifting him with another concussion from her wrench. Either way, he’d rather not look just yet. But then she moved and he found himself tensing again.

Winry straightened herself up, no longer leaning against him, and Ed could feel her eyes boring into him. Her hand still remained on his scar though, warm and calloused from the work she’d poured into her automail. But her other hand started to scale up under his shirt, to the matching scar on his back. That hand did the same exploration as the other one, carefully tracing the scar before settling her palm over the rough skin. As soon as her hand stilled so did she, and Edward felt like he was leaning over the edge of a cliff. He wished she’d just push him over it already.

“I was afraid,” Winry murmured. “That you had two of them.” Ed finally turned just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye. Her head was bowed, eyes fixed on where her hands were placed. “I kept seeing you rubbing the scars, and whenever you rubbed your back, all I could think was- I didn’t want to think about you getting hurt like that. I knew you got into a lot of fights. I mean, you always busted up your automail.” She gave a shaky chuckle as Ed now fully watched her. “But, I never really thought that much on how... how much you...” Her fingers started to dig a bit into Ed’s hip. He tried not to squirm.

“You could have died, couldn’t you?” They both already knew the answer, but if Ed gave her a solid reply with no room for interpreting, then that would truly cement the fear that hovered over them.

“Yeah.” Ed nodded, eyes dropping down again. “Yeah, I could have.” Winry’s fingers dug deeper into his hip and he let out a harsh hiss as his hands flew to the old wounds, hoping to remove her iron grip. She released her hold before he’d reached them and flung her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder.

“You idiot!” she whispered harshly, the words catching in her throat. “You stupid, stupid idiot.” She sobbed, tears seeping into Ed’s shirt. He wrapped his arms around her, hoping to hold her together as she broke down. His hand rubbed her back as thoughts he had been pushing aside for so long tumbled around in his brain again.

He really could have died. If he’d died, would the Promise Day have never even happened, or would Father have just forced someone else to see Truth like he had with Mustang? What would have happened to Alphonse’s soul? Would the bond to the armor stop working if he was dead? He did use his blood after all, so wouldn’t it be connected to his own soul as well? Would Al even be able to get his body back if he wasn’t there? And if he’d died, then Winry would have cried, just like she was doing now, and he- Ed tightened his grip on her, resting his forehead on her shoulder. He wouldn’t have been able to tell her goodbye. He wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone. He would have been left alone, bleeding to death at the bottom of a crumbling mine shaft in an abandoned town, if the hypothermia didn’t get to him first. As much as he hated to think about it, the idea was terrifying.

All these thoughts, buried in the back of his mind for so long, made Ed’s chest constrict and his throat close up. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself and push those thoughts back again, but the air shook on its way to his lungs. Winry must have heard it because her embrace tightened around him and she began to stroke smooth circles between his shoulder blades. Ed could feel his eyes getting wet. He tried to force the tears back with the spiraling thoughts. It worked. A little bit.

They both stayed where they were, clutching each other as the realization of a future they had so narrowly avoided settled into acceptance. Ed pulled away first, once he’d gotten his breathing steady and under control. Winry followed suit, wiping her tears away with the heel of her hand.

“You need to be more careful,” she scolded, giving one last sniffle. “If you get sharp pains or something hurts, your body is telling you to stop doing what you’re doing. I don’t want you cutting your life any shorter than you already have just because you’re too stubborn to stop while you’re ahead.” She tried to throw Ed a stern glare, but it was ruined by her still wet cheeks and red, puffy eyes. She looked so pitiful. He couldn’t say no.

“Yeah, sure,” Ed sighed, waving his hand in nonchalance. He could feel a slow release of tension on his shoulders he hadn’t known he was holding. “I’ll be more careful. Promise.” Winry gave him a sharp, satisfied nod. Ed smirked, returning it, before letting out a monstrous yawn.

“Listen to your body when it tells you to sleep too,” Winry added. Ed scowled at her.

“Tell yourself that, Gearhead.” He stood and stretched, minding the twinge his scars gave him. “You’re the worst when it comes to allnighters.” Winry sputtered, face turning red as she tried to form an argument. Ed couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his lips as he headed off to his own room, rousing his sleeping brother along the way.

“What’s got Winry so upset?” Al’s voice slurred as he asked, still half asleep as they trudged down the hallway to their rooms. Ed shrugged.

“She’s just worrying about stupid stuff.” Al cast his brother a suspicious glance, his sleep-muddled mind becoming more alert.

“Brother,” Al started to scold. “What did you do?” Ed gave his brother an incredulous look.

“I didn’t do anything!” he defended himself, hunching up his shoulders. Al was obviously not convinced, but the want for sleep he had been deprived of for so many years made him lenient. He shrugged, giving his brother a parting wave.

“Alright, alright, fine,” he yawned. “I believe you. Just don’t come begging for help from me when she finally throws a wrench at you.” Ed whipped his head around to throw back a retort, but Al had already wisely shut his door, ending the conversation. Ed sighed, smirking. It was just as well.

He shut off the lamp by his bed and crawled in, minding the automail leg as always. He’d only been under the covers for about ten minutes before he heard his door creak open. He didn’t move. Years of fighting and honed instincts told him to wait for the intruder to come closer before attacking. Let them believe he’s still asleep, then he’ll have the benefit of surprise. The intruder took a few steps into the room. Just a little closer...

“Ed?” Ed flinched at the voice, cursing himself silently for expecting an enemy when it was just Winry.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, relaxing his head further into his pillow. What in the world did she want? Winry padded closer. It was too dark right now to really see any details on her face, but he watched a barely formed silhouette pull back the sheets, plop a pillow next to his, and climb in. He blinked, baffled.

“Winry?” He silently pleaded for her to make a noise. To just say something, preferably why she was here. She only snuggled closer to him, her breath tickling his bare shoulder. Ed could remember a few other times she’d done the same thing.

It was after the disaster of human transmutation when they’d tried to bring their mom back. When he’d healed enough to sit in a wheelchair, she’d come by his room every few nights to sleep with him. She was always mindful of the bandages, avoiding the empty spaces where his limbs used to be. It had become almost normal for Ed to wake up with a sniffling Winry crawling towards him, nestling her head close to his left shoulder, never saying a word. Every now and then she’d brush her fingers over some part of him, checking to make sure he was still there, he’d guessed. She’d done it a few times after his automail surgery too. It’d been years since then. He’d thought she’d grown out of it by now. But apparently, she hadn’t. Or what he’d told her had frightened her enough to fall back on it. Either way, she was here and, though he’d never admit it, Ed was glad she was. If he was left alone with those thoughts in his head, he’d never get to sleep or just end up having nightmares.

Just as Ed expected, slim fingers fluttered over his arm, checking to see if he was really there. He laid his hand over hers and felt her flinch. Neither of them dared to move, but Winry eventually did relax and gave his arm a small squeeze. Her breaths deepened and evened out a few minutes later, comforting Ed and pulling him into a soft, dreamless sleep.

Alright, another one down. Thank you for reading!

#fmaangstweek #fma #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #alphonse elric #Winry Rockbell #scars #edwin #topic about death #my fic #my writing

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littleredroseonthevalley · 7 years ago

Text

Red Rose - Chapter 16

Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8 Ch. 9 Ch. 10 Ch. 11Ch. 12 Ch. 13 Ch. 14 Ch. 15 CH. 16

Summary: Riley manages the fallback from the hedgemaze fiasco, but she’s soon reminded that there’s no dull moment in Cordonia, as Tariq barges into her room and her and Drake have a moment.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Theodora sat at her dresser, brushing her thick, platinum blonde mane. Puberty has done her very well, with her skin as fair and spotless as it was at her birth, the hourglass figure and the harmonious breast also being God-given gifts. Her eyes were cold and cutting as a knife.

That night, they shone in determination.

“Promises are made, promises are broken.” She told to her own reflection. “Well, father, two can play at that game.”

She took off the brush from her hair and placed the richly-engraved brush back into the dresser drawer. She then rose from the chair and walked over to her closet. She took some clothes from the racks and threw them at a bag open at the door. She then proceeded to change her blue dress into a pair of pants, a shirt and a green parka.

All dressed, she threw the bag over her shoulders and sneaked off to her parents’ room. At that time of day, it was predictably empty. Behind a painting, lay a safe, and the code was 1918.

Inside the safe, there was cash, jewels, and most importantly, a hostage for her escape operation.

She refused to end up like her parents and siblings. She refused living that odious life. There it was a passport for another life, another herself.

Theodora threw everything inside the bag and sneaked her way into the house’s backdoor.

Half an hour later, safely on a train going away from the life she knew, she took a deep breath. Relief washed her lithe body.

Escape seemed at hand’s reach.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

“Oh, God.” Riley bemoaned. “I’m so screwed.”

“This does hamper our initial plans, yes.” Charlotte noted. “We would stay in Cordonia until Theophany, and, when Liam did not pick you, we would have a good reason to leave. Riley would be killed off in some tragic accident a few months later, and that would be that.

“What we didn’t count on is the fact that you want to stay.”

“No matter, we are sticking with our original plan.” Riley said, determined. “Regardless of what I may be feeling about Liam or about anyone else, there is no way I can stay in Cordonia come February. Even if the impossible happens and Liam does choose me.”

“But there is a way.” Charlotte said, thoughtful. “Think about it: your story held uncontested up until now, even with the security services looking thoroughly into it. I doubt anyone except perhaps the MI-5 or the CIA could blow it now, much less some lowly yellow press, sketch of a reporter. And that’s only in the first few months, once the rage of your marriage passes, they stop snooping on the dirty secrets of your past and start snooping on the dirty secrets of your present.

“You have files of the marriage of Amara Grey and Brennan Flowers, the latter of whom died without any relatives to say you weren’t related to them, and the former is so deep in this as yourself, she won’t blab or else she’ll be packing to a federal prison.

“You planted school records in not one, not two, but in three different institutions, you swapped the yearbooks from the library in Cedar Cove, and all your supposed colleagues seem to remember a shy, quiet student at the corner they don’t quite remember the name of.

“You fed a fake Facebook for years, for Christ’s sakes!” Charlotte exasperated. “Honestly, if I didn’t know you, if I didn’t know you were lying, I would fucking think you were really Riley Flowers.”

Riley weighed what has been said by Charlotte, and she had to give her a point, by now there is no conceivable way for her to be discovered, not by the Cordonian court, and not if she didn’t screw up. However, one thing weighed heavily on her mind: “What about Karen and Ludwig?”

“Riley, my promise holds regardless of you deciding to be a queen or not. A week in February, and you’ll be free.” Charlotte said, in all seriousness. “We could tell everybody you were off to New York tying up some loose ends, we could even have Amara backing up these claims.”

Riley grumbled. “It still don’t change what happened today. Liam and I still had this huge fight, and we both said things we shouldn’t have, even if we did meant them.”

“Hey, sweetie, do you still have your journals?” Charlotte asked.

“My journals?” Riley said, confused.

“When you were younger, every time you got upset, you used to write your feelings away. Don’t you do that anymore?”

Then it dawned on her. Her notebooks. She used to write on them every day, as in to chase away the feelings of loneliness and fear from getting caught by the Rosenbergs. She remembered to take them to Cordonia, but she hadn’t touched a single one of them ever since she left New York.

Riley rummaged her trunk and pulled out six leather-bound notebooks. “Here they are. All the way back from the time I moved to New York.”

“Now, why don’t you give them to Liam as an apology gift?” Charlotte proposed.

“What?” Riley shouted. “Are you insane?!”

“Why not? I know you are paranoid enough not to put any names on those, and yet they are personal enough for him to see you’re making an effort to reach out. Besides, they’re the most genuine piece of yourself we can afford to give him right now.”

“That… That…” Riley stuttered while the wheels of her brain turned. “That might be actually a good idea.”

“I’m full of those today.” Charlotte said, smugly. “Now, come, we have to re-do your make-up and accessorize with this dress. Lord, for as much Bertrand is a stick-in-the-mud, he really has no sense of style!”

Riley giggled. “He really don’t. All that ‘country lord’ look of his isn’t working on his favor.”

New York City, Summer 1979

Melissa payed her cabby and got out of the car. Her meager belongings, mostly clothing, were packed into a small, black bag.

She had just arrived from the airport, she was at her parents’ home, in Georgia, and it certainly did not end her way. Not that she really blames them, she had thrown them a bomb.

She had met Kristijan during her internship at the United Nations. She was working under the Spanish ambassador, while Kristijan was a guard to Lord Talmai Bartholomaios, the Cordonian envoy.

They had met when he helped her when she got lost on her way to a meeting at the UN. He had been posted there for over three years and could probably walk through those halls in his sleep. He had a rare afternoon off, as Lord Bartholomaios was otherwise engaged, so, after her meeting, they went out for a coffee and became friends.

After some outings through the city, they started dating. It was a whirlwind romance, one she threw herself into head first.

However, Labor Day was just around the corner, and Lord Bartholomaios was due to return to Cordonia, and Kristijan is supposed to go with. He had told her his ‘commander’, the head of the security services he wasn’t allowed to disclose, was impressed with his work, and offered him a superior position, one that required him to move back to his homeland, permanently.

Facing the possibility of never seeing each other again, Kristijan proposed to Melissa last Friday night. She said she had to talk it over with her family first and promised him an answer the following Monday.

Today.

She used the card key Kristijan had given her and waltzed into the hotel. She went up to his floor and knocked on his door.

He answers her with a grin and a: “Melissa, you’re back!”

“Let’s do it, Kristijan!” She said, overwhelmed. “Let’s go to Cordonia! Let’s get married!”

She didn’t give him time to respond, as she kissed him passionately.

It might be against every ounce of reason in her body, but Melissa Walker was in love.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

An hour later, Riley snuck off to Liam’s chambers. No-one saw her, as the servants were busy with preparations for the party downstairs, while the noblepeople were in their rooms dressing up.

She knocked three times, slow and steadily, waiting for a response. After a moment, a tortured ‘Enter!’ was heard from the other side of the heavy, engraved doors.

Prompted, she pushed the heavy doors weakly, as if she was afraid of it disturbing someone’s sleep. The room behind it looked the part, as its thick curtains were drawn, letting none of the sunset light into the room. The bed was also disheveled, as if none of the servants remembered to make it that morning.

Sat on a chair, with his back turned to the door, sat Liam. He had a glass on his hand and a tumbler on the coffee table in front of him, the brown color of the liquid suggested it was bourbon.

“If you came here to tell me I should be getting ready for dinner, pass along the message to my father I will be out shortly.” His tired voice rasped through the room.

“I did not come here to tell you that.” Riley said, in a meek tone. “Though, I can try to reach the King.”

“Riley!” The blond exclaimed, turning to see her. “What are you doing here?”

The woman sighed. “I came here to talk. To apologize, actually. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I overreacted a little about… that.”

He gaped. “No, no, you were right, I shouldn’t have read that file. I just got scared and did something stupid, and when you caught me, I got scared again and just made everything worse. I should be the one to apologize.”

“Let’s agree we were both on the wrong, then.” She offered. “Regardless, I haven’t been doing a very good job of soothing your worries. You felt the need to read that file because I don’t talk about the past often, and while you’ve never asked, I also haven’t been going out of my way to tell you about it either.

“I don’t do that because it is painful for me to remember. Not the thing about my mother or my aunt and uncle, but for me it feels like every step of the way so far have been difficult somehow, and I just keep hoping for the next to be easier, to be painless. For me to be able to do that, I have to try and forget a little bit of the past and try to move forward, without looking back.

“When I moved to New York, I got into a little of a rough path and I found that writing my feelings helped sorting them out. So, I want you to keep these.” She handed him the six notebooks.

Liam inspected the objects. “What are these?”

“Those are my journals. Six years-worth of them, from the time I moved to New York to the day before I’ve met you. I haven’t written on them ever since I arrived, though, because every day seems more hectic then the one before, so…” She trailed off.

He placed them neatly on the coffee table, away from the tumbler and the glass of booze. “Are you sure you want me to read them?” He looked deep into her charcoal eyes.

“No, I’m not.” She said, honestly. “But I’m sure I want to give you, us, a sincere attempt, and if that’s what it takes, then so be it.”

Liam quickly crossed the distance between them and hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Riley.” He whispers into her hair. “Thank you for being so kind and patient with me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

He kissed her deeply, making her knees go weak.

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Summer 1984

Melissa had her finest dress on, and her little child was also dress impeccably. She lived at the Brigades for five years, now, but she wasn’t quite used to the idea of royalty, and the prospect of actually meeting one made her giggly.

She walked over to some French doors, where Bastien, one of her husband’s apprentices, waited stoically for her.

“Good afternoon, Bastien.” She greeted, amicably. More than once the young man has had a meal with them at their apartment on the service lodge of the palace, and both Kristijan and Melissa had a soft spot for the boy.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” He smiled at her. “Your Majesty waits for you.”

“Lead the way!”

He nodded and opened the door for her. It leads into a small drawing room, in which the Queen have had served some tea and biscuits.

The young royal rose to her feet, with some difficulty, taking upon account she was heavily pregnant, and greeted her. “Madam Walker, I am very glad you took upon my invitation this afternoon.”

Melissa’s face probably betrayed the frantic thoughts running through her head. “Y-Your Majesty!” She bowed hastily. “It is I who is glad about your invitation!”

She laughed softly. “Please, call me Carmela. We are alone, and I was hoping we could have a more relaxed conversation.”

“Of course, ma’am. I mean, Carmela.” It was rather strange calling a girl younger than herself ‘ma’am’, after all.

“Great!” She smiled. “Is this little Drake I hear so much about?” The blue-blooded approached the carriage, where the boy slept soundly. “How old is he again?”

“Six months.” The woman answered, with a soft smile. “He was born in late Fall last year.”

“How adorable.” She gushed. “Pardon me, I have the baby fever. I must run poor Bastien haggard with all my questions about all the mothers at the palace.”

Melissa giggled. “I remember how I was with Drake. I spent the day looking through baby clothes catalogs and pregnancy books. When are you due?”

“The doctors say All-Hallows, but I think this one’s going to be an early bird.” She patted her own protuberant stomach fondly. “I’m thinking of naming him Liam if it’s a boy.”

The other did a small double-take at the revelation. “It is different in Cordonia.”

“It is unusual in Italy as well.” She dismissed, with a faint smile. “But I’m a fan of Liam Clancy. Constantine’s going to take some convincing, though.”

“I thought the King wanted something more traditional.”

Carmela shrugged. “Some Greek mouthful, yes.” She poured two cups of tea and handed one to Melissa. “Speaking of things unusual, I never expected to see a surname like Kristijan’s in Cordonia. Walker,” She tested on her tongue, with her foreign accent. “It’s English, right?”

“It’s actually my name.” Melissa pointed out. “Kristijan said his surname carried a stigma in Cordonia, and he wanted to change it when we married.”

“Oh, my! There’s so much I know not.” Carmela commented. “Was it Slavic? I’ve noticed our Serbian subjects are very hostile to our rule. It would make sense for Kristijan to change it when he joined our employment.”

The other woman shook her head. “No, it was Greek. Bunas, after the river.”

“No, it doesn’t ring any bells.” She commented.

“How about the social season, ma’am?” She tried to change the subject. “You’ll probably be bed-ridden by then.”

“Don’t tell me.” She grimaced. “It would be my first one as Queen. Fortunately, Constantine is able to attend alone the events elsewhere. What worries me are the ceremonies held here at the Brigades. Which reminds me, Melissa?”

“Yes?” The woman responded.

“You were a diplomat once, right? Before marrying?”

She laughed uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t say that. I worked at an embassy, and I have a degree in International Relations.”

“But you do understand about ceremonials?”

“I suppose? Somewhat, at least.” Melissa said.

Carmela smiled broadly. “Great! You see, I was looking for a secretary, to help me with the preparations for the season. I would do it myself, but with the pregnancy and everything…” She trailed off.

The woman made a double-take. “Are you sure you want me?”

“Of course. You know the ropes, and I know I can trust you. It is more I can say about any other woman in this house.” The monarch answered. “And you will be paid handsomely for the job.”

Melissa weighs her options. As the wife of Kristijan, she was not allowed to take employment outside the palace and caring for Drake full time get really boring fast. Besides, with the money, they could save for retirement, which came early for royal bodyguards.

“Okay. I’m in.” The eldest smiled.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley arrived at dinner rigorously on time, perfectly composed and her head held high. Liam wasn’t with her, staying behind as in not to arise suspicion, but aside from him, all of the guests at the chateau were already in attendance.

Servants bustle about, keeping the tables freshly stocked with foods and drinks. Over a couple of tables, a few girls conversed in rushed tones.

“The King and the Queen seemed quite taken with you today, Lady Madeleine.” Some random suitor commented with said blonde.

She smirked. “They respect my opinions. And I believe we have a lot in common. I hope I’ll have the support and respect of all the ladies of the court if I’m chosen.”

The tone of her ‘if’ portrayed no doubt.

Penelope sat next to the pair and whispered back: “To tell you the truth, I think Lady Riley may be the one to be chosen, and I think she would be a wonderful queen.”

As much as Penelope’s heart was in the right place, that certainly wasn’t the moment to make that kind of statement. Much less to Madeleine, who frowned quite pronouncedly: “I suppose you are entitled to have your own opinion.” She said.

Charlotte waved at her, as if they were just meeting. Riley started walking over to her, also keeping up the appearances, when she crossed paths with Tariq.

“Good evening, Tariq.” She greeted, politely.

“Lady Riley.” He nodded, acknowledging. “It is always a pleasure seeing you.”

“A rare one, it seems. How have you been?” She engaged in conversation. Bertrand would be proud.

He laughed. “Indeed. I’ve been as splendid as you look, my dear.”

“You seem flirty tonight.” She pointed out.

“It comes from the deepest recesses of my being.” He winked. “This event can hardly bear a star as bright as yours.”

Riley thought it to be strange behavior from the young nobleman but preferred not to probe. She has enemies enough, no need going out and making more. “Thank you, Tariq. You flatter me.”

“It feels me with joy to hear you say that.” He beamed. “You know, I have to tell you, after talking to most of the other ladies here, I find myself having nurtured such an… appreciation for you. You are like a breath of New York fresh air.”

Knowing those same girls he speaks of, Riley can only agree to the sentiment, even if the phrasing is hardly ideal. “I don’t think anyone says that.”

“The other suitors are absolutely boring.” He admonished. “One talks only about her dogs, another merely sulks to the corners. And don’t get me started on Olivia.”

“Some of the other girls have their charms.” Riley weighed.

Tariq scoffed. “If they do, I have yet to find them. They have good breeding, wealth and manners, but they’re absolutely dull. How disappointing.”

There it was. Tariq the Plutocrat. Riley was starting to worry he had banged his head at some table corner.

He, however, wasn’t done: “Whereas with you, Lady Riley, you grow more interesting every time we speak. I must, however, take my leave. May you have a fantastic evening.”

Tariq bows and left, while Maxwell approaches.

“There’s our little social star!” He greets, with an unusual dose of excitement. “Is that Tariq you were talking to?”

“Yeah, and it was weird.” She commented, while looking at the place the young middle-eastern left empty.

“Strange?” Maxwell inquired, confused. “How so?”

“He was so amicable! And before today, we barely talked.”

The man tutted. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Now, come, Bertrand and I got a table this way.”

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Spring 1993

Melissa was sitting on the kitchen table. The dinner was served, and the children already ate. Drake and Savannah were at the conjoined living room, having their TV time.

Kristijan was late for dinner, again. Melissa knew his patrol schedule was messy, but he had said he would be home that evening. She tapped her fingers against the table, anger and hungry, as she had been kind enough to wait for him.

She sighed angrily and walked over to the living room. “Kids,” She told them while turning off the TV. “It’s bed time.”

“But, mommy!” Little Savannah complains. “Daddy isn’t here yet!”

The woman sighed once more. Her husband gave her nothing but trouble. “I know, darling. But it’s late, it’s way past the time for little girls to be in bed.”

She pouted. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Grown-Up.” She smiled at her daughter’s antics. “Tell you what, go to bed now and I’ll have daddy giving you a good-night kiss when he gets here, ‘kay?”

“’Kay…” Savannah caved and walked over to the bedroom she shared with his older brother.

“Drake?” The woman called.

“Yeah?” He grumbled. Sometimes, she swore that boy was born sour.

“Watch your sister, okay? I’ll go over to the kitchens, but I’ll be right back.”

He looked at her warily but nodded his head. She kissed his hair and went out the front door.

Closing and locking her apartment’s door for security, she started walking down the hall. However, instead of going down to the kitchens like she said she would, Melissa walked over to the bachelors’ wing and knocked on an apartment’s door.

A man came out. “Mrs. Walker?” He asks, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Bastien, you’re on the night shift tonight, aren’t you?” She inquired, feverishly.

“Yeah, I was going out right now.” He said. “Why? Do you need anything?”

“Actually, I do.” She smirked, with a hint of crazy in her eyes. “I need you to take me to the Queen’s chambers. It’s where you’re supposed to switch guard, isn’t it?”

He looked at the woman he so deeply respected and cared for. Bastien was sure that if she was asking such a thing, she had a legitimate reason for it, no matter how unorthodox. “Follow me.” He said and led the way.

On a hurried place, they made their way through the labyrinthine, ghastly hallways of the Brigades at nighttime. When they arrived at the heavy, mahogany doors of the quarters, Melissa eyed Bastien for him to make himself scarce.

The look he gave in response said that he would not hinder her, but he sure wasn’t leaving.

It was his own peril. Taken by murderous rage, she opened the door and walked right into the room. Unfortunately for Melissa, she saw exactly what she was looking for.

She picked up a shirt laid on the ground and placed on her nose. She knew that aftershave anywhere. She let it fall to her feet as she walks over to the bed. The couple laying there was fast asleep.

Melissa sat on a chair by the dresser and turned on the lamp. She took a good look at the face of the man resting on there. Tan skin, shaved neatly, but with a defined, rugged, hairy chest.

She picked up a heel on the floor and admired it. A dark blue, satin Zanotti, with silver fastenings. A beautiful shoe for a beautiful woman. Melissa twirled it by the heel, and then threw at the man.

He woke up, of course, startled. His eyes focused on her: “Melissa! What are you doing here?”

Her eyes glinted with the light of the lamp. “Why, Kristijan, you’re late for dinner. I came looking for you.”

The woman woke up, dizzy, and looked over at Melissa. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Regina, did I wake you up?” She asks, sickly sweet. “Now you can join us.”

“I would ever.” She admonished. “Have some respect!”

Melissa clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Oh, Regina, I find it terribly funny how you Cordonians think everybody owe you respect. When will you learn respect is earned?”

She leaned over the bed, over Kristijan, and whispered to her: “Don’t try evoking any Laws of Exception on me. I’m not a Cordonian citizen. You can’t throw me on jail.”

The Queen fumed but did not say a thing. Kristijan, however, pulled her away and stood up. He was as naked as the day he was born, his intimacy hanging limp by his leg.

He tugged on her arm, and whispered menacingly: “Let’s go, Melissa.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” She wriggled her arm away, and then lowered her sight to his genitalia. “But I think you should change first. I know you clearly don’t really care who see your bits, but some people may.”

She stood up and started to leave. Kristijan came after her, thankfully using some underwear, shouting: “Melissa! Melissa, wait!”

“What?!” She turned and barked.

“Just hear me out, okay?!” He said, frozen in place by her glare.

“What are going to say, huh?! It wasn’t what it looked like?!” She shouted, the sound bounced from the walls and empty rooms.

He sighed. “It is what it looked like. Or not, I don’t know. I did sleep with the Queen, I have been sleeping with her for some time, too. But what did you want me to do? She’s the Queen, for Christ’s sake!”

“I wanted you to keep it in your pants. I expected you to keep your vows. I expected you to, at least, tell me what was going on.” She said, cold.

He scoffed. “And then what? You think I’d still have a job here? A place to live?”

“We would find a way, Kristijan!” She shouted, frustrated. “I’m not an invalid!”

He sighed one more time. “What now?”

“I’m going back to the US.” She said, seriously. “I’m taking the kids. There’s nothing for us here anymore.”

With that, Melissa left, and Kristijan did not try to stop her.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley followed Maxwell to the table and sat down between him and Charlotte, who accompanied them on that meal.

Soon enough, the sound of glass clinking fell through the al-fresco dining area. Everyone then turns to the source of the noise, which was the figure of Prince Liam, standing up next to Constantine and Regina.

“If I may have everyone’s attention, I’d like to say a few words before we serve the main course.” The blond announced. “First, I would like to thank everyone for joining us out here at the country estate. I had the honor and privilege of having you in my court, and I could not ask for better company.

“As I step into my father’s place in the next few weeks, I can only hope I am half the man he was for Cordonia.”

“Long live Prince Liam!” Maxwell pulls the chant, followed by claps and cheers by all attendees.

“Thank you all.” Liam bowed. “When we next meet like this, it will be on the next event of the season, the traditional New Year’s party hosted by the illustrious House Beaumont.”

The crowd applauds, and Maxwell hollered: “Woo-hoo!” He then turns to Riley. “I can’t wait to show you the manor.”

“Maxwell, aren’t we a little strapped for cash right now?” She asks, concerned. “Can we afford hosting a party this big right now?”

He grimaced. “I don’t think we have a choice. Like Liam said, it’s tradition. We can’t back out now.”

“Yes. If we back out, we might as well announce to the whole world we are officially ruined!” Bertrand barked.

“Bertrand has a point.” Charlotte pointed out. “The manor house is big and opulent enough, we’ll be fine as long as we keep them busy. If the food is a little lacking, I bet no-one will notice.”

As the applause dies out, Liam continues: “The Beaumonts will surely give us another legendary night to remember. Until then, I thank you once again and wish you a good night.”

Palace of the Brigades, Avlona, Cordonia, Spring 1993

The Walker family, the personnel of the palace division of the Security Services and the Royal Family was congregated at the chapel within the Brigade Hill, honoring a sacrifice of one of their own.

As per request, there would be no speeches, no talking, no medals. There would only be a prayer conducted by the chaplain, which was over. The people were walking on a line, saying their condolences to the widow, standing by the casket.

After a big group of maids, security guards and other relatives payed their respects, there came the turn of the Royal Family. The youngest boy, Liam, was spared from the ceremony, thankfully.

Melissa couldn’t spare Drake of many uncomfortable comparisons he was subject to as the ‘common’ friend of one of the Princes, but the absence of a parent was a circumstance she really hadn’t considered to face up to a few weeks before.

Then, when Kristijan’s sins had come to light, Melissa was ready for filing divorce. She had bought the plane tickets, prepared the kids’ passports, wired her savings, called some relatives. And now she was a widow.

The first one to offer his sentiments was Prince Leo. The teenaged aristocrat couldn’t be bothered to play the part appropriately, appearing bored throughout the ceremony. Though, it was fair to say he would have rather for Kristijan to have failed on his mission.

Following him, there was Constantine. He hugged her softly, and said, on a low tone: “Your husband died a hero. The Royal Family has an eternal debt to you, ma’am.”

Then, it was the face she dreaded the most. Regina. Her dead husband’s lover. The woman he died to protect. There was something salacious, belonging to a cheap paperback novel, having such an encounter.

She was wearing a black, embroidered silk dress, her head covered with a shawl and a Spanish mother-of-pearl clasp. As she often does, Regina was asserting her power with subtlety.

The royal approached her and whispered softly to her ear. “I want to see you out of this country by nightfall. Take your snotty twerps with you.”

“Say, Regina, doesn’t your husband find most strange for you to be all alone with Kristijan on the gardens? At the middle of the night?” She asks, with a smirk.

“Are you really threatening me?” She barked.

“Not at all, Your Majesty. I am merely showing you I am not without my own bite.” She said, neutral. “But rest assured, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be far away from your sight.”

The Queen huffs and backs off her.

Applewood, Neokastron, Cordonia, Fall 2015

Riley walked down the hallway leading to her chambers. She was alone, as Bertrand and Maxwell were busy arranging their suitcases, and Charlotte said she would retire early.

Speaking of the Beaumonts, they said they would be spending their Christmas on a ski lodge in Switzerland. Given the price of the room and the fact the holiday was upon them, Bertrand made it clear she wasn’t invited. Charlotte said she could spend the week in Italy with her, but Riley knew how it was at her place, and she had her fill of aristocratic parties.

She reached her door and opened it. “Charlotte!” She called. “I’m here.”

The room was empty. Shrugging, Riley tried to lock the door, but the lock seemed stuck. As it was very late, the two women would have to make do with a chair against the handle.

Deciding to place it only after Charlotte’s return, Riley started taking off her clothing and her bodice. Butt-naked, she put on a silk robe and started walking over to the dresser to remove her make-up.

It was when she heard the door open and shut. “Is it you?” She called, distracted.

“It is I, love, and good Lord! Disrobing in my room! What a forward gesture. I like it.”

It wasn’t Charlotte’s voice. Riley turned to the intruder and shouted: “Tariq! What the Hell are you doing here?!”

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not upset. I’m just surprised. I suspected, but I’ve never thought it would happen so soon.” He said, approaching her.

She tried to cover herself better, while taking a step back. “Tariq, I think there’s something wrong here…”

He takes her hand and places over his heart. “No, I must say this! Your feelings are most ardently returned! You’ve enchanted me just as you enchant everybody you come across, and now I know you feel the same way about me.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “About that…”

Before she can say anything else, he lowers his head and take her mouth into a kiss.

Riley starts trying to push him away, when the door is pushed open and a figure launch itself into Tariq.

“Get away from her!” The deep voice commands, pining the middle-eastern man away from her by the shoulder.

“Unhand me!” Tariq spats back. “How dare you enter my room without my permission!”

“He’s one to say!” Riley sneered to herself, as Tariq punches the figure squarely on the face. Just then she is able to take a good look to the man, who reveals himself to be Drake.

The commoner reels back for a split second and then tackles the nobleman to the ground. They grapple intensely for a second until they pull apart.

“Who the Hell do you think you are busting into my room?!” Tariq shouts, angry.

“This is Riley’s room!” Drake spats back. “And I heard her screaming, I think she wanted the interruption.”

“Oh, God!” She ran her hand through her hair. “Tariq, someone pulled a prank on you. I’m not, in any way, interested in you, I’m sorry.”

He looked at her with puppy eyes. “So, this isn’t going to be the bold, romantic beginning to our love story?”

“No.” She doubled the ‘o’, shaking her head.

He sighed and tried to gather whatever little dignity he had. “I see. Let me deeply apologize here. I’m so sorry for this transgression. I was incredibly wrong. Now, before I can humiliate myself any further, let me take my leave. Good night, Lady Riley. Whomever has your heart, he is indeed a lucky man.”

As the man leaves, Drake slams the door shut behind him.

Riley threw herself on the bed, covering her face with her hands. “Before I bemoan my luck, thanks, Drake. If you hadn’t intervened, I would have kicked him in the nuts and it everything would be worse.”

“Aw, shucks, Flowers, don’t go soft on me now.” He sideline-smirked at her. “I’ll always be here for you. Because of Liam, of course.”

She sat up straight and looked at him. “What Liam got to do with anything?”

“Liam would never forgive me if something… bad… happened to you.” He sighed and withered under her inquisitive look. “And I wouldn’t forgive myself, either.”

She smirked, defiantly, at him, while he averts his eyes, embarrassed.

He clears his throat. “Anyways, you can see why it looked bad. I heard a scream and I saw you half-naked, with Tariq all over you…” He trailed off. “Are you okay, though.”

“I’m fine.” She said, earnestly.

“Well, I should get out of here before we really cause a scandal.” He said, and turned to leave when he winced in pain, clutching at his side.

“You’re hurt.” She pointed out.

He dismissed it with a: “Nothing some whiskey won’t heal.”

“Come on, big boy, I’ve got some ice.” She said, motioning for him to sit on the bed.

He smirked. “You trying to get me to take my shirt off, Flowers?”

“I am succeeding.” She smirked at him. “Chop-chop, I don’t have all night.”

“You have a real bossy side to you.” He murmurs while obeying her order.

“Take it to someone who cares.” She rolled her eyes, picked up a handkerchief and some ice, and started evaluating the bruise.

“So, doc, do you see anything alarming?” He asks, ironic.

“Other than the fact you bruise like a peach, it seems you’ll be okay.” She said, snarky.

He scoffed. “Tariq hits harder than you’d think.”

Riley laughed, ironically, while standing up. “I can’t believe you lost a fight to Tariq!”

“I didn’t say I lost! I never said that!” He defended, desperately. “I definitively won, I’m just saying he got in some good hits and I didn’t expect that from a palace brat.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She smirked.

From Drake’s point of view, the moonlight coming from her window framed her profile. Her petite, princess-like nose and superior smirk were features he was sure he was supposed to despise, but it seemed right on her, like if it was supposed to be so.

Drake runs his fingers through his hair. “You can be so…” He started, but then lost his nerve. “Never mind. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be treating my wounds?”

“Before I ice your wounds, wouldn’t you like something to drink?” She offered. “Lest of all you bitch when I put it on your rib.”

“Hit me.”

She walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey on the rocks. Handing him one of them, she says: “I wouldn’t make you drink alone.”

“Heh. Thanks.” He smirks.

Drake downs his glass as Riley presses the ice against his body. “Hey! It hurts!” He complains.

“Grow a pair!” She bit back but pressed more gently the ice.

Drake turns and catches her eye. After a long second, he lowers his gaze. “Thanks.” He breathed out and paused. “I know I don’t act very grateful for anything most of the time, but I do… care about you.”

“Mighty way to show it.” She complains. “Most of the time you act like you hate me.”

“I do not.” He defended.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Drake.”

“Okay, I do, don’t I?” He sighed. “It’s not personal. It’s just… easier that way.”

“Easier? For whom?” She questions while keeping up with the ministrations.

“You’re here for Prince Liam. All of the suitors are. And, well, so is the entire court. All the nobles, all the servants, even. Everything and everyone in this place exists to orbit around Liam. You could almost hate him for it, if he weren’t so damn likeable. It’s dangerous for people like you and me to forget about that.” He grumbled the last part.

“Where are you getting at, Drake?”

“Hell, Flowers. Don’t make me say it.” He whispers and gulps down his drink. “If we’d met somewhere else, anywhere else. At a club in New York, or in the airport, or at a party… If you hadn’t been our waitress that night, and I hadn’t been sitting next to Liam… Do you think it would be different?”

“Drake, Drake, Drake.” A woman’s voice came from the door. The two of them broke apart, and faced the source of the sound, which was Charlotte’s frame. “Don’t you ever tire of being a whiny, charity case? Because I do, constantly.” She sneered.

“Fuck you, Rosenberg.” He barked at her.

“Drakey-poo is mad? How sad!” She ironized. “Let me answer this one for Little Miss Flowers over here. It wouldn’t be any different. You know why? Because you’ll always be the same, you’ll always look over your shoulder, worried that Liam will take your happiness away from you, that they will move on to greener pastures. And so, you make their lives a living Hell, so when they finally leave, you can act like if you had known all along.”

He lunged at her, and it seemed like he was going to hit her, but he lowered his hand and said on a dangerous tone: “You are just some left-over, bitter, society wife. Look yourself in the mirror before preaching about my life.”

With that, he left the bedroom.

Charlotte then shuts the door. Riley runs over to her. “God gracious, Charlotte! Where were you?”

“Constantine called me over to his study. He was trying to negotiate part of their debt.” She said, dismissive. “What is more interesting is why Walker was here in the first place.”

Riley then explained everything to Charlotte about what had happened that night. The blonde walks over to the door to check it. “Riley, I locked the door on my way out.”

“But it was open when I arrived!” She said, nervously.

“Check the trunk!” The blonde commanded.

It was still locked, with no signs of forced entry. “It seems our secret is safe, at least.”

Charlotte was fretful, still. “Regardless, there’s blood in the water. Come, we’re leaving now.”

The two girls packed everything on the room quickly, and on the silence of the night, they fled Applewood.

Atlanta, Georgia, Summer 2010

A middle-aged man climbed slowly the stairs. He was struggling with the steps, having been hindered with a crutch. Unfortunately for him, the building had no elevators and his destination was on the fifth floor.

It was a very important meeting, which is why he had come from so far away, and the delicacy of the matter had him prescinding of his assistant.

When he finally reached the floor, he stopped for a moment, to catch his breath and to dispel his flustering. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, as Georgia was much warmer than he had expected. Then, he continued his walk and knocked on an apartment door.

A woman answers. “Hello. How may I help you?”

He cleared his throat and asks: “Are you Melissa Walker?”

Her face paled. “Who are you?”

“I am Ludwig von Rosenberg.“ He said, solemn. “I wish to speak about your husband.”

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fucking-hell-marvel · 6 years ago

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Lacuna - Chapter Two

Dr Ada Ross Set Tuesday, February 1st, 1870 ~~~~~~~~~~

After sixteen days of long travel, the train pulled into the station of my new home. Ganado Springs, New Mexico.

The lovely station master was shocked to see me unloaded my trunks and promised to have them brought over the boarding house where I was temporarily staying. Uncle Bruce had sent instructions on how to find the doctor’s office in his last letter.

The town had every kind of store you might need. I could see why it was a famous town on the railroad and cattle drives. It also seemed like the place that you’d never leave. I knew enough of the ‘wild west’ to know that things were more relaxed than they were in the city. From what uncle Bruce had told me; the pastor was a man of colour, compared to the rest of the world women were treated equally, and there was some openly queer folk too, yet everybody got along. The most crucial thing Bruce had told me to remember was that the community stuck together no matter what.

As I walked down the main street of town, I was glad to see that I wouldn't stick out. All the women I could see wore simple and practical clothes. No unnecessary bows or frills in horrid colours, just sturdy dresses or a skirt and blouse.

I saw the church up ahead and followed the road to the right, just as Bruce instructed. Around the corner of the boarding house was the new doctor's office. It was an older building, but you could see that it had refurbished recently. The windows were scrubbed clean, and I could see a new sign hanging off the porch. Dr Banner was seeing a patient out of his practice when I approached the office bags in hand. When Bruce finally spotted me his face split into a wide grin.

“Ada! Look at you.”

I dropped my bags and launched myself at my uncle. “Bruce! I have missed you.”

“Three years is far too long.” He offered me his arm and led me upstairs to his private apartment.

“Oh uncle, it is. I have missed you terribly. You're getting more grey each time I see you."

It was true; noticeable silver streaks were running through his dark waves.

“It’s dealing with you all these years.” He picked up my bags and led me into the clinic. I noticed the metal plaque engraved with both our names and space for more to be added. “Everything is brand new. You’ll have to help me set everything up.”

Inside the clinic, you could smell the freshly cut wood. As soon as you walked in the door, there was a single waiting area with a nurses desk. On the left of the waiting area were two small rooms for examining a patient or treating minor illnesses. On the right were three much larger patient rooms with beds, if a patient were brought to the clinic and needed to stay they would be placed there. Outback was two medium-sized operating theatres; essential for minor or significant surgical and the more complicated childbirths.

Opposite the theatres and behind the office was a moderately sized clinical room full of shelves to house medicines, cupboards to accommodate equipment and a decent sized sink with an indoor pump to clean ourselves and anything else.

The office was spacious but bare, and Bruce had done the minimal amount of work to set it up. One table with the chair tucked under was pushed against the back wall and used for storing the more delicate items. Bruce had set up a beautiful partners desk up for me, along with a revolving chair, the worn leather was a deep rich brown.

The last desk other Bruce was using himself and was slightly cluttered. He had never been an overly organised person. There were lots of boxes and crates stacked against the walls no doubt full of all the equipment he had ordered.

Bruce left me to grab the other desk chair while he used a small wood burning stove in the corner of the room to make tea. The wood stove would also be used for heating and to boil water for medical use, cleaning wounds and the clinic. There was a large copper pot on the floor beside the stove. I recognised it as one from my father’s clinic, the dent was in the same place, and one handle was slightly out of shape. I knew that Bruce had gotten on with his brother in law extraordinarily well.

I managed to find a sealed crate that wasn’t too dusty, on which to place my bags. I took off my bonnet perching it on Bruce’s lamp and stuffing my gloves into my carpet bag. I happily sat in the comfy desk chair, compared to the hard and cramped quarters of a train the chair felt like a cloud in heaven.

As I looked around the baren office, I noticed the large packing crate in the corner, already opened. “Did the shipment come already?”

“Yes thank you. I was running short of some supplies.” He placed the tea tray on the table and took a seat.

I poured tea for the two of us while he got comfortable in his armchair. “Before I left Boston I made sure that we’d get a regular shipment every month, so we never run out of anything.”

“You are an angel. So how was your trip?”

I almost snorted into my cup. “Almost three weeks moving from train to train, I’m surprised I didn’t resort to murder.”

“Did you have second thoughts?”

I placed my hand over his. “I would travel the world to be with you. You are my only family left Bruce. It was a long, trying journey but I knew that at the end we’d be together again.”

He smiled back at me. “I can’t wait till you get settled. This kinda place won’t care that you’re a woman doctor and they won’t care that you’d be my practise partner.”

“I'm glad. I was getting fed up at the hospital.”

“Well, this will be a welcome change. There are some things in the diary, people who need to be seen daily, scheduled health checks. Helen is in charge of that.”

“Helen?”

“She’s a nurse. Wanted a change in life and replied to my nurse wanted ad.”

“Well, it’s good that she can deal with the smaller issues on her own and help out with surgery.”

Bruce nodded. “She’s an impeccable surgical nurse. She’s a Godsend; I don’t even know if we would have been able to open the clinic if it wasn’t for her.”

I smiled at him. “Someone would think you’re sweet on Helen.”

Bruce spluttered. “No! Of course not. She’s far too young for me. I think young Mr Pietro Maximoff is sweet on her.”

“Mr Maximoff?”

“The undertaker's son,” he explained.

“Ahh and I suppose he visits often.”

“He does.” Bruce laughs. “I think that he still believes he’s somewhere that follows the proper ways.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand why two people of different cultures can’t marry.”

“Pietro’s family come from Sokovia and Helen is of Chinese heritage.”

“Ah, I understand. But I suppose it doesn't matter in this town. Love is love.” I noticed a familiar dent on the edge of Bruce's desk. "That belonged to Betty."

Bruce noticed the damage I was pointing too. "Ah yes, it is. I had it shipped out here when I settled. I bought the things I couldn't part with the rest I sold. I'm afraid it's too small for me, my knees hit the top. When I knew you were coming, I set it up for you."

I felt this warmth yet sadness in my chest. I knew that Bruce still kept a few things belonging to his late wife. I felt blessed and honoured to now be responsible for it.

"Thank you, Bruce. I've arrived in a new place to find a piece of home waiting for me. I remember when it sat in the corner of her room."

"We both miss her." He gave me a sad smile.

I watched as a note pinned to the board catch his interest.

“Ah, before I forget. I don't know what we're going to do about a more permanent home for you. The repair work in the apartment upstairs is complete, all it needs is cleaning, painting and furniture.”

“I have enough savings to stay in the boarding house for a while and order the things I'll need to fix it up.”

“I'll help with anything you need.”

“Oh Bruce, you can sew up a wound perfectly, but cleaning and fixing stuff was never your good side.”

He chuckled. “That's true.”

“So where are you living?”

He shifted in his chair and rubbed his earlobe. A tell that he's hiding something. “Still living with Selvig. It's easier two bachelors together.”

“Well as long as he’s tidier than you.”

He snorted then looked at his messy desk. “We survive.”

There was a knock at the door, and we both looked up to see a teenage girl quite flustered.

“Dr Banner. Helen is having trouble with mama, she asked for your help.”

Bruce jumped up and gathered the things he would need. I swore I heard him mutter something about Thor, poor Jane and his baby having its father’s broad shoulders. With a kiss on the top of my head, he was out the door. I followed and stopped in the doorway, watching as he followed the girl on a dirt path beyond the schoolhouse. I racked my brain to remember who this Thor was.

To pass the time I decided to begin to unpack the newly delivered create that I had ordered. I knew that the supplies would have no order to them if Bruce had anything to do with it, I’m sure Helen would thank me if she could find things with ease. It was a productive way to spend most of the day. Bruce hadn’t come back, so I guessed the delivery was taking longer than he thought but I didn’t mind. Being a doctor, you got used to being late for things.

It was growing later in the afternoon when there was a commotion out front followed by the sound of boots on the wooden floor. I turned to see a young man in the doorway looking flustered.

“Hey Doc, Dernier had an accident…” he froze slightly upon seeing me not the person who he was expecting. “You’re not Doctor Banner.”

“No I'm Dr Ross, Dr Banner just left to see a patient. Is there anything I can help with?”

“I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself, miss. Everyone calls me Junior.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Uhh, Dernier had an accident at the ranch needs a Doc.”

“Very well let me grab my bag, and you can tell me about it on the way.”

He tipped his hat and went back outside. I left Bruce a note where he would easily see it. I grabbed my carpet bag and doctor’s bag, if the injury were critical, I would have to stay overnight to keep watch on the patient. Outside the clinic, the wagon was ready and waiting. I placed my bags in the back before hoisting myself into the seat beside Junior.

I waited for him to manoeuvre the wagon onto the south road out of town before I spoke. “So what happened?”

“Well Dernier, he’s the farm hand and cook, was up in the orchard and fell off the ladder, caught his boot on it. He was still out when the boss sent me off. ”

“Just his war wound playing up? A bit of whiskey and sleep then he’d be fine?”

Junior looked at me surprised. “Yeah… how did you know?”

“I know men. Was it a normal 6-foot ladder?”

“MmHm. It shouldn’t take long to get there, roughly an hour.”

“That’s okay. Did you move Mr Dernier at all?”

“Nah, we ‘membered from the last fall. He’s in the shade, and everyone was with him when I left.”

“Good.”

Junior and I made small talk on the straight ride to the ranch. There were only two ranches out this way. Clint Barton and his family who bred horses and the boy’s cattle ranch. We passed by a lovely looking house down a long drive on the right, this belonged to the Barton’s and was the marker for half way.

We turned off the road, passing under a sign that read Black Oak Ranch. The long rolling drive was shaded by an occasional oak tree, most likely where the ranch got its name. I could see more trees further back. It was strange seeing oak trees growing in New Mexico; it was like an oasis in the desert. A the end of the drive was a large ranch house with a wrap around porch. Just like the town and the other buildings the had only been built a few years ago, but due to the harsh conditions, they were slightly worn in.

The cart pulled to a stop in front of what looked like the stables. A tall man with a thin, tidy moustache came out to meet us. I knew from Juniors rambling that it would be Falsworth who looked after the horses.

“Miss.” He tipped his hat to me. “Doctor Banner not working?”

“He was busy. " He gestured to me, "This is Miss Ross. She’s a lady doctor.”

He offered a hand to me to help me down. “Dr Ross. I’m to be Dr Banner’s business partner.”

He took the rains from Junior. I grabbed my bags from the back then followed Junior round behind the beautiful grey ranch house with a wrap around porch. There was a large produce garden behind the house, but I was lead away from it before I could get a better look.

Past the large produce garden, the orchard came into view, just as Junior had said everyone surrounded the patient. They all turned in our direction at the sound of our footsteps.

“Where’s Dr Banner?” a tall blonde asked.

“Dr Banner was called out to another patient. I’m Dr Ross.”

The blonde held out his hand towards me. “Steve Rogers. A pleasure to meet you. I guess Junior told you everything.”

I nodded. “Junior did. Would it be possible to have some water put on the boil? I’ll need it once we get him inside.”

Junior turned back to the house while Mr Rogers guided me over to an older gentleman laying in the shade of the tree. He had his eyes closed, but you could see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Dernier. Docs here.”

He opened his eyes as I knelt beside him. “Bonjour mademoiselle.”

To my surprise his French was perfect. “Bonjour. Je m'appelle Docteur Ross.”

He laughed and clutched his ribs. “Hello, doctor. I did tell them I’m fine, but they won’t let me move.”

“Dr Banner told us not to move anyone that fell. You know that.” A tall man with long brunet hair tied back was leaning against the tree.

“And he is right.” I turned back to the patient, “So what’s the worst.”

“My leg, it hurts too much to move.”

I nodded and began to roll up both his pant legs. After removing his left boot, you could see the swelling. Luckily it didn’t look disfigured.

“I do not think it is completely broken. You may have a small break or fracture or even just a bad sprain, but I won’t know until the swelling goes down. Anything else?”

“I landed on my hip and shoulder, and I hit my head on the floor.”

I checked his head. Someone had used his handkerchief to steam the small bleed. There was a little bump, and the skin had split. It had already begun to clot, so it was not a worry. Thankfully he had landed on the side opposite to his sore leg. Both his shoulder and hip moved freely in the joint, with only pain from the bruising

“We can move him. I can give you something for the pain, but I'll need to get you inside the house first. If two of you support him, he can walk on his good leg.”

Mr Rogers nodded to the tall brunet. “We’ll put him in the house. Easier than the bunks.”

They two of them helped him up. A bulky man with ginger moustache offered his hand to me. I took it with a smile.

“Dugan. At your service.”

We made slow progress to the house. I noticed that he wobbled a fraction when he was walking, but I wasn’t sure if it was walking on one leg or the head injury. I followed the two men as they helped Dernier hopped on his uninjured leg. We entered the back of the house into the kitchen. Junior was there hovering over a large pot full of water. The men disappeared into a small bedroom.

I stopped in the kitchen. “Is it alright if I wash my hands?”

Dugan pointed me in the direction of the sink. I untied my bonnet and left it on the table, unbuttoning my jacket I placed it on the back of a chair. I grabbed the apron from my carpet bag tying it over my skirt and blouse. Using my small box of soap, I scrubbed my hands. Junior offered my a clean linen square to dry my hands. Dugan carried my doctor's bag, and I followed him to the bedroom.

The small bedroom was almost bare just a single bed, chair and a small dresser. The two men had propped him upright so I could tend to his head wound.

“We use this a sick room. We live in the bunkhouse.” Dugan informed me putting my bags on the dresser

“It's a good idea. Stops the spread of sickness.”

He nodded his head. Everyone moved out of my way yet hovered in the doorway. Junior had placed a bowl of warm on top of the dresser. They all watched as I meticulously cleaned his head wound and further examined him just in case I missed anything.

“I know you’re head will hurt but do you feel sick at all? Any double vision?”

“Just sick but my eyes are beautiful.

“Mr Dernier this might be uncomfortable, but I need to see if you can still move your foot. After I'll give you something for the pain.”

He nodded.

“Mr Rogers could I trouble you for a small glass of water.”

He nodded and left the room. Dernier was a good patient. He just gritted his teeth while I made him move his foot and toes. Happy that it was a sprain or a tiny fracture I gave him a dose of laudanum in the water to help with the pain. Once settled down on the bed with a pillow under his bad leg, he was soon sound asleep. We all crept out of the room; I collected my bags along the way. Junior very generously tidied up the dirty rags and water. We gathered in the kitchen.

Mr Rogers turned to me, “Will he be alright?”

“Yes. I want to keep an eye on him tonight. You should always keep an eye on someone with a head injury. He needs to stay off the leg for a few weeks at least. If it is a fracture, then weight bearing can do more damage.”

“Not to sound funny doc but what's a fracture?” The tall brunet asked.

“A fracture is still a break, but the bone hasn't broken all the way through. Similar to try to snap a green twig.”

He nodded. “Still a break just doesn't need resetting.”

“Yes. As the patient needs monitoring will it be alright with you gentlemen if I stayed?”

They all looked at each other, and I swear Mr Rogers had a faint blush on his face.

The brunet broke the silence. “It won't be a problem. We can make up the spare bed.”

“Oh, there's no need Mr..?”

“Barnes. James Barnes but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Mr Barnes. I don't need a bed, a chair in the parlour is fine. I won’t be sleeping much, Mr Dernier will need to be checked a few times during the night.”

Mr Rogers turned to me, “Well we need to finish up the days work. Will you be alright here?”

“I can stay. If Dernier is off his feet, I'll need to make something for supper.” A stocky man with dark skin fiddled with his hat.

I smiled to ease his worry. “I don't see the problem. I'm sure we can both make something edible.”

He smiled at me. “You don't mind miss? Even with a man such as me?”

“I don't have a problem with what colour God made us. I trust you all can behave like gentlemen and I'm tougher than I look.”

“Won't doctor Banner mind? He knows us, but you're not a married lady.” Junior enquired.

“I left Bruce a note. He knows I can take care of myself and to expect me back tomorrow before midday.”

The men slowly trickled out of the house. Gabe Jones introduced himself before we headed into the kitchen to start on supper. I swapped my medical apron for one that was hanging from a nail in the pantry door.

“Dernier had been soaking salt pork since this morning.” he lifted a cover off a large bowl.

I opened the pantry door. “That will work nicely. We’ll manage to feed the army yet.”

#Lacuna #marvel cinematic universe #Avengers #steve rogers #captain america #Bucky Barnes #james bucannan barnes #the winter soldier #stucky #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes fic #stucky fic #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #stucky x oc #Western #wild west

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lumoui · 7 years ago

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return - spideychelle

Returning home after a long time, Michelle tries to face her fear and come to terms with a lost.

A/N: I’m sorry in advance. I tried making this perfect but nothing in the world is perfect. Please enjoy.

word count: 2,765

Their home is deserted when she enters.

The home that started their lives together. The home that started their family. A home where they made love. A home where they promised forever. Their home.

She travels slowly through the hall, hands trailing across the photographs on the wall. The first photo displays a small child dressed in pirate attire with a smile that could brighten someone's day. Frizzy long brown locks fell into her chocolate brown eyes.

The third photo aligned on the wall showed a man, a man with a smile so real, a stranger wouldn't believe he carried the world on his shoulders. He seemed to be staring off into the distance, watching something, admiring it or them. The man appeared put together, happy even.

A woman staring down at her round belly, a book in hand. She was oblivious to the fact that a photo had been taken of her. There was something about how deeply invested she’d been. As if the only thing in that moment had been her and the miracle living within.

Them, a family. The small child cradled in the man’s arms, her head leaning against the woman's chest, laughing. The woman smiled down at the child, eyes full of love. The man, oh the man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, stared at the woman with so much love and admiration, even those who didn't believe in love couldn't deny his.

Continuing on, she entered the overly spacious living room and stopped. Everything was the same since then, since the accident. The couch lacked its usual attire, throw pillows with a blanket thrown over the back. A pair of combat boots were laid messily along the floor, next to a pair of high top glittery sneakers. Her eyes lingered on the shoes for a short while before she tore her gaze away.

In the center of the room, scattered across the wooden floors were various toys. To be specific, Avengers. They were all positioned together as if they were all prepared to fight together with spider-man leading the charge. They displayed a teamwork that no longer exists within this universe.

Her feet moved of their own accord towards the kitchen, halting once they reached the counter. Her eyes locked on the two empty plates. There were small stains, most likely difficult to remove considering the amount of time they've been there. It was the same, nothing out of place. On the fridge door, a few items were holding on for dear life. A homework sheet with a “Good Work” stamp on it. Underneath that was a reminder board.

Her eyes scanned the board countless times, engraving the words into her brain. 1. M’s first day of school. 2. Ice cream date. 3. Surprise daddy at work. 4. Remind mommy and daddy how much you love them. The fourth one had been written in sloppy handwriting, hinting that a child had written it with help.

Her attention then drifted towards the last thing, a photo. She couldn't detain the smile that forced itself onto her lips at the sight. The small child was crouched down on a large rock, arm outstretched towards the photographer, pretending to be shooting webs from her wrist.

There wasn't any possible way to avoid how alike the child and the man were. She had been a smaller version of him. She contained small traits from her mother, such as her golden skin tone and her nose. Also, there was a hint of a purple strand in her hair.

Turning away, she couldn't look much longer. The longer she looked, the quicker her heart would break into pieces. She couldn't have that, not again. Not now.

Straightening herself up, she exited the kitchen and located the stairs. Before continuing up, she took a deep breath. “You can do this.” She whispers to herself.

Before she knew what was happening, she'd been trudging up the stairs. As soon as she reached the top, she stopped at the first door, their door. She couldn't understand why this was so hard, she promised herself she could handle this.

Her hand wrapped around the knob, twisting it and pushing the door open. The first thing she noticed was the bed. It was as if no one had slept here. The whole room, everything was untouched. The bedside table consisted of a vintage lamp, and tangled jewelry.

The closet door was open, showing all the clothes on the hangers, and neatly placed shoes ordered by color. There’s a poster hanging on the wall behind the bed, saying some stupid math joke that she knows he loves. The computer desk in the corner is a mess with papers tossed all over the place. Beside the computer is a frame with the woman. Both of her middle fingers are raised in the air but there is a smile on her lips.

In the photo, she sported a Midtown High blazer. Her hair was thrown up into a messy ponytail with small strands falling into her face. She was different then. She was different now.

There was one more thing left to do now. As she walked out the room, her hands brushing her hair up into a messy ponytail. She couldn't care less about how it looked, she just needed it out her way.

Once reaching the hallway, her feet directed her towards the room at the end of the hall. As she stopped before the door, she read the letters printed across. May. Her fingers traced the letters slowly, closing her eyes. This was it, this was her biggest fear. This is what has haunted her for months, years and finally, she stood before the door that would change everything. She just couldn't decide if it was for better or worse.

As she reached for the knob, she stopped, hand hovering mid-air. This wasn't right, she wasn't. She shouldn't have come. She should have just stayed far away from here. But she's here now and there was no turning back. Her doubts relinquished within seconds and she entered before she could get the chance to over think again.

The walls were plain blue and the floor covered in white carpet, which was surprisingly spotless. In the center of the room was a bed wrapped in simple white sheets, a comforter folded neatly on top. May never had interest in multicolored or character sheet sets. She was a rather simple child, people claimed she had taken that trait from her mother.

There were cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. She walked slowly towards them, heart hammering against her chest. Various items were placed in the box neatly. Reaching into the box, her hands grasped the first thing in reach. Pulling her hands out, she observed the item.

A small rustic looking box, Maylen Parker written on top in permanent marker. Tucking the box under her arm, she moved over to the bed, gently sitting down at the end. Placing the box down beside her, she observed it once more, staring confusedly at the unfamiliar item.

Tucking a loose strand of her brown hair behind her ear, she chewed on her bottom lip nervously as she contemplated if she should open the box or not. She’s never come across this before and she couldn't help but think how important and private this was. It had been kept out of reach for a reason, who was she to invade someone's privacy, even if it was a child's?

Apart of her refuses to open the box but her gut is convincing her otherwise and she'd always been one to go along with her gut. She runs a hand down her face and opens the box. Her eyes, now filled with tears, stare at the items it contained. A necklace with the letter M, gifted to her by her grandmother on her mother’s side. Two photographs of the child and a boy around her age, the other with her family. There was one last item resting inside, a letter. The brunette picked it up and her glossy eyes read the messy words scribbled on the paper.

Mommy, if you ever read this, which I know you will because you are nosy, I love you and you are the best mommy in the world. For my five years in the world, you have taught me so much. I want to be just like you when I grow up. Love you, mommy. Oh and if daddy say’s he helped me write this, remember, he’s a loser and losers lie.

Clenching the letter to her chest, tears streamed from her eyes like a waterfall. It feels like her heart has just been torn from her chest and crushed into tiny pieces. She thought she’d be able to handle returning here but she couldn’t. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t be able to come to terms with this. She stored the item back in its place, closing the box and returning it where it had originally been. Running her hand over her face to clear the tears, she turned towards the door but immediately halted in her tracks.

“Michelle?”

Peter’s eyes flash with surprise, but in seconds his expression is pained as if someone had stabbed him in the heart continuously. There are no words spoken between them for a few moments, moments that seem like a lifetime. Michelle’s hands are now at her sides, completely still. While they’re frozen in the spots, Michelle’s eyes weren't. She took in every inch of him, embedding all detail of him in.

Loose curls hung past his forehead, reminding her of the times she used to tease him about it but secretly she loved it. Soft brown eyes that used to be full of life were devoid of anything but guilt as they stared her down. His appearance wasn't him. The suit that hugged him in all the right places, that wasn't him. He resembled someone else, someone he admired.

Peter moved forward, parting his lips to speak but the words never came. One second she stood there motionless and the next second she closed a good amount of space between them, shouting at him. “Don’t,” she seethed, hands clenching at her sides. “Don’t you fucking dare!” Peter stopped, fighting the temptation to hold her in his arms.

The tears were uncontrollable, flowing down her puffed up cheeks like water spilling out of a tilted over water bottle. Michelle hated that she such was an emotional wreck, especially in front of him. He was the one person she promised herself she’d never cry in front of ever again. He didn't deserve to see her tears.

“How could you?” she cried out, “How could you erase her like this?” Michelle was never one for violence but she couldn't control herself. Using as much force as she could, she shoved him back. It wasn't much a surprise that he barely moved an inch but she didn't care. She needed him to know how hurt she was. She needed him to know he crossed the line.

Peter grabbed her wrist with enough force that he wasn't hurting her but she couldn't remove herself from the grip. “Michelle, please listen to me.” He whispered, the pain in his voice evident. She shook her head, trying to release herself from his grip. “There isn't anything you have to say to me. Let me go.”

“Mj, please?” He begged. Peter hated that they were in this situation. He hated that they were torn apart when they needed each other the most. All he wanted was for them to have that back. Though at this rate, he wasn't sure that would happen.

Michelle shook her head, tugging harder as she felt his grip loosening. “I couldn't take it anymore..” He cried out in a low whisper. Michelle stopped trying to remove herself from his brace, looking him in the eyes, which had tears streaming from them. “Michelle, I've come into this room every day since that day and each day becomes harder and harder. I couldn't see my little girl’s things without breaking down. My intentions weren't to erase her, I could never do that. I just couldn't think of all the memories we’ve had here without thinking about that one memory. It's just too hard.”

Peter locked eyes with her, his saddening at how hurt she looked. “Michelle, please say something.” His hands careful slipped from her wrist to her hands, entangling them with his. Her brown eyes darted to the ground for a second before she looked back into his. “But I just got her back... I just got all our memories back and now everything that made her, her is gone, packed into boxes to be placed away. I’m losing her again.” She choked out.

She was shaking, every inch of her. Peter pulled her into his embrace and as much as she reminded herself she didn't want this, she did. She missed him cradling her in his arms, reminding her when things were bad that they'd get through it together. But the thing is, she couldn't get over this and she wasn't sure she ever would.

His hand reached up, stroking her hair, something he knew she loved. He did this whenever she needed to relax and sometimes even helped her fall asleep. “We’ll get through this together.”

As the words left his mouth, she quickly detangled herself from him. While doing so, she caught the pained look on his face. As much as she wanted to be with him, she couldn't. “Peter….We can't be together.” The words barely reached his ears but they did and he wished they never left her mouth.

“Wh-what? Please don't do this..” He pleaded, reaching for her hands once more but she stepped back. There were tears streaming down both of their faces, eyes blood red from all the crying. Her hands wiped her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m not ready for this yet, for us.”

“Please don't say that, please.” He cried, moving towards her. This time she let him hold her. He held her like she was the most fragile thing in the world like he never wanted to let her go. “I’m sorry, it just hurts too much.” She whispered into his ear. He clung to her tighter, she relaxed into him.

Her hands tangled in his hair, hugging him closer as her tears stained his buttoned-down, navy blue shirt. “I need you,” Peter mumbled into her shoulder. And Michelle needed him more than she would ever admit.

Pulling back from his embrace, her hands trailed to either side of his face, bringing her forehead down against his. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips brushed against one another's. “You remind me of her in so many ways. She was a little you in every way.”

“With her mother’s personality.” He whispered, eyes now shut also. Michelle hummed in agreement. Everything felt so right here, being with him, holding him but that feeling didn't seem to override the dying feeling she felt when their daughter came to mind. She couldn't spend the rest of her life doing this, making him miserable because she couldn't let it her go. She refused.

“Peter, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Pressing her lips against his, they moved in sync with each other. It was like two missing puzzle pieces found their way back together, sadly these two had to separate again. After a moment more, she reluctantly pulled away, trying to catch her breath.

“Michelle,” she glanced at him, “how long?” Peter knew he wouldn't like the answer but he had to ask. He had to know how long he’d have to go without her in his life again. “Peter,” she breathed hard, running her thumbs against his cheeks gently. “I don't know if I ever will be. It could be months, years….”

He nodded, his heart being torn to shreds. “I’m gonna miss you.” He mumbled against her lips. “Parker, I'll always be thinking of you.” Pressing her lips against his more, she quickly pulled away and headed towards the door but stopped, glancing over her shoulder. He turned around, watching her.

“This isn't goodbye, this is simply see you later.” Without another word, she turned and disappeared down the hallway. Pain and regret followed close behind, along with Peter's heart. It didn't matter how far, how long or what universe they were in, they’d always love each other but in the end, was that ever enough?

“See you later.”

#spideychelle #peter parker #michelle jones #michelle #michelle mj jones #ff: smhc #sp:hc

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drunkenonmysofa · 7 years ago

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THE LAST CONVERSATION (A MICHAEL CLIFFORD IMAGINE)

+mobile masterlist

there’s a part one here but you dont have to read it to understand this.

summary: in which you run into the boys and have a heartbreaking conversation with your old best friend, michael.

requested?: hell yeaaaa

word count: 4,564 (my longest so far!! i got carried away lol)

warnings: this is angsty as hell get ready

To fall in love was an easy thing to do. It was gradual, a friendship slowly building up with passion and fire. Although it was easy get in, it was another thing to get out of love.

You were sure that you’ll get over him when you went to his wedding. Because then you’d get closure and go on with your life. You’d move on and love another person. Yet that doesn’t seem to be the case here.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nick asked, his eyebrows furrowing at your distant stare into what seemed like nothing. His words shook you out of your thoughts, so you send him a half-hearted smile and a reassuring nod.

“I’m okay. Just thinking.” You told your boyfriend, clutching his hand briefly so that he’d be more than content with your answer. Although he didn’t fully believe you, he forced himself to trust your answer. He knew you were keeping something from him, and if you kept your secret for so long, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He couldn’t lose you; he’s loved you for 8 months and he couldn’t necessarily just throw it all away.

You’ve been quiet for the past few days, contradicting the first seven months that you were so comfortable and loud whenever he’s around. Nick thought it was going okay—he thought you were doing great—but now it just seemed like an illusion. Your boyfriend’s so sure that the reason for your reserved self—and it’s that damned baby shower invitation that came into the mail a week ago.

“I’m going for a snack run, do you want anything?” You asked Nick, a soft but forced smile on your face as you put your sweater on. He asked for his favourite chips and kissed you goodbye as you exited your shared apartment.

You had to admit to yourself that you did truly like Nick. He had this comfort around him that you found rare these days, and he was one of the very few people who actually helped you move on from someone you used to love.

At least, you thought you were over him.

Almost a year ago, you attended the wedding of your old best friend. Though you initially thought it would help you move on and get closure, it only brought more pain. You still remembered how it felt to see him speak his vows to his bride, it was as if a dull knife was digging into your skin.

Michael Gordon Clifford. That name was still engraved into your being. You couldn’t carve it out—it seemed as if it was permanently etched onto your brain, your heart, your skin. He was everywhere.

Of course, Nick made his way into your heart. For the time being, at least. You kept promising yourself to break up with him, because it didn’t seem fair at all. But he was distracting you from Michael, and the alleviation was something you deemed you needed. Still, it was selfish, but your boyfriend didn’t seem to mind. If he did, he would’ve left long ago.

This type of behaviour was new. You were never like this, at least when you got into a relationship with Nick. It was like something had triggered your memories with Michael. And to be frank, something really did.

When the baby shower invitation first came into the mail, you didn’t mind it. Because it looked like an invitation from Nick’s coworker or friend, but when your boyfriend brought it up at dinner, you had to stop yourself from choking on the pasta. A name you haven’t heard for so long has left Nick’s lips, and made you a mess internally.

It wasn’t like you forgot Michael for the past 8 months, you just barely acknowledged him. After all, you can’t really forget someone who’s technically been in your whole life up until three years ago. He remained to show up in your Instagram feed from time to time, but you quickly scroll past the posts. You still couldn’t bring yourself to cut your all ties off, you felt as if you weren’t ready.

And, of course, there was the occasional text messages from Lauren, Michael’s wife, greeting you every few months. You concluded that Michael told her about the past years that you were inseparable, as well as the fact that you were a big part of his life although the friendship stayed platonic.

This thought led you wondering if Michael also told her that he confessed his love for you three years ago. And that you never told him that you reciprocated his feelings, not even trying to talk to him until nine months later in the middle of December, when you ran into Michael and his girlfriend-turned-wife. After a few minutes of painful, painful small talk, Lauren ended the conversation by asking for your number as they had to continue their holiday shopping. You gave them the number with no reluctance, and you swore you could see a glint in Michael’s eyes.

Although you didn’t know, the only thing on Michael’s mind at that moment was hurt. Because that’s why he couldn’t contact you anymore. You changed your number.

Michael didn’t text you at all. It was Lauren who frequented on reaching out to you even though the text messages popped out once in a blue moon. And when the wedding invitation came through the mail, you were more than surprised. Shocked, even. But that feeling didn’t even amount to when Lauren called you a few hours later to ask you to be a bridesmaid.

You didn’t want to go through with it at all. But Lauren was the bride, after all. She also told you that Michael gave her the greenlight, so you thought to yourself, why not? Of course, there were a lot of reasons why you shouldn’t go, but you blatantly ignored it and went anyway.

It didn’t end well, with you crying in the arms of Calum Hood, one of your closest friends. You rode a taxi on the way home earlier than usual as Calum texted you that he would cover for you in your absence.

You had hoped that the love you felt for Michael would fade in time, but that wasn’t the case here.

Being an undeniably nice person was sometimes the reason as to why you became a pushover. You never usually retorted back or said no to people who would get hurt by your rejection. It was one of the reasons why Nick was in your life, not that you regret anything, you just wished he would’ve come sooner (since you weren’t exactly over Michael yet), and it was one of the reasons why you went to Michael’s wedding.

Now, it’s one of the reasons why you’re at a supermarket, staring into the fridge of ice cream, deep in thought. Though you were trying to pick out a flavour of ice cream you’d like, your mind kept wandering off to Lauren’s baby shower.

“My manager has noticed you having trouble. Do you need any help?” Your head snapped to where you heard the voice. You noticed an employee giving you a kind smile.

The thoughts that were previously in your head was interrupted as you replied curtly. “No, thank you.” And with that, the employee left to tend to other customers.

The short exchange shook you out of your trance as your mind remembered the reason why you were here. So, unlike the past ten minutes, you actually start getting the snacks; vanilla ice cream, a few bags of chips, two six-packs of beer, and your comfort food.

As you turned to the candy aisle, you tried to find your favourite brand of gummy bears. When you noticed it, though, you frowned. There it was, in all it’s glory, on the highest rack. You couldn’t reach it because of your short height, but you still tried. Your fingers reached for the pack as you stood in your tippy toes, small groans emitting from your throat as the situation annoyed the hell out of you.

A hand took the pack of gummy bears from the rack for you, giving it as they chuckled. You sighed in relief, turning to him to give him thanks.

You were met with a mop the most familiar blonde hair, right above the face of an old friend. “You’re still into those?” He chuckled, gesturing to the candy in your basket. “You know those are bad for your teeth, Y/N. I told you a thousand times…” He trailed off.

A smile crept on your face. You recognized him as soon as you turned. “Shut up, Luke.” The reply brings a big grin on his features.

“You haven’t grown at all since I last saw you,” Luke refers to last year, when you spoke to him briefly at Michael’s wedding while simultaneously teasing you about your height. The mention of the wedding makes your smile falter a bit, yet he thankfully doesn’t notice. “But you’re still as beautiful. I’ll give you that, at least.”

The electric blue eyes of Luke Robert Hemmings still reminds you of the ocean even after you stopped talking. You weren’t one to talk to someone unless they approached you first—so when you distanced yourself from Michael, Luke and you got disconnected as well. Luke was never one to approach first, either. But when you do talk, it’s like you’ve known each other since birth, despite meeting him at 9th grade when he and Michael decided to be friends rather than enemies.

He, too, knows how you feel towards Michael. But he rarely acknowledges it, because, unlike Calum, he chose to not mention it as he knew that fact made you feel uncomfortable.

“Always so flirty, Hemmings.” You giggled, slightly blushing at his words.

“You know, the boys are waiting for me at Macca’s. Wanna come?” He inquired with a small smile on his face. “I could wait until you’ve finished paying for your stuff. I’m sure the other guys would want to catch up with you.”

You couldn’t say no, especially to the boys. Though you didn’t necessarily want to see Michael right now, you still missed them. It’s been a year since you saw them in person, so you couldn’t deny a simple hang out, even though it would probably last for only a few minutes.

Since the supermarket wasn’t so busy, you finished paying for your stuff earlier than usual. Your nerves were building up as seconds passed. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but for once in your life, you wanted a long line of people waiting their turn for the cashier, because then you wouldn’t be able to see Michael sooner.

“You alright, Y/N?” Luke questions from beside you, eyeing you with concern. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I’m fine,” You replied. “It’s just… I haven’t seen you guys in a while and I’m afraid that it’ll be weird.”

“You still talk to Calum, though, right? And it’s fine. They’ll be ecstatic to see you.” Luke said and put some of his own stuff (which was just a few bags of chips) into your basket so that he could pull out his phone. “Here, I’ll give them a heads up.” He types out a message to the boys’ groupchat, showing you the text he sent right after.

You sighed in defeat. “Yeah, whatever.” Luke chuckles at your less than unenthusiastic reply as you gave the basket of junk food to the cashier. “Also, yeah, me and Calum talk from time to time, but we never really meet up. He’s always busy producing music.”

“Did he tell you that he got a girlfriend? She’s English.”

“God, yes. It’s literally all he’s been talking about for the past few facetimes…”

The conversation flowed with Luke smoothly, it was as if you never stopped talking at all. It was weird, to be frank, but seeing him cheered you up and made you momentarily forget about your decision on whether or not you wanted to attend the baby shower.

Luke offered to carry all the paper bags that held all the junkfood and you reluctantly agreed, since he ignored all your rejections and repeatedly insisted that it’s the least he could do for not talking with you for a long time.

Your answers and replies got shorter as you neared the fast food chain. Luke noticed it, but decided against bringing it up, trying to make you laugh instead.

When you entered the boys’ line of sight, you’d imagine more of an awkward stare. You would wave politely at them as they waved back. But that wasn’t the case here.

As soon as Calum saw you, which was the second you walked into the restaurant, he jumped from his seat, running to you until he’s engulfed you into a hug. “Oh my God, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was in town.” He said, his voice muffled as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. You giggled at his abrupt greeting, hugging him back just as tight before you both let go. “You look as horrible as ever.” He joked, putting an arm around your shoulders as you playfully scowled at him, swatting his hand off of you.

Ashton was quick to come up to you too as soon as you were six feet away from the table they shared. He gave you a brief hug with a smile on his face. “It’s so good to see you, Y/N.” You said the same to him, an equally big smile on your face. Subconciously, your eyes drifted to the table.

And there he was. A black beanie was wrapped around his head with a few locks of his blonde hair sticking out messily. You haven’t seen him in person in such a long time, you actually got caught off guard at his appearance. His hair definitely got longer, he got a stubble, and he drfinitely looked mature. Though the features looked new—you were still struck with familiarity.

It was Michael Clifford, after all. You couldn’t forget him if you tried.

In an attempt to avoid an awkward conversation, you try and strike up small talk with the other three boys. Though it was cut short as Michael stood up from the table and approached you, a small smile on his ever so familiar pink lips.

“Hey,” He gently tugged on the end of your hair, averting your attention to him. It takes you a few seconds to collect yourself because you feel the nostalgic aching in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long period of time. Michael noticed your hesitance, but mistakes it for confusion. “What, no hugs for Mikey?”

The teasing question catches you off guard, but despite the nagging in the back of your head telling you that this was a mistake, you laughed. It’s somewhat fake—but Michael doesn’t need to know. “You haven’t changed, haven’t you?” The words left your lips in a happy tone, but it felt like venom in your mouth. He changed—he definitely did, but maybe, maybe if you keep telling yourself that he didn’t then it would come true.

“You know I haven’t.” Michael smiled, engulfing you in a big hug. It takes you by surprise, but you barely hesitate to hug back. He was always big on physical affection. There wasn’t a time when Michael didn’t hug you at least once when you frequented hanging out. It was one of your favourite things about him.

Unlike the embrace you shared at his wedding a few months back, the hug was long and tight; as if it was something you both longed for. And in a way, it was.

“You’re squeezing me,” You joked, a smile, a genuine smile creeping on your face. Michael released you with a slight chuckle.

You don’t know why this is more comfortable than your encounter back at the wedding. You’re uncertain if it’s because of Lauren’s absence or the boys’ presence, but you know one thing’s for sure.

It’s not as hard to pretend that nothing’s wrong compared to a long time ago.

Next thing you know, you’re all squeezed into one booth, eating unhealthy food like you did back in high school. The guys were telling you stories about the recent events in their lives, words smoothly flowing as the air seemed lighter and happier. For once in a long time, you don’t feel regret.

“How about you, Y/N?” Luke asked, a grin forming on his face. “Any special people?” He wiggled his eyebrows, earning a small laugh from you.

The brief mention of Nick in the presence of someone you loved—and still love—for the past few years makes you squirm in your seat, though it looks like they didn’t notice. It takes you a few seconds to answet him. “Yeah… his name’s Nick.”

In less than an hour, the conversation abruptly ends with a phone call from your boyfriend. He tells you to come home since it’s about to be rush hour and you hastily agreed. “Leaving so soon?” Calum speaks up right after you end your call with your boyfriend, a sad smile on his face, knowing full well that it’ll be a long time until you see each other again.

“Yeah, m'sorry.” You pouted, standing up from the table as Calum follows suit. “Call soon, okay?” The phrase was a goodbye that both of you used often, a habit that you never seemed to outgrow. You never did like goodbyes, anyways.

After your hug with Calum, the other two boys wave you off with big smiles on their faces as they wished you a safe ride home. Michael, though, also stood up. “I’ll walk you to your car.” He stated, taking the bag of snacks from your arms.

Since the mall wasn’t that big, you were in the car park in a matter of five minutes. The walk wasn’t uncomfortable—just silent. It seemed as if Michael didn’t know what to say and vice versa. Though, as you approached closer to your car, Michael starts a conversation that you would later lose sleep over.

“Y/N,” The blonde said, making you snap your gaze towards him. “What happened?”

His question catches you off guard. You don’t exactly know what he’s talking about, but you have a general idea. “Hm?” With eyebrows raised, you looked at him in confusion.

“It’s been almost three years.” Michael stared in front of him, trying to avoid your stare. “I told you I loved you then you left. Just like that.”

The mention of the unspeakable event makes you shudder. Your gaze drops to your shoes in guilt. It’s hard to say anything. You couldn’t muster up even a simple apology to him as the familiar aching in your chest returns.

Michael noticed your silence, so he keeps talking. “I tried so fucking hard to talk to you, Y/N.” His words are like daggers in your chest. “But you tried to avoid me like I was the plague. You even changed your number. At one point you blocked me out of everything.” Michael’s voice cracks, and even though you’re not looking at him, you know he’s struggling to fight the tears just as you are. “If it wasn’t for us bumping into each other then you wouldn’t even unblock me.”

“Car,” You told him, not bothering to look at him as you entered the driver’s seat and he enters the passenger’s. If the tension in the air wasn’t thick, it sure was now. It was almost as if you could cut a knife through it. You remained quiet after you said the word.

“I just…” He sniffled. You felt your heart break iinto a million pieces as tears brimmed your eyes. “I just want to know why.”

“I… I’m not sure—” You muttered under your breath but it was loud enough for him to hear.

“Don’t,” Michael said, his voice turning stern. “I deserve an explanation rather than an ‘I’m not sure’.” The phrase angered him, but still, the hurt remained. His gaze burns into the side of your skull.

“I was scared, Michael!” You exclaimed, hot tears running down your cheeks. Michael’s breath hitches at the tone of your voice but his stare on you stays fixed. Though, your eyes keep their hold on the empty car park in front of you, trying their best to avoid him. Your voice becomes softer. “I was scared that one day, you’d wake up and not love me anymore. I can’t live with that.”

“Then you should be dead by now.” Michael muttered, making you avert your eyes toward him. His gaze falls back onto the scene in front of him as you caught his bloodshot eyes. “I spent so many days wondering what could’ve been if you loved me.”

“But I did love you.”

“Did you love me when you left without a word?” Michael’s tone sounds defeated. “Did you love me when you ended our friendship?”

“Michael…”

“Did you love me when I said I loved you?” Michael sighed, resting his head against the window beside him. You’re trembling, out of guilt, sadness, and anger towards yourself. You can’t stand to see him like this, and the fact that you induced it made you hate yourself even more.

“I love you, Michael. I still do…. I don’t think anything would ever stop that.” You said weakly as you tore your gaze off him. “I’m sorry.”

“I loved you, Y/N. For the longest time.” Michael paused. “Then I realized that this is the way it should be.”

You don’t say anything, but the whimpers escaping your lips says a thousand words.

“We didn’t have the right timing, did we?” He joked and chuckled lightly, but there was no humour in the situation. “You want to know something?” There was no words from you, but a glance told him that you did. “I don’t regret anything. I don’t regret falling in love with you, Y/N.”

A relieved laugh escaped from your lips out of sudden happiness, but the tears are still streaming down your face. “I don’t regret falling in love with you either.”

Michael figets with the gold band on his ring finger. “Back when we were seventeen, do you remember when you were confined because of the car crash?” You slowly nod, wiping away the tears on your face. “I was the first person that saw you wake up since the accident. I felt like the luckiest man on the planet.” Michael grinned softly at the memory, the tears now stopped. “Then you gave me the happiest smile. That’s the first time I knew I loved you.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” You quietly said. “But… are you happy?”

“The happiest I’ve ever been.” Michael smiled. “Are you?”

“To be honest?” You let out a dry laugh. “I don’t know.”

His hand makes it’s was to your upper arm, a familiar gesture of comfort that you had both adapted. You don’t feel butterflies and it doesn’t seem romantic, but you find a snippet of home and belonging in his simple touch. Despite the growing distance between you. “The world is not that big of a shitshow.”

“Wait for it.” You joked, giving Michael a small grin. He released your arm and puts down the bag on the floor of the passenger’s seat.

Michael sniffs. “Take care, okay?” And before you could even reply, he’s out the door, walking away with his back facing you. You don’t know for sure, but it looked like he was wiping his face as he walked.

With a burst of confidence and desperation, you get out of the car and run after him, the tapping of your shoes against the floor echoing in the slightest. He doesn’t notice you at first, but he does when you hug him from behind. The waterworks start again. “Michael, don’t leave, please. Please,” You whimpered. “Choose me, please.”

You could feel the beat of his heart as you hugged him. It was fast as his labored breaths. “I love her.” His words break your heart. “You have to let me go.” Your arms are pried off him and he breaks free from your hold. He turned around with new tears falling onto his rosy cheeks.

“We can’t end like this.”

“We never even started, Y/N.” Michael shook his head in disappointment. “Look at me,” He cups your cheeks in his warm hands, making you fix your eyes on his. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“Michael—”

He cuts off your stubbornness. “Promise.”

“… I promise.” You hesitantly said. As soon as the two words leave your lips, Michael engulfs you in his arms once again as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “I guess this is goodbye, isn’t it?” You whispered. Michael lets go of you and nods slowly. “Take care, Michael Clifford.”

“Keep your promise, Y/N Y/L/N.” And he leaves. He never really liked goodbyes as well.

The ride on the way home is quiet, apart from the faint music coming from your car radio. The tears on your cheeks had dried because of the air conditioning, and surprisingly, you don’t find yourself crying. When you enter your apartment, Nick’s already asleep on the couch as the TV plays a football game. Despite feeling sleepless, you go to your bedroom and nestle yourself under the sheets.

You don’t sleep for a few hours, replaying the conversation in your head over and over again. You kept going through what you should’ve said that could make him stay, but you realize it’s too late now.

Your thoughts wander to the baby shower. In a haste, you pull out your phone text Lauren an apology because you decided to not go. You didn’t know how you’d react to Lauren and her baby bump, but theres a high chance that it would break you.

It was going to be a long process, but you had to get over Michael. You had to face your fears this time in order to take care of yourself. Going over what you should do, you concluded that you shouldn’t be in a relationship with Nick if you only considered him a distraction. But you decide to do it in the morning instead.

Maybe, in a few years’ time, you’d meet the love of your life and start a family with him. And if he asked about the people you fell in love with, you’d tell the story of you and Michael. Perhaps you’d do it without hesitance and with a smile on your face, because even though he’s the one that got away, he would still be the greatest what if in your life.

But now, as you’re huddled under the duvet and you’re losing sleep over him, you tell yourself to keep his promise. No matter how hard it is. Even if it takes two hours of crying or three tubs of ice cream or morning jogs. You will take care of yourself.

And you can’t wait until the familiar green eyes start to remind you of beautiful trees instead of heartbreak.

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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When scientists offer mice a spread of junk food, they consistently find that only some overeat and puff out into little rodent blimps, while others maintain a normal body size.

A similar thing happens in people. In the US, and around the world, we are now overwhelmed with highly palatable, cheap calories. This has helped obesity rates soar on average. But not everyone overeats and becomes overweight, and not everyone who becomes overweight or obese develops illnesses like diabetes or heart disease. This individual variation — why we have different responses to extra calories and weight — is one of the greatest mysteries of modern medicine.

The best place to find answers is an 11-by-11.5-foot room in suburban Washington, DC. This summer, I spent a day there, one of fewer than 100 patients who will do so this year.

The National Institutes of Health Clinical Center’s airtight “metabolic chamber” is furnished only with an exercise bike, a toilet, and a bed. For 23 hours in June, I was sealed in the chamber, while nurses monitored me constantly through a plexiglass window and video camera in the ceiling.

Like a prisoner in solitary confinement, I ate meals delivered through a small, air-locked opening in the wall. Since researchers were measuring every calorie I used, any leftover scrap had to be sent back through the wall and recorded. A heart monitor and three accelerometers on my wrist, waist, and ankle tracked my every heartbeat and movement.

Inside the metabolic chamber at the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. The chamber has a “clean” airlock portal where subjects receive their meals, and a “dirty” one where they can pass back any leftovers. Christina Animashaun/Vox

There are only about 30 metabolic chambers in the world, and the NIH is home to three. These highly sensitive, multimillion-dollar scientific instruments are considered the gold standard for measuring metabolism. It’s furthered our understanding of obesity, metabolic syndrome, and diabetes — diseases that are now among the greatest threats to health worldwide — by letting researchers carefully track how individual bodies respond to the calories they’re offered.

My participation, as a normal weight “control” subject in an obesity phenotyping study, would be used toward this lofty goal.

But I wasn’t interested in joining the study just for the sake of science; I had selfish motivations too. As kids, my two brothers and many of my friends seemed to be able to binge on junk food without gaining weight. Today, my husband can gulp down mountains of pasta and remain skinny. I, on the other hand, have always noticed the scale creeps up quickly when I’m not careful about my diet. And I’ve harbored a suspicion that a “slow metabolism” might help explain my lifelong struggle to control my weight.

Being a self-imposed NIH prisoner was an exciting and rare opportunity — to see one of the most important scientific tools in obesity research up close and to finally get some answers on this long-simmering question about my body.

But my day in the chamber opened my eyes to how much I got wrong about metabolism, and how distracting and destructive the metabolism focus is for how we think about obesity and weight management.

If you’ve surveyed the covers of women’s magazines, watched Dr. Oz’s TV show, or strolled down the supplement aisle at the grocery store, you might think your metabolism is a single thing that can be calibrated with “metabolism boosters” like chili peppers or coffee, or by following special diets.

In reality, metabolism is the thousands of chemical reactions that turn the energy we eat and drink into fuel in every cell of the body. These reactions change in response to our environments and behaviors, and in ways we have little control over. (Eating certain foods and exercising a little more generally shifts our metabolic rate only marginally.)

Julia Belluz/Vox

There are three main ways the body uses calories. There’s the energy needed to keep our hearts, brains, and every cell of our body working, known as the basal metabolism. There’s the energy used to break down food, known as the thermic effect of food. And there’s the energy burned off during physical activity — like walking around, fidgeting, or exercising.

The basal metabolic rate accounts for the largest amount of the total calories a person burns each day (65 to 80 percent for most adults). Physical activity, on the other hand, accounts for a much smaller portion — 10 to 30 percent for most people — despite what many people believe. And digesting food accounts for about 10 percent.

There are several predictors of how fast or slow a person’s metabolic rate will be. These include the amount of lean muscle and fat tissue in the body, age, and genetics. Women tend to burn fewer calories than men. Counterintuitively, heavier people generally have a higher metabolic rate than skinny folks to meet the fuel demands of their larger bodies.

These processes, essential to any living organism, are complex, and scientists had been working to unravel them for centuries before the obesity crisis hit.

An engraving of Santorio Sanctorius, a 17th-century doctor and scientist, sitting in his “static weighing chair.” SSPL/Getty Images

In the early 1600s, Santorio Sanctorius, an Italian doctor and “founding father of metabolic balance studies,” ran one of the first controlled experiments of human metabolism. He invented the “static weighing chair,” a device that allowed him to weigh himself before and after meals, sleep, toilet breaks, even sex. He noticed fluctuations in his bodyweight, and concluded these could be explained by “insensible perspiration.”

One hundred years after that, French chemist Antoine Lavoisier used a device called an “ice calorimeter” to gauge the energy burn from animals —like guinea pigs — in cages by watching how quickly ice or snow around the cages melted. This research suggested that the heat and gases respired by animals, including humans, related to the energy they burn.

The “metabolic chamber” I entered evolved from Sanctorius and Lavoisier’s work. Over the years, researchers probing the mysteries of the metabolism figured out that the amount of oxygen we take in, and carbon dioxide we let off, changes depending on how quickly we’re using calories and the type of calories we’re using. Measuring these gases in airtight environments can determine a person’s metabolic rate.

The metabolic chamber — also known as a whole-room calorimeter — is the most precise tool available to track this gas exchange minute by minute.

NIH’s three chambers opened in 2007 to focus on the growing obesity epidemic. Eighteen researchers now use the rooms to run about 400 studies every year. And they are part of a broader “metabolic unit” dedicated to understanding the weight problems, obesity, and diabetes that currently affect up to a third of the people on earth.

A hallway leading to the chamber. Through an array of metal pipes spread on the chamber’s ceiling, researchers capture and measure oxygen consumption and CO2 production. Christina Animashaun/Vox

Studying thousands of subjects in the metabolic unit — the chambers plus NIH hospital wings for patients with diabetes and obesity — has helped researchers show how adaptable the metabolism is, and how it works with our appetite, body composition, and physical activity levels to adjust the calories we’re burning at any moment.

For example, by giving people a medication that causes them to lose (through their urine) an extra 360 calories per day, they’ve shown that we unknowingly compensate for those calories lost by eating more.

They’ve found that exposing people to cold temperatures while they sleep causes them to accumulate more brown fat — fat tissue whose main function is heat production — and burn more calories. (These results reversed completely when the study participants slept in warmer temperatures again, revealing how dynamic metabolism is.)

In a remarkable study of Biggest Loser reality TV show participants with obesity, researchers showed that crash dieting can permanently slow a person’s metabolic rate, leading them to hang on to the calories they were eating for longer.

The big theme in many of these studies: Our metabolism silently shifts under new conditions and environments in ways we’re not usually aware of.

When it comes to diets, the researchers have also debunked the notion that bodies burn more body fat while on a high-fat and low-carb ketogenic diet, compared to a higher-carb diet, despite all the hype.

“We could have found out that if we cut carbs, we’d lose way more fat because energy expenditure would go up and fat oxidation would go up,” said Kevin Hall, an obesity researcher at NIH and an author on many of these studies. “But the body is really good at adapting to the fuels coming in.” Another related takeaway: There appears to be no silver bullet diet for fat loss, at least not yet.

Many basic metabolism mysteries remain. It’s not fully known why two people with the same size and body composition have different metabolic rates. They also don’t know why people can have different metabolic responses to weight gain (where some people with obesity develop insulin resistance and diabetes, for example, and others don’t). They don’t know why certain ethnic groups — African Americans, South Asians — have a higher risk of developing metabolic disorders like diabetes, and why people with diabetes have a higher cardiovascular disease risk.

They haven’t even figured out how the brain knows what the body weighs and, therefore, the mechanism that controls our metabolic rate.

“If I knew how the brain is aware of how much the body weighs, and how to regulate how many calories it burned off, I could change that setting and help an overweight person burn more calories through an increase in metabolic rate,” NIH metabolism and brown fat researcher Aaron Cypess told me over the phone before my stay.

Cypess is using the chambers to work toward that, and figure out whether there might be a drug that can do what very cold temperatures do: help people burn more calories. These and other studies in the chamber are a gold mine for data on the metabolism’s mysteries — data that could eventually help uncover cures for obesity and diabetes.

For my part in the research, I’d undergo a battery of physical tests — from blood draws to an EKG — and spend a day and night in the chamber. In addition to watching how much I moved and what I ate, the scientists would get a reading on precisely how many calories I burned and what type (carbohydrates, fat, or protein), every minute of the 23 hours I called the chamber home. I’d also have my metabolic rate checked using two other methods (the “metabolic cart” and “doubly labeled water”; more on these later).

In return, I’d get more granular data about how my body works than I ever could’ve hoped for. And that made me anxious.

Christina Animashaun/Vox

At age 34 and 5-foot-9, my weight hovers in the 150s, and my BMI is normal. But even as a child, I was chubby and seemed to enjoy sugary and fatty foods more than other members of my family. During my late teens and 20s, I struggled to manage my weight and was at times overweight — a situation that worsened at the end of high school. I moved to Italy and indulged in all the pizza, ice cream, and mozzarella my little town in Abruzzo had to offer. Like a research mouse, I puffed out and returned to Canada the following year depressed about my body. It took several years to really start the process of slimming down.

I’d long believed these fat years somehow wreaked havoc on my body. Specifically, I thought they slowed down my metabolic rate, and that that made me prone to weight gain. But I was about to learn this idea I’d held on to for so long was wrong.

Halfway through my morning in the metabolic chamber, I had eaten and rested at prescribed intervals, and hit the exercise bike for 30 minutes. I also meticulously recorded all my activities in a log — when I was standing and reading, lying down, on the bike — so that the researchers could compare how they tracked against my calorie burn.

Just before lunch arrived, Kong Chen, a metabolism investigator at NIH’s National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases, turned up on the other side of my plexiglass window to say hello.

“How are you doing in there?” he asked.

I was surprisingly comfortable in the little room, I told him, and asked if he could walk me through precisely how the chamber does the work of measuring the metabolism.

Chen, who has a PhD in biomedical engineering, explained that the room I was standing in was almost airtight, with a fixed volume of oxygen and CO2. Through an array of metal pipes spread across the ceiling, researchers captured and measured the oxygen I consumed and the CO2 I produced at every minute.

The reason these gasses matter for metabolism is simple, Chen said. We get fuel in the form of calories — from carbohydrates, fat, and protein. But to unlock those calories, the body needs oxygen. When we breathe in, oxygen interacts with the food we’ve consumed, breaking down (or oxidizing) chemical bonds where the calories are stored and releasing them for use by our cells. The product of the process is CO2 (and water, in the form of perspiration).

When air is sucked out of the chamber through the pipes, two things happen: First, gas analyzers measure everything the person inside respired, Chen said. Then the gas analyzers send the values for oxygen consumption and CO2 production to a computer, where researchers like Chen plug them into equations to calculate calories burned and what type of fuel was oxidized.

The amount of CO2 we’re releasing, and the proportions of CO2 to O2, changes depending on how many calories we’re using and whether those calories came from carbs, fat, or protein.

The reason these minute-to-minute measurements are so important is that they allow the chamber to detect subtle shifts of energy expenditure — as little as a 1.5 to 2 percent change over 24 hours — in a way no other tool can. “If you have an intervention — a drug or diet — that changes a person’s physiology by a small percentage, we can measure that,” Chen said proudly.

Kong Chen, a metabolism investigator at NIH’s National Institute of Diabetes and Digestive and Kidney Diseases, speaking to me before my “metabolic cart” test, in a hospital room outside of the chamber. Christina Animashaun/Vox

The next best metabolism measuring method, called doubly labeled water, involves drinking a sample of water that contains (or is “labeled with”) forms of the elements deuterium and oxygen-18. Since they’re not normally found in the body, researchers can determine a person’s metabolic rate by tracking how quickly they’re expelled through urine sampling. But doubly labeled water can only detect a 5 percent change in metabolic rate over seven to 10 days, more than double what the metabolic chamber can see.

These tiny changes in calorie burn might sound insignificant, but over time, they add up. “Ultimately,” Chen said, “it only takes maybe 150 calories per day difference between food and energy expenditure to make that 2 pounds a year difference of weight gain and loss.”

I asked Chen whether he’d ever used the chamber himself. He told me he was his own first subject, part of an early validation study. What did he learn, and did it change his behavior?

“I found myself to be fairly normal in terms of metabolic rate, which is good and bad I suppose,” he said. “Good because I’m metabolically normal. But it also means that I’m probably just as at risk to anyone else to gaining weight if I’m not watching it. So I’m not one of those people that can eat all they want and not gain weight.”

After Chen’s visit, the rest of my day in isolation whirred by with several more rest periods, exercise bursts, and meals. I went to bed that night thinking about Chen’s results and wondering what the chamber would reveal about me.

The next morning, I woke up groggy from six hours of light sleep. I was eager to open the heavy steel door and get into fresh air.

But the experiment wasn’t over. A “metabolic cart” — which looked like a computer on rollers connected to a tube and a plastic hood — arrived to measure my resting energy expenditure, or my metabolic rate, before eating anything. So I lay in a hospital bed as a technician fitted the clear domed hood over my head while the machine captured the CO2 I respired.

A technician measures my resting energy expenditure with a “metabolic cart” right after I wake up. Christina Animashaun/Vox

On my way out of the hospital, I said goodbye to Chen and thanked the nurses who had cared for me. They reminded me to collect urine samples every day for a week so they’d get a final measure of my metabolism, using the doubly labeled water method. I’d also continue wearing the three accelerometers. Together, this data would give the researchers a sense of my average daily calorie burn as a “free-living subject,” outside the hospital.

A few weeks later, I called Kevin Hall to go over my results. What most surprised me: There was a pretty wide gap between how healthy I was and how unhealthy I expected I’d be.

“[The results] suggest you’re perfectly normal,” Hall said. My metabolic rate was what he’d have predicted for someone my age, height, sex, and weight. In other words, I didn’t have a “slow metabolism.” I had burned the equivalent of 2,330 calories per day in the chamber, including during sleep, and most of those calories (more than 1,400) were from my resting energy expenditure. My biomarkers — my heart rate, cholesterol levels, blood pressure — were all excellent, suggesting no heightened disease risk leftover from my overweight years.

There were other revealing takeaways. Staying awake cost my body only a few more calories than sleeping, which didn’t surprise Hall. “We know the sleeping metabolic rate is about 5 percent less than resting metabolic rate when you’re awake,” he explained.

What’s more, the 405 calories I burned during 90 minutes on the exercise bike was both less than is advertised in spinning classes and just 17 percent of the total calories I had used, validating once again that workouts typically account for a relatively minor part of total energy expenditure.

Even during sleep, my body was busy. “This goes into the question of, ‘Does your brain’s energy expenditure go up when you’re doing a hard math problem compared to when you’re zoning out watching TV?’ And everyone who has measured that has said ‘no’ — it’s a fixed amount, and your brain is not inactive at any point in time,” Hall said.

Christina Animashaun/Vox

As for the “calories in” part: I consumed about 1,850 calories (including 18 percent protein, 36 percent fat, and 46 percent carbs) of the 2,250 calories provided to me. That means I was in an energy deficit, and if I continued eating that much, I’d lose weight.

I also found out that I’m bad at estimating my calorie consumption. During my chamber stay, I told a nutritionist what I’d eaten the day before and filled in a survey of my food consumption over the past year. Based on that, she’d calculated I was eating only 1,500 to 2,000 calories per day. I thought I was being incredibly thorough and generous in my accounting, but if this was really all I ate, I’d be thinner than I am.

The results of these food surveys made me wonder how many of us blame some aspect of our biology for weight gain when we’re really just underestimating our calorie intake, forgetting all the little extras we eat and drink that can add up to pounds over the years. It seems I had too.

I asked Hall if there were any other potential explanations for why I felt I gained weight so easily. He told me NIH does other studies that could answer that. If he had tracked my metabolism before I had lost weight earlier in life, he’d be able to detect any slowdown in response to slimming. Or if I participated in an “overfeeding study” — where I was deliberately fed more calories than my body required — he might see that my metabolic rate doesn’t ramp up to compensate for the extra calories, which happens for some people.

But we didn’t have that data, and according to what he could see, I was in perfect health.

I hung up the phone and reflected on the chamber experience — and my quest to better understand my body.

Spending time at NIH reminded me that our epidemic of weight problems, in addition to damaging our physical health, has left in its wake an epidemic of psychological scars — even in those who, like me, manage to lose weight.

I was genuinely surprised, and somewhat relieved, when nurses and doctors kept referring to my biomarkers as “excellent” and to me as “very fit.” Even though I know my bodyweight is in a healthy range, I still feel like a chubby kid.

And you don’t need a history of weight problems to experience these feelings of inadequacy. Celebrities and big businesses — like Goop and Dr. Oz and many of the supplement, wellness, and exercise companies out there — have minted billions off stoking our anxieties about our physical shortcomings. If we only tried a new exercise, bought a new gizmo, or ate a certain way, they suggest, we’d be slimmer, glowier, healthier.

Yet the truth of the metabolic chamber is that there’s a lot of variation in how people respond to diets and exercises, and so far, no single approach has worked to help everybody. That’s why so much of the one-size-fits-all weight loss advice we’re steeped in is so frustrating and futile for so many.

The chamber has also shown that a “slow metabolism” isn’t a major cause of obesity, despite the focus on “metabolism boosting” for weight loss in the popular health discourse.

If I look back at what helped me lose weight, there was never a magic bullet — a special diet, exercise regimen, or supplement — that worked. Through plodding trial and error, I discovered habits and routines I could stick with to help me eat less and move more.

Christina Animashaun/Vox

I don’t keep junk food in the house, I avoid eating out a lot, I prioritize sleep, and I try to fill my plates with fruits and vegetables. As for exercise, I build it into my daily life — walking or biking to work, or during lunch breaks. And I’ve found mornings and weekends best for dedicated workouts (yoga, running, swimming, spinning, Pilates, etc.).

These routines are a work in progress, and I know that my ability to maintain them is strongly tied to my socioeconomic status and where I live. If I had more personal or financial stress, or lived in a different neighborhood with a long commute to work, I’d probably sleep less and eat more. I certainly wouldn’t be doing Pilates.

Research from the chamber won’t alleviate these socioeconomic drivers of obesity. But a better understanding of human physiology and metabolism — with the help of the chamber — might level the playing field through the discovery of effective treatments. As Lex Kravitz, an NIH neuroscientist and obesity researcher, told me, “Even if a slow metabolism isn’t the reason people become obese, it may still be a place to intervene for weight loss.” The same goes for the other common illnesses — diabetes, cardiovascular disease — linked to extra weight.

More immediately, science from the chamber should debunk our metabolism myths. It certainly debunked mine.

For more information about how to join a study at NIH, check out this link on patient recruitment or contact the NIH Clinical Center Office of Patient Recruitment at 1-800-411-1222 or [email protected].

Editor: Eliza Barclay Copy editor: Tanya Pai

Original Source -> The myth of the slow metabolism

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