#and then later took back the admitting to being a poser because i do actually go to punk shows so 😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helloalycia · 3 years ago

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⇇ chapter six ⇇

story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad

⇉ chapter eight ⇉

author’s note: another day another update! hope you all like this one. calm before the storm… maybe? 👀

Almost five hours later, Nat and I finally reached our hotel in Edinburgh and were exhausted to say the least. Turns out sitting in a car doing nothing can make you tired, so we were craving the comfort of our hotel room.

Yelena was already there, having arrived earlier today, so that's who I heard when Nat unlocked the door and I was not far behind her, rolling my suitcase behind me.

"There you are! You took forever!"

I followed behind Nat, entering the room, and saw Yelena stood in the middle, looking to her sister impatiently.

"That was my bad, I kept needing toilet breaks towards the end," I admitted with an apologetic smile.

"Y/N!" she grinned, before rushing up to me to pull me into a hug.

I smiled widely and returned the hug, missing her more than I'd realised. We'd become closer since I left her to move to Yorkshire, having caught each other up regularly over the phone, so this meet-up was long overdue.

"It's been too long," she said when we pulled away.

"It has," I agreed, patting her on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, Yelena. It's really good to see you."

"Me, too," she was saying as Nat was closing the door behind us. "Especially because I don't think I can take meeting Natasha's besties by myself."

I resisted the urge to laugh as I glanced over at the redhead herself, seeing the way she rolled her eyes at her sister's comment.

"It'll be fun, they seem really nice," I told Yelena, thinking back to the brief moment I spoke to Wanda. "Be good, Belova."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

After getting reacquainted with each other for a long time after that, catching up on everything we'd missed in each other's lives, Nat and I were too tired to stay up any longer and wanted to call it a night.

There were two beds in the room – one double bed and a single bed – so Yelena and Nat took to share the double bed whilst I got the single bed, immediately collapsing under the covers as soon as my head hit the pillow.

When I woke up the next morning, I sat up with a yawn and looked over to the other bed to see Nat still sleeping, red hair sprawled across her pillow. With half open eyes, I looked around and saw Yelena sat on the couch on the other side of the room, a menu in her hand.

"Good morning," I said as I joined her, falling into the cushions beside her and pulling my legs up, still half asleep.

She smiled up at me before continuing to peruse the breakfast menu. "Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Pretty good, actually," I realised. "And thankfully, neither of you snore, so decent overall. How about you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine until Natasha decided to kick me in my sleep. She's so lucky I didn't suffocate her..."

I chuckled quietly. "She must still be superhero-ing in her dreams."

Yelena snorted with amusement. "God, that's funny. But not funnier than that move she does where she–"

"Where she bends down on both legs, foot pointed out?" I finished with an urge to laugh. "I've seen it on TV. Never fails to impress."

Yelena laughed quietly. "Such a poser. I'm telling you now, I never would have thought she'd be so obsessed with herself."

"Hey, that's not fair," I chided lightly. "She's just... being the person she had to be."

Yelena quirked a brow. "Are you seriously telling me that she wasn't an overdramatic know-it-all when you grew up with her?"

I shrugged, leaning back into the couch. "I mean, okay, maybe a little..." I thought back to the times when she'd always correct me in training, or when she'd tease me for getting something wrong when we'd study together. "No, yeah, she's definitely a know-it-all."

"Knew it."

I rolled my eyes playfully, nudging Yelena in the side. "Be nice. She's still your sister."

"Exactly," she agreed, looking back to the menu. "And my job is to make fun of her. And that's what I'm doing."

I tried not to smile, but it was entertaining watching Yelena do just that. Nat had missed her so much... I was glad she'd finally got her back. Yelena was worth all the trouble.

"I'm thinking of getting the scrambled eggs with avocado on toast," she said, pointing to a particular order on the menu. "How about you?"

I took a look over and decided on a poached egg with toast, before we took the initiative to order Nat some pancakes and put the menu away. Yelena then asked me some more questions about what it was like growing up with Nat, and though it felt strange reliving it all, I told her as much as I could remember.

We were stuck between making fun of childhood Natalia and superhero Natalia, leaving us in a fit of giggles on the couch.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Nat's voice came from behind us, and we silenced our giggles as we turned around to see her approaching us.

"Not at all," Yelena assured her, but not before exchanging amused smiles with me.

That girl was gonna get us both slapped, that was for sure.

Nat quirked a brow, trying to figure out what we were hiding, so I changed the subject before Yelena said something more to annoy her.

"We ordered you pancakes for breakfast by the way," I said, earning her attention. "Blueberry, with syrup. Should be up soon."

Nat hummed, glancing at her sister once more, before nodding. "Thanks... I'm gonna go use the bathroom."

Yelena shot out of her seat at this. "I'm going first!"

Nat widened her eyes and chased after Yelena, who had already began running to the bathroom door.

"Yelena, you've been awake for ages!" she shouted once Yelena slammed the bathroom door in her face. "Let me go in!"

"You snooze, you lose!" Yelena sang mockingly from the other side, and I covered my mouth with my hands so Nat wouldn't see me hiding my laughter.

"I really hate having a sister," Nat mumbled, looking to me with annoyance.

I shook my head, smiling widely. "No, you don't."

She sat beside me on the couch, crossing her arms with defeat because she knew I was right.

————————

After getting ready and avoiding World War 3 between Nat and Yelena, we all headed over to visit Wanda and Vision's apartment in the city. The plan was to stay over at theirs today, meet them properly (and catch up for Nat), then go and see the sights altogether tomorrow, before heading back home on the Monday after.

I would have been more nervous if it was just me meeting Wanda and Vision for the first time, but Yelena was here, too and she made everything a lot easier than it needed to be, so I wasn't as awkward as I thought I'd be when Wanda opened the door and immediately pulled Nat into a hug.

"I missed you, Nat," Wanda mumbled as she let go.

"I missed you, too, Wanda," Nat returned with a small smile, squeezing her hand before letting go.

Wanda smiled softly before looking behind Nat and to Yelena and I. Her smile widened and she approached us excitedly.

"It's so great to finally meet you both," she said. "I'm Wanda Maximoff. I–" She cleared her throat, smile faltering slightly. "I worked with Nat. Not so much anymore, obviously...”

"I'm Y/N," I introduced myself, returning her smile. "I used to work with her, too actually..." Hopefully Nat had told her exactly what I meant by that, since I wasn't particularly keen on delving into it myself. "Thank you for having us over, Wanda."

"Nat's family is always welcome here," she said sincerely.

I wasn't too sure if I could be considered her family, but I didn't correct her out of politeness.

"I'm Yelena," the blonde next to me introduced herself. "Her sister."

"Ah, the infamous Yelena Belova." Wanda's green eyes darted to Yelena. "It's a pleasure to meet Natasha's little sister."

Yelena seemed surprised. "She mentioned me?"

Nat was currently talking to Vision, Wanda's boyfriend who didn't look very human, in the kitchen, so completely missed the way Yelena was staring at her like a child looking at a puppy.

"She did," Wanda said, seeing the same look I did and smiling warmly at the sight. "Only to those she really trusted. I guess I was lucky I was one of those people."

Yelena smiled to herself, looking down, and I rested my hand on her back to let her know I was there for her.

"Please, come in, I'll introduce you to my– well, Vision," Wanda said, and I gently nudged Yelena forward so she zoned back into reality and followed Wanda into the kitchen.

After being introduced to Vision, who was just as lovely as Wanda was, the five of us took to the living room where Wanda was serving us tea, coffee and finger foods with her telekinetic abilities. I was amazed, I wouldn't lie, never getting used to the way she'd flick her hand and a hint of red would come through, doing exactly as she wanted without moving an inch.

The conversation started off as a group one at first, mainly Yelena and I sitting back as Nat had a well-needed catch up with her friends. Then both sisters started helping themselves around Wanda and Vision's apartment out of curiosity, leaving me to get to know them better.

It was here that I learned about Wanda actually being Sokovian and only using an America accent to blend in, courtesy of Nat's help. And she gave me a brief rundown of how she got her powers and why she was stuck where she was now, hiding in Scotland.

Admittedly, it felt strange knowing she knew probably everything about me from what Nat had told her, but I knew nothing of her aside from the fact that she worked with Nat. Same with Vision. But I tried not to wonder why Nat hadn't told me anything about them and simply let myself learn for myself.

Our conversation eventually moved onto the topic of where I was living now, and that's where I found myself showing them both pictures of my home on my phone.

"It's a lovely little village in West Yorkshire," I explained as I scrolled through my photo album. "I've been slowly decorating the place and doing it up how I like."

"That is lovely, Y/N," Vision complimented, amazed at the pictures I was showing of my upcycled wardrobe.

"Yeah, it looks beautiful," Wanda added. "Do you prefer the quiet life?"

I sighed contently. "Yeah, I really do. I mean, all my life, it's been hectic and busy and I haven't had a say in any of it. But now I get to choose what I want, and living a normal, quiet life is something I've dreamed about for so long. It's just great to finally have that."

Wanda glanced up at me, smiling in agreement. "It seems to make you happy. I can't say I blame you. It's been the same with Vision and I."

"Our own little bubble, away from the rest of the world," Vision agreed, wrapping an arm around Wanda.

I smiled at how cute they were. "That sounds wonderful. And I get what you mean. It's been nice, the peace and quiet. Plus, I love my job and my home and my neighbours and– it's all so normal."

"Kinda perfect, right?" Wanda asked jokingly.

I nodded. "Yeah. It really is."

Before either of them could say anything more, Yelena's laughter echoed around the kitchen and made the three of us look up, seeing her standing next to a flushed Natalia and bent over laughing.

"What's so funny?" Wanda asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Nat shoved her sister away, who was still laughing hysterically, and made her way over to us with a drink in her hand. "Nothing. Just Yelena being an idiot as usual."

"Phew!" Yelena said, her laughter ceasing as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "God, Nat, who knew you were such a joker?"

I looked to Nat with confusion, who shook her head as if to say don't bother asking, then took a seat beside me.

"Anyway," Wanda continued, looking back to me, "I was going to say, there's some sights you have to see whilst you're here in Scotland. And Vision and I are happy to show you around tomorrow. They're the most normal people thing you'll get."

I chuckled. "Sounds good to me, Wanda. Thank you." I nodded to Vision. "You too, Vision."

"Anytime, Y/N," he said with a nod.

Yelena joined us all in the living room, jumping next to her sister on the couch, before looking to Wanda.

"So, apart from moving things with your hands, what other powers do you have?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, God...," Nat mumbled, facepalming.

Wanda laughed. "It's okay, Nat." She looked to Yelena. "I can read minds, too."

Yelena's jaw dropped. "No way."

"Yes way."

Yelena pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Tell me what number I'm thinking of right now."

"Please, stop," Nat mumbled between her fingers.

"Ten," Wanda answered.

"How about now?" Yelena asked.

Wanda tried not to laugh. "Six hundred and forty two."

"I'm begging you to stop," Nat complained.

Yelena crossed her legs with determination, never looking away from Wanda. "How about now?"

Wanda rolled her eyes. "You're not thinking of a number. You're thinking about the letter W."

"Damn, she's good," Yelena was convinced.

Nat groaned loudly, leaning back into the couch.

"Drama queen," said Yelena, looking to me knowingly, "what did I tell you?"

I stifled a laugh when I remembered our conversation from this morning.

"I hate you both," Nat decided, shaking her head.

"No you don't," Yelena teased, slapping her on the knee.

We stayed there for the rest of the day, simply getting lost in conversation and spending lunch up until the early evening talking about the randomest of things. At one point, Yelena was questioning Wanda and Vision about what Nat was like to work with as an Avenger, and admittedly, I was interested, too.

"Very scary at first," Wanda had said, nodding. "Intimidating, too. I don't think she liked me."

"You were wearing my clothes," Nat said like it was explanation enough.

"They were given to me," Wanda replied, and it sounded like they'd had this discussion many times beforehand. She shook her head. "Anyway, she was scary at first, but she warmed up to me. Taught me how to be a better Avenger."

"Did she ever do anything embarrassing?" Yelena asked, making Nat glower at her disapprovingly. "I need all the stories, Wanda."

And that's when I was certain Yelena wouldn't make it out of Wanda's apartment alive.

Surprisingly though, she did, and after a long but fun day of chatting Wanda's ear off, we headed back to the hotel with plans of going out for dinner.

As usual, Yelena dibbed the bathroom before Nat and I could even step into the room, immediately pushing past us to go in. I chuckled as Nat grumbled petulantly, and jumped on the double bed with a content sigh. I heard Nat follow after Yelena, no doubt exchanging words, but I ignored them both and rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. And that's when I realised their bed was a lot comfier than mine. No fair.

"Okay, she refuses to hurry up and she's already talking about all the things she wants to test with Wanda's powers tomorrow," Nat said, walking back into the bedroom and falling onto the bed next to me with a sigh. "You'd think she'd grow up."

I chuckled quietly. "That's Yelena for you. And relax, we've got the whole evening to get ready. Are you super hungry?"

"I guess not."

"Patience is a virtue," I quipped, smiling up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, yeah..."

It went quiet as we lay there, staring into nothing above us, only the sounds of Yelena messing about in the bathroom and making as much noise as she possibly could to be heard.

"It was really nice meeting Wanda and Vision today," I said, breaking the silence. "They were really lovely."

"Really?"

Feeling her eyes on me, I tilted my head to the left and saw she was doing the same, watching me.

"Yeah... if they're any indication to what the rest of your Avengers family are like, then you've been in good hands. I'm glad."

She hummed, pursing her lips, and her gaze became distracted. I tried hard not to stare, though it was difficult since her lips were a bright pink, puckered and soft, and her eyelashes were delicate and long, fluttering with every blink, and her hair was a vibrant red, tickling her chin, and her eyes were a calm sea blue-green, so easy to get lost in.

"I'm gonna look up some restaurants nearby," I said suddenly, sitting up with a racing heartbeat.

"You okay?" she asked, but I didn't turn around.

"Yeah, yeah, perfect. Just hungry."

Stupid.

————————

Edinburgh was a wonderful place to explore, especially with Wanda and Vision as a guide.

We did the usual touristy things like visiting Edinburgh castle, going to the botanical gardens, seeing the art gallery... but we also explored the city on foot, merely appreciating how beautiful all the architecture was. I loved it so much and I'd never felt more ecstatic knowing I could do normal people things without having to worry about anything else. It was all I'd wanted.

At one point, after visiting the art gallery, we were let loose in the gift shop. I had a gander at what was on offer, wondering if it was worth buying anything or if it would just end up as clutter. I'd noticed that since being able to choose what I owned, I sometimes overthought it, like now.

A rack of postcards caught my eye and I took a look, amazed at how beautiful they all were, featuring some paintings I'd seen not long ago on the front.

"You gonna get one?"

I glanced over my shoulder, realising Nat had found her way to me, referring to the postcards before us.

"And send it to who?" I said jokingly, looking back to them, though it was true. "No, I'm not. But they're pretty to look at."

In particular, the one in my hand – a stunning painting of some flowers winding through the grass. It would've been nice to send to someone, since that was the whole point of postcards, but oh well.

"Probably gonna get a keyring," I decided, setting the postcard down and looking to Nat. "How about you? You gonna get anything?"

She shook her head, glancing at the rack of postcards. "I don't think so. The gallery was great though."

"Hmm, yeah, it was," I agreed, looking back to the postcards once more before nodding to the other side of the shop. "I'm gonna go find a keyring."

She nodded, giving me a small smile, and I walked away to do just that.

After we all left the gift shop, we went to grab a bite to eat at this cute little cafe that doubled as a bookstore. This was the perfect opportunity for Yelena to test Wanda's powers some more, to Nat's dismay and everyone else's amusement, and also the perfect chance for Wanda and Vision to share more embarrassing stories of Nat as an Avenger.

It was refreshing to hear, I wouldn't lie. Hearing about who Natalia was after she left felt like listening to stories of a different person. A bittersweet experience, but I felt like I was getting to know her more and more in a different way, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

After eating, whilst Wanda and Vision generously offered to treat us to the meal, Yelena dragged Nat and I to a photo booth in the corner of the store, begging to get some photos of us all because she wanted to remember the trip and had never used one before. I didn't mind, since she was too cute to deny, and I could tell Nat liked the idea, too.

Of course, after two of the five photos went off, Yelena got distracted like a child in a sweet shop and left the booth. Nat and I got through photo number three together, trying not to laugh, before Yelena called me obnoxiously loudly from behind the curtain. I told her one second, but she dragged me out as photo four went off and I was left to leave Nat alone for the final photo.

"What was so important, Yelena?" I asked, trying not to laugh at her impatience.

"Look how cute these hedgehogs are," she said casually, before pointing to a decorative family of bronze hedgehogs sitting on a bookshelf.

"Okay, they're pretty damn cute," I agreed, mumbling, and she put an arm around my shoulder cheerfully.

"See? I told you!"

I laughed, not bothering to hide it now. "You're crazy, Belova."

"I want my own set of hedgehogs," she decided.

I rolled my eyes just as Wanda and Vision approached us from the till.

"You all ready to go?" Wanda asked, before noticing the hedgehogs too and brightening up. "Cute."

"Oh, they are delightful," Vision agreed, squinting his eyes with amazement.

"See?" Yelena said, squeezing my shoulder. "I–"

"Told me, I know," I finished for her with a childish smile. "You said."

"Thanks for ditching me," Nat said, appearing behind us with an amused expression. "Really appreciate being left alone in a photo booth."

"Blame her," I said, nodding to Yelena.

"Just look at these hedgehogs," Yelena said to her sister, letting go of my shoulder to motion to the display once more. "Amazing, right?"

"Wow." Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes before holding out the photos from the photo booth to Yelena. "Forget something?"

Yelena grabbed it, narrowing her eyes as she looked them over. "These are just of you two."

"You left, idiot," Nat said with disbelief.

Yelena pulled a face before handing the photos back to Nat and looking to Wanda and Vision. "So, where to next?"

"I don't know about you ladies, but I could really walk this meal off," Vision said jokingly, patting his stomach.

Wanda rolled her eyes with amusement, knowing Vision hadn't eaten a thing because he was synthetic.

"Come on, let's go," she said with a hidden smile, tugging Vision along by his hand.

I was about to follow after them both, but Nat spoke up, stopping me.

"You should have this," she said, earning my attention and holding out the photos with a smile. "Maybe you can use it in your–"

"Oh my god, look at that dog!" Yelena exclaimed before slapping me on the arm and interrupting Nat's sentence. "Y/N, come on!"

Before I could retort, she'd already grabbed me and yanked me out the cafe, to the dog that was waiting on a leash by the street lamp.

I laughed, glancing at Nat to see her groaning but following along, then kneeled down beside Yelena to pet the dog.

Shortly after walking off our lunch, we came across an ice cream van and all got an ice cream each (save for Vision, obviously) before strolling through a green space in the open.

"Are you sure giving her sugar is the right move?" Nat asked me with a raised brow as she nodded to her sister.

"Let her have fun," I answered dismissively. "She's been working hard these past few months."

Nat gave me a knowing look. "Are you serious?" When she saw I was, in fact, serious, she scoffed. "You're the worst duo ever! I swear she brings out the worst in you."

"You're just jealous I prefer your sister over you, Natalia," I teased, tilting my head to study her.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said, rolling her eyes.

"It's true," I said, before licking my ice cream. "She's awesome."

"If you say so."

I smiled widely. "I do say so."

"She's lying, you're her favourite," Wanda cut in, looking between us with an entertained smile before settling on Nat.

Nat broke out into a grin, meeting my gaze satisfactorily. "I knew it."

My face grew warm as I avoided Nat's eyes. "In an ideal world, your friend here wouldn't be able to read my mind."

"Well, we're not in an ideal world," Nat said, and I could see her annoying grin from the corner of my eyes. She leaned forward, muttering, "Nice to know I'm still your favourite."

I'd be lying if I said I didn't get shivers at her raspy voice in my ear, but I would never admit that at that the time, so I simply rolled my eyes and ignored her smirk.

We were wandering the green space with our ice creams, enjoying the summer heat and slight breeze, when the topic of what would happen next came up.

"Wanda and I quite like it here in Edinburgh," Vision was saying to us. "And we can't exactly go anywhere else, so we'll probably stay here as long as we can."

Wanda nodded in agreement, hugging Vision's side with a distracted expression, before looking to Nat.

"What about you, Nat?" she asked her friend. "Have you seen any of the others since leaving?"

Nat frowned, shaking her head. "No, I haven't... I keep in touch with Clint of course. He's with his family. Seems happy. But nobody else. You?"

Wanda shook her head, frowning, too. "I think everybody has already moved on."

Nat didn't say anything, but it was obvious that she had her own assumptions about the matter.

"Do you think you'll go back to them?" Wanda asked curiously. "To Stark?"

"Not right now," Nat said, wiping the last of her ice cream from her mouth with her napkin. "I can't, for starters. But I also don't think I should. I've been helping Yelena. There's still Widows out there who need freeing."

I wondered how she still had any fight left in her after this long.

"What about you, Yelena?" Wanda asked, looking to the blonde. "You still going to be doing that?"

Yelena hummed, chewing on the last part of her ice cream cone before answering, "They need help. And I'm here to offer it." She glanced at me, adding, "Y/N, you're always welcome to join us."

I offered her a small smile, feeling slightly guilty at the fact that I didn't want to. "I know... I'm just– I'm so tired of it all. The fighting. The missions. The secret. It's probably selfish, but I like my life now. I like where I'm at."

"Hey, it's not selfish," Yelena assured me, nudging me in the side gently. "I understand. But just so you know, you can always tag along if you want a change of pace." She looked to her sister. "Right, Nat?"

Nat nodded, green eyes flickering over my uncertain expression. She was agreeing, but she knew me well enough to know I wouldn't change my mind. Thankfully, she didn't say anything about it and I was glad, definitely not wanting to have to explain why I wanted something more than being a hero. Or less, depending on who you asked.

"We're all on different paths, but it's okay," Wanda said, looking between us all. "As long as we're happy, that's all that matters, right?"

Relaxing at her words, I nodded alongside the others. She was right. And I was happy. The happiest I'd been in a long time.

————————

"This trip wouldn't have been half as much fun if you didn't come, too," Yelena said before enveloping me in a hug. "Natasha isn't all that interesting lately."

"Not like I'm stood right here or anything," Nat said from behind us, and I couldn't see her but I could just imagine the incredulous expression she wore.

I smiled as I returned Yelena's hug tightly. "I'm glad I came. I really missed you, Yelena." When we pulled apart, I continued, "And look, I know that it doesn't mean much, but I'm really proud of you for all the work you're doing with the Widows. I wish I had half the strength you did."

She mirrored my smile, though I could see the way she tried to hide her embarrassment at my complement and it was very cute.

"Thank you," she said softly, before nodding to me. "I'm proud of you, too. For building a life after everything. It's not an easy thing to do. But you're my favourite example to give to the Widows when they think they can't do it."

I snickered, raising my eyebrows with surprise. "Really? You use me as an example?"

"You're basically famous," she played along, making me laugh.

"Well, I appreciate it, thank you," I told her earnestly. "Now go on. I'll leave you to say your goodbyes with Nat. Be nice, Belova. And stay safe."

"You, too." She grinned, before looking over my shoulder to say her goodbyes to her sister.

I left them to it, getting into the jeep that Nat was insistent on driving again. The trip had come to an end sooner than I'd wanted, to my surprise, but we'd promised it wouldn't be the end. I wasn't sure if it was just one of those things people said, but I really did hope I'd get to see Wanda and Vision again. They were lovely.

Soon enough, Nat joined me in the car and we waved our final goodbyes to Yelena before setting off.

"Part two of the Scotland road trip begins now," she said once we set off.

I breathed out through my nose with amusement. "Can't wait."

"Don't sound too excited."

A chuckle escaped my lips and I got comfortable in my seat, leaning against the door.

"Thank you for coming by the way," she said after a moment, earning my attention. "You didn't have to, but you did and Yelena wasn't wrong. You made the trip better."

My insides went warm at her words, nervous and exciting all at once. "Thanks for inviting me," I said nonchalantly. "It was nice to get out. I don't really get the chance to leave my town much. Plus it was nice to spend time with you again."

She glanced at me when I said this, lips pulled into a half smile. "I'm always down for a road trip if you are, Y/N."

I laughed at the thought. Not because it wouldn't happen, but because I never could have pictured the two of us doing anything remotely similar to this. All I'd ever wanted when we were younger was to escape our lives and be normal, together, like this. And now we finally had it, a fantasy that once felt untouchable... it was amazing. And I wasn't sure I'd ever get used to it.

"I'll hold you to that, Natalia," I said between laughter.

The trip back was quite straightforward, with neither of us breaking off into petty arguments or winding each other up. We may or may not have stretched out the stops in between without admitting that it was because we wanted to make the time last as long as we could. Once I got home, she'd leave again and I knew I'd miss her.

Finally, we did reach my house and as much as it felt like home, sweet home, I already had bittersweet feelings towards our goodbye.

"Okay, this is everything," I said once I'd brought my things into my house. "You haven't left anything with me, right?"

"Not that I can remember."

"Then that's it," I finalised, before looking up to see Nat lingering in the hallway. "You know, it's a long way back for you. With the drive to the airport and the flight... are you sure you don't wanna stay the night and go back in the morning?"

She shook her head, smiling appreciatively. "I shouldn't. I've gotta return the rental, and have a few things to do before my flight. It just makes sense for me to leave now."

Breathing out, I nodded. "Okay... if you're sure."

"I'm sure." She looked up at me under long eyelashes, expression soft. "I'll leave you to it, Y/N."

I moved forward without thinking too hard about it, pulling her in for a final goodbye hug. "I'm gonna miss you, Nat. A lot."

She wrapped her arms around my waist, tugging me closer. "I'm gonna miss you, too. But you can always visit. You know that."

"I just might," I said as a joke, but when I pulled away and came face to face with emerald green eyes, I knew I would.

She flashed me her signature smile before letting go and reaching into her back pocket. "Before I forget... these are for you."

I watched with confusion as she pulled out a folded postcard – the one I was looking at in the gift shop – and the photos from the photo booth. She held them out to me and I raised my brows with surprise.

"I tried to give you the photos yesterday, but Yelena likes to interrupt quite a lot," she said lightheartedly. "But yeah. I thought that you might want to keep it. And also, you seemed to like the postcard and said you had nobody to get it for, so I got it for you. If you want."

"Nat, you didn't have to do that," I said, though I was touched at her thoughtfulness.

"I wanted to," she said with a shrug, but I noticed the pink dusting her cheeks. "And I thought you might wanna put them in your scrapbook or something. If you want."

I couldn't help but smile as I accepted the postcard and photos. Looking at the photos first, I loved that they were a complete mess. There was one decent photo of Yelena, Nat and I, another where Yelena got distracted, a decent one of Nat and I, a blurry one of me getting yanked out the booth and a final one of a grumpy Nat. So silly yet so heartwarming.

"I love this," I said with a stifled laugh, before looking at the postcard next. When I flipped it over, I realised she'd written a message and was surprised for the second time in that moment.

"Don't read it until I've left please," she insisted with a shy smile. "I'll probably melt into a puddle of embarrassment otherwise."

My smile widened as I nodded. "Okay, I won't read it until you're gone... thank you, Natalia." I shook my head, realising my mistake. "I mean Natasha."

"No, I like Natalia," she corrected. "Don't change it."

I sighed quietly, nodding, before pulling her in for another hug. "Last one, I promise."

She snickered and returned the hug just as tightly.

"Call me when you land, so I know you're okay," I said to her once she made it to the front door. "And text me when you're home."

"I promise," she said with a teasing smile. "Goodbye, Y/N."

I'd definitely miss seeing that annoying smile of hers in person for a while.

"Bye, Nat."

Once she was gone, the first thing I did was read the postcard. And I was left with a shit-eating grin on my face afterwards.

Dear Y/N,

I'm not sure if you'll think this is stupid or not, but I know you really liked the card, so I thought I'd get it for you. I just wanna say thank you for coming to Scotland with me, and for meeting Wanda and Vision. They're really important to me and it meant the world that you and Yelena were there to meet the other part of my life (even if Yelena was very annoying...).

I know that it must have been strange, especially since they're my family. But I just want you to know that you're my family, too. You always have been. And getting to spend more than two minutes with you in person, or fifteen minutes over the phone, was special to me. I hope it was for you, too.

Thanks again for putting up with me for so long. And sorry I'm sometimes a pain in your ass.

Lots of love,

your FAVOURITE Black Widow x

#marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow x you #black widow #black widow imagine #scarlett johansson

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lunatic-fandom-space · 3 years ago

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Comparing RWBY and YGO DM: The Handling and Evolution of Themes

Hey! Its been a hot minute since I last posted anything RWBY-related but Im laying in my bed right now and Im sick and bored so I guess we're doing this. Today I will do my best to analyze what I percieve to be the main themes and messages of both of these shows, or more specifically, how theyre handled narratively. Im mostly focusing on that part because, while these series do have similar themes and messaging, they are still a few things in which they are wildly different. And with that, lets start with this essay-post-thing!

1. Theres something we need to adress first

Okay so, before we can really talk about this, theres something I feel the need to clarify here: Neither of these stories was "planned from the beginning".

Now, I dont think a story being planned from the beginning or not nesscessarily makes the story any better or worse by default, however, it is still important to acknowledge because the way the story is planned is going to affect every facet of it. Things are not going to be foreshadowed properly, things are gonna be set up only for nothing to come of it, the story might drastically change directions, characters might act differently, etc, etc.

And, this is bit off-topic but, it's much better to just admit that the story was not planned than trying to pretend that it was. Like, there are a lot of reasons why I tend to be so forgiving towards YGO even though its not very good, but one of them is definitely the fact that, as far as Im aware atleast, the guy who wrote it isnt pretending to have had this big master plan all along and neither is the fandom. With RWBY on the other hand... yeaaaah, its kinda the opposite. From what Ive seen of RWBYs fandom, there seems to be this pretty popular narrative that everything was planned even though it clearly wasnt. Thats pretty bad and honestly lowers my opinion of the writers so much more than if they would just admit to not having a proper plan.

Like, I initially consumed YGO like this: Yu-Gi-Oh Duel Monsters, Yu-Gi-Oh (aka Season 0), like, a quarter of the Yu-Gi-Oh manga (I still havent finished it)

In all three of these we have the character of Yami Yuugi, or just Yami. Broadly speaking, he is an ancient egyptian gamer spirit who lives in a magical puzzle that has not been solved for 3000 years until this highschooler named Yuugi Mutou comes along and solves it, thus setting him free and allowing him to possess Yuugi and have access to the vague magical powers of the puzzle.

In Duel Monsters he's perfectly fine most of time, morally speaking. There is an instance of him almost murdering a guy and its a bit unclear what exactly happens to those he mindcrushes but overall he's very much a pretty good guy. In Season 0 most of what he does is set up these games for bad people, where they will go insane no matter what they do. From how I understand this whole Shadow Game, Penalty Game stuff, if you lose a Shadow Game, you get violent and intense hallucinations and you will always cuz yknow, gamer spirit. But if you try to cheat, which most of the bad people do in this show, you get violent and intense hallucinations as a punishment.

Since the two anime are generally considered two different continuities, its perfectly fine that Yamis characterization is wildly different in both of them. But in the manga both of these characterizations appear, basically one after the other with no real arc or consequences, for that matter. Why is that? Simply put, someone thought it was a good idea to try to turn an episodic, very slice of life-y light-horror manga into a more traditional, more plot-driven battle shounen. From what Ive heard, it was apparently largely because of network interference or something, but the point is, it changed directions incredibly drastically with little planning and everyone knows this and I can understand that for the most part.

In RWBY we have the character of Blake Belladonna, who, in the first 3 volumes/seasons atleast, was this aloof, more toned down loner-type character with a pretty strong sense of justice. She's an in-universe marginilized racial minority and she clearly cares about racial injustice. The way its initially framed makes it seem like she had a very hard life and no stable support system, which is what eventually pushed her to join a Civil Rights group/Terrorist organization (good god, the Faunus subplot is so awful, I could write a whole essay about it but Im already de-railing rn so I'll just save that for later).

Then, in volumes 4-5 it turns out her father is actually like, the mayor or chief of this island-place called Menagerie and she grew up in this big mansion with multiple guards/servants. Oh and also, apparently "space is a commodity" on there, so theres that. She still retains large parts of her personality but she's kinda like, worse somehow I think. I cant really describe it in a meaningful way but I hope you get what Im saying anyway. Then in Volume 6 she confronted her emotional abuser Adam (sorry for not mentioning him sooner but yeah, he was like, her abusive boyfriend, which is something that a lot of people disagree with but I wont really say anything about it either way because I dont really feel any specific way) with her friend, Yang, and ended up killing him.

After all that, she pretty much lost the rest of her personality, as well as her arc about all the Faunus stuff. She just kinda became the meek, generically nice, recovering abuse victim. Why? Well, the actual reason is that they didnt plan out shit and are just kinda flying by the seat of their oversized clown-pants and if they and the fandom just admitted it, I would have less of an issue. I still wouldnt be as forgiving towards RWBY as I am towards YGO because the crux of the issue, for me, is just that I dont particulary like RWBY but also like. Do you really expect me to take MKEK seriously as writers after admitting to not have a timeline because iT wOuLd CaUsE pLoThOlEs?

However, since they want us to believe that everything was planned out from the beginning, the explaination would be.... Idk, they deliberately butchered one of their main characters?? Because.. they hate her?? Maybe????

So yeah, that was quite a detour however, I would like you to keep this mind going forward.

2. Themes of the Early Series'

First, what do mean by 'Early Series' for both of these shows respectively? Well, for YGO that would have to be Season 0 or if youre reading the manga, everything pre-Duelist Kingdom. Basically, the part of the series thats a episodic, very slice of life-y light-horror series.

For RWBY that would be the first three Volumes, also known as the Poser-Era. Back then it was just kinda an action series that took place at Anime Warrior Academy (also known as Beacon) with some pretty bare minimum worldbuilding, character-driven plots and developments but now its more of an epic high-fantasy story with more of an emphasis on plot as opposed to just action.

The themes and messages in Early YGO are kinda vague, very confusing to me and if you were to follow any of it literally that would be pretty bad. For now Im just gonna say the main themes are Friendship and Identity and mostly focus on the Identity aspect.

Now, it took me a little while to figure out RWBYs deal but I think the main themes for Volumes 1-3 are also Friendship and Heroism. Once again, I'll mostly focus on Heroism and touch on Friendship more briefly later.

I dont have much more to add to YGOs themes right now, so I'll briefly go over Heroism in RWBY.

In RWBYs setting there are these man-eating monsters called Grimm that have basically infected the planet. In order to deal with that, they have people called huntsmen and huntresses that kill them and protect people. Theyre trained at special academies like Beacon and go on missions there and stuff like that. Our four main characters, Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang, are training to become huntresses and one day they go on this mission to clean up a grimm infested city block with one of their teachers. Obviously, that takes a long time so they have to camp out in one of the empty houses. Weiss, Blake and Yang cant sleep because theyve been thinking about this question that their teacher asked them when they were fighting grimm: "Why do you want to become a huntress?"

They have a heart to heart and we find out about their motivations; Weiss wants to bring honour back to her family, Blake want to distance herself from the White Fang (that terrorist organization I mentioned earlier) and as an extension from Adam, Yang wants to have a life of adventure. They also talk about why Ruby wants to be a huntress and it turns out that she judt wants to help people. Unlike the others, she has no motivation besides that. We're meant to listen to that and look at her as a sort-of personification of Heroism: kind, but not naive, strong and most of all, selfless. The others on her team are not portayed as bad for not being like Ruby by any means but we are clearly meant to admire her the most out of all of them.

Okay, now comes the part Ive been looking forward to the most:

3. How did these themes evolve in the Modern Series'?

Alright, before we can really delve into the way they evolved in YGO I'll have to give you a brief summary of the character progression. At the start of DM, during the Duelist Kingdom arc, Yami Yuugi is just that; A darker Yuugi. Hes more confident, bolder, his voice is deeper, hes somehow taller, more ruthless, all that good stuff. Notably, he doesnt actually seem more skilled than Yuugi even at the start of this story, but he's still dependent on Yami. Yami on the other hand, has no identity of his own or even hints at one at this point. He's just The Other Yuugi.

Then during the Battle City arc, they find out that Yami was actually a pharao prior to being sealed in the puzzle, he just didnt know because of amnesia, I guess. So now they need to find out his real name and then send him to the afterlife because hes meant to be dead, but not before saving the world from being swallowed by darkness, which is also a thing they have to do now.

Then we finally get to the Memory World arc, where Yami, Yuugi and the rest of the gang astralproject to ancient egypt via puzzle magic. Yami is trying to figure out what the hell is going on and who all these familiar people are, while Yuugi & Co are trying their best to help him. Then some weird shit happens and it turns out that all of that is not just Yamis sealed away memories, but also a giant D&D Shadow Game that will destroy the world if Yami loses. So now theres Pharao!Yami who is still clueless on the metaphorical and literal playing field and Player!Yami, who is kinda controlling himself now? I guess?? Yamis opponent, The Spirit of The Ring, has something similar to that going on where hes both controlling and properly participating in the game. So Player!Yami is now fighting against Player!TSoTR, Pharao!Yami is now fighting against Thief King Bakura (who is like, the human, ancient egyptian version of the Ring Spirit) and Yuugi is now fighting against Yami Bakura (who is like, the human, modern japanese version of the Ring Spirit). Yuugi gets Yamis real name, he and the gang go over to Pharao!Yami and tell him his name, meanwhile Player!Yami is also somehow helping as well and they defeat the Ring Spirit, thus saving the world. Then they travel to modern Egypt, the Ceremonial Duel happens and Yuugi wins, sending Yami to the Afterlife where he can finally rest and that was the series!

I originally wanted to recount the stuff that was going on with the Ring Spirit and his host as well because they parallel eachother, but this summary is already far too long and I think youll get the point without me needing to explain any more.

My point here is, that the story went from being vaguely about Identity, maybe? to being very clearly about Self-Discovery and Learning to Be Independent. I think this is a very good way to evolve the messaging of your story. How does RWBY track on that?

Well, uh... its not great. I will acknowledge that they have tried to introduce new themes and ideas since, even though I wont really be talking about them in this post. But yeah, the whole Heroism thing really regressed.

Like, I didnt explicitly say it when I was explaining grimm earlier, but theyre not going away. The grimm have always been there and people who sign up to become huntsmen and huntresses are effectively signing up for a job that will never truly be done, no matter what they do. Characters like Ruby and even more minor ones like Phyrrah have shown us that that doesnt matter when youre a hero. No life isnt worth saving, no grimm isnt worth killing, no criminal isnt worth arresting. Then, in volume 6 they find out about Salem. Salem is the Big Bad of the show, shes immortal, controls the grimm and is supposed to be very powerful.

What do our heroes do? They give up. Sike! They were just mindcontrolled by monsters or some shit, of course they didnt give up their mission (which is to bring an Important Macguffin to a city called Atlas, sorry I didnt mention it)!

But then they arrive in Atlas (which is llike, a city thats floating over another city called Mantle) and yknow, they do some plot stuff thats not really important right now until the city gets invaded by Salem and this big grimm army she has.

What do our heroes do? Well, Ruby, Weiss, Blake and some side characters are chilling, drinking tea in a mansion and Yang and the B Team were actually trying to do something, but even those efforts seem incredibly minimal.

Oh wait, I also forgot to mention that Ironwood (a fairly minor, vaguely antagonistic character up until now) wanted to lift Atlas even higher to save Atleasian civilians from danger while leaving Mantle vulnerable to Salems invasion.

What would be the most heroic thing to do?

A) Let Ironwood lift Atlas, get as much support as they can down to Mantle and save as many Mantle civilians as they can from the invasion

B) Prevent Ironwood from lifting Atlas but then split up in order to protect both Atlas and Mantle civilians

C) Prevent Ironwood from lifting Atlas and then dont do anything else

Congrats! If you choose C, you think exactly like the writers!

And I just

This is so mindboggling to me, I feel like I shouldnt even have explain how this is bad. And like, it wouldve been so easy to actually make them seem herokc through their actions, to make it seem like they did try but no.

I have never seen a central theme be this botched, how in the world did they do that? Why did they think it was a good idea for Ruby "The Embodiment of Heroism" Rose to sit in a mansion doing nothing, no planning, no organizing just ..... God, how are they this bad? Like, this doesnt even have anything to do with it being planned in any way, this is just straight up incompetence

4. Very briefly touching on friendship

The friendship is awful and its not solely because they all have the same opinions. They barely interact with eachother outside their designated pairs which leads to it all feeling incredibly hollow. Theyre also practically indistingushable from one another now, which is a shame because it wasnt always like that. Like, I dont think the characters were that well-developed in earlier volumes but they were very well-characterized. But now we've gotten to a point where you can literally copy and paste one characters dialogue onto another and literally nothing changes, it really sucks.

5. Some closing words

Damn, this took way longer than I thought it would and now Im pretty exhausted. I have no idea how yall always write these but props to you! I feel like this ended up a bit rambly but overall, Im pretty proud.

Please let me know what you think of the points I brought up! Id also really appreciate some tips on how to get better at these longer posts because I am planning on writing more in the future (not the near future, probably but yknow).

Thats all I have to say for now, thanks for reading!

#rwde #rwby critism #anti mkek #yu gi oh #ygo duel monsters #yu gi oh analasis

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phveniix · 5 years ago

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✧ · ˚ . reece king? nah, that’s just phoenix “nix” campbell. you know, they’re the twenty-five year-old musician from manchester… still doesn’t ring a bell ? come on, dude ! they’re all over ME.MIAMI’S homepage. it’s impossible for them to stay off of it because of the fact that they’re super pretentious & spacey. they’re not all bad though, ‘cause they can be intelligent & personable too ! you can totally tell they’re a libra… it’s almost scary. look, if you want to remember them, just think of clothes that always smell like weed and cigarettes, organized chaos in a bedroom, and a 3am drive with the music turned up , and you’ll be golden. ( he/him, cismale. )

hello babies !! it me lainie back from the dead now that the semester is over n i’m so excited to bring u my brand new bby boy. the intro got kind of long so at the bottom (before the connection ideas) u can find a tl;dr :’)

tws for drug use/abuse and mental illness

background

nix grew up in hardcore suburbia in manchester, england. his parents were just sort of……….basic parents? attentive and loving but with issues of their own. he inherited anxiety and depressive disorders from both of them so his childhood was rough not because his parents didn’t try to be there for him (he had a lot of issues with his dad though) but bc his mental illnesses just made it hard to be a teenager (harder than usual fdhgsjsj). it led to a lot of drug abuse when he was in high school, and he was one of those kids where he was like really smart and did exceptionally well when he went to class so his teachers and his parents got on his case about it but he just wasn’t in the state of mind for giving a shit about school.

he and his friends got up to a lot of shit even when he was not in one of his depressive episodes just bc like it was boring suburbia and they had nothing better to do than drive around smoking weed and drinking beer. on the side nix was starting to get into pills and his friends were like *eyes emoji* but they were 16/17 so they didn’t rly know what to do about it ydgfuhjsa

he spent some time in an adolescent psychiatric ward of a hospital while he was in high school bc his parents were like okay something needs to be done !! and it didn’t really help. he did graduate high school, but it literally just took getting older and learning to deal with his mental shit to stop abusing drugs eventually. which did not happen fast

at 18 he went to New York by himself to attend NYU for music but dropped out in his second year when the band he and one of his friends had gotten together started getting actual attention on two eps they’d put out. his parents weren’t THRILLED bc they wanted him to have a degree (and they’d literally helped him pay for going to another country specifically for school purposes) but they were like really excited about the success so in that regard they were Cool with it. what they weren’t Cool with was how the shows and the lifestyle were conducive to his drug habits, of which they were very much aware (from all the way back in manchester) despite his trying to hide it and lie about.

so when he was 20 the band finally dropped their debut album and it was wildly successful and nix rly grew to have a toxic relationship with the career itself and the fame that came with it. the depression and anxiety were always still there and those random episodes he’d have on top of the pressure of doing shows and wanting to connect with his fanbase was what ultimately led him to doing harder drugs than pills, and it turned into a full on addiction. they almost broke up as a band a few times, his friend he started it with threatened to kick him out once, and there were multiple instances of him tweeting or saying insane shit while he was fucked up and then having to delete it later and pretend it never happened yguhkjksa

it was when they were in the middle of writing their second album (when he was 21) that nix finally hit rock bottom and checked himself into rehab (with the help of casey). he was there for three months, got sober, and for the first time he actually stayed that way a while.

so they finished the second album, it was just as successful, and by the time he was 23 they had a rly solid fan base and some international recognition and nix was still sober and things were relatively Good. he moved to miami when casey did bc he was like ok why tf not lmao and the whole ass band came to miami to start working on their third album. i imagine he dated a bit in this time, probably had one really healthy relationship for a while, and it was probably that relationship that got destroyed when he finally relapsed at 24 during an especially bad depressive episode that coincided with a big show for a festival. it was rly obvious he was high but it didn’t cause a scene or anything, people were just like hell yeah we’re all high it’s a festival lmao yeruhw but his friends and gf afterwards were like ??? hello !!! really ???!! so that was a thing again for a good 5 or 6 months until, once again, he hit a rly scary rock bottom and had to go to rehab.

and he got clean. again. and it stuck, again. he’s currently still clean and he and his band are working on their third album again yeet

personality

so nix is like…..a sensitive soul eryguhsja like yes he’s rly sarcastic and dry and can unintentionally come off as pretentious but he’s very personable and outgoing and just rly enjoys talking to people and like?? engaging in human interaction. when his anxiety gets really bad he’ll withdraw a lot and it’ll be really obvious and the same goes for the depression. when he’s having episodes, it’s like rly clear bc he’ll be moody and irritable and start reverting to bad habits

his favorite thing in the world is writing music bc he loves expressing his emotions and he feels like he does it best that way. so it’s also like rly meaningful to him when people like his music bc it’s like validation of himself and who he is yk

pansexual king

used to sleep around a lot and had an unhealthy relationship with that too especially when he was on drugs. now he like still enjoys it but doesn’t go out looking for it usually and would in general prefer a relationship probably ?? we’ll see

his aesthetic is p much thrifty clothes, big shirts, band tees, jeans and converse, the no sleep bags under his eyes a little too skinny for comfort look, small heavy metal boy even tho his music is lowkey soft, smelling like cigarettes and weed all the time

he’s so obsessed with the idea of love and human connection and shit like that. he’s always analyzing people and relationships (even ones that aren’t his own) and the world and being pretentious xisbdjskdb but like genuinely he just has a really oddly optimistic romanticized view of humanity and the world for someone who’s dealt w so much shit

also like he can come off like i don’t give a shit what anyone thinks!!!! but he actually cares so so much about what everyone thinks and even he will admit that djsbdkwndj

tl;dr born in manchester, england, moved to the states to go to nyu for music, dropped out when his band (the dead lights) started making it big, has had drug problems most of his life, been in and out of rehab, currently clean and working on the band’s third album. pretentious and can come off as a smartass but is actually v personable and kind and is obsessed with the idea of love and tends to romanticize absolutely everything from relationships to the world to literally other people’s relationships

connection ideas

if there’s a 1975 song that fits ur muse or one of ur muse’s relationships??? lmk bc nix will write it about them/their relationship !! a lot of his songs are stories abt other people he finds interesting

his band thank u !!! guitar, keyboard, drums, backing vocals, the works. one of them would be the one who started the band w him while he was at nyu and they’d be rly close and maybe live together

the girl he was dating when he relapsed the second time in miami !! up to plotting how it ended tbh

ok like bad influences who were maybe people he was friends with when he was doing drugs?? who like lowkey try to get him back into it??

and good influences ofc of all kinds!

smoking buddies/a weed dealer

unrequited things on both ends please please please i REALLY want him to have a thing for someone in a relationship who he can’t have but wants so badly

enemies ofc bc I’m angsty!!! Maybe people who think he’s a pretentious wannabe poser try-hard

also ex friends possibly either bc they couldn’t handle him at his worst OR bc he cut them off bc like nix will do that if he doesn’t like someone’s vibe

I don’t think he does many collabs on his own albums (possibly some random singles tho???) but gimme things where he featured on other people’s music

#ritzyintros #this is a mess lads

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saltwukong · 7 years ago

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“RWBY was so much better back then” Pt. 1 - Obligatory Fight Scenes Complaint, And Maybe Why They Suck

By now anybody who knows me knows I’m not going to shut up about this, ever, so let’s get this over with.

Volume 4′s and especially Volume 5′s fight scenes suck. I mean, they just do. That’s as close as we come to objectively bad suckage and even people who still cling desperately to like this show admit that they’re bad. And it’s easy to take potshots at them, comparing them to shit like V3′s Pyrrha vs. Cinder or Yang vs. Mercury and whatnot, but still--no one ever says something even worse, and also true: the fights have actually regressed so far that Volume 1′s fights look infinitely better.

That’s bad.

And also alarmingly backwards. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. Your later products aren’t supposed to look better than their predecessors simply because they came later; they’re supposed to look better because of better equipment and more experience using it. After five years of animating fight scenes, they should’ve gotten better and should not be doling out such crap that looks like an amateur got into Maya for ten minutes.

Conversely, your starting animations (and RWBY was definitely a lot of the team’s animators’ starting points on a serious work, it showed in the “Volume 1″ style we came to know that involved identical running animations, black shadows as background characters, and the many inconsistencies abundant throughout it like Ruby having two Crescent Roses) should look like the starting animations when compared to later ones. You hadn’t learned as much and you were just starting out. Right?

And I’m not backing down on that point either. Volume 4 and 5′s fights are worse than Volume 1′s. A demonstration:

youtube

I’m not even talking about Penny in this scene. I mean, watch how it opens: Roman shooting candle shots at a downed Blake.

Blake looks up, realizing she just heard another firework being shot despite her disorientation. She rolls wildly out of the way hoping to dodge any more shots before she gets her footing.

And Blake is no fool. She just got knocked on her ass and dazed despite appearing to have a cemented 100% upper hand and a helpless hostage. Roman has the advantage (range, power) and she knows it. She doesn’t press her attack, and flees for the time being. Speaking of her footing,

That’s her, losing her footing. That’s part of the genius of this fight scene, is that you can feel every blow. Blake stumbling as she flees is because of the power of the explosion that just struck next to her. It gives us a sense of how it feels trying to dodge bullshit like that and how dangerous they are. Another example of “little” things seen here is this:

That tiny shake up and down is jitter. Jitter is incredibly basic, and almost necessary in really good fight scenes that involve explosions or strong impacts, you just can’t use it in excess or it becomes distracting. Now that I’ve pointed it out to you, it probably seems pretty odd that you didn’t notice it before, right?

Speaking of which, how about the fact that Roman attacked Blake more than once to begin with? Blake was disoriented from the first attack and Roman meant to put her down. True, this paints Roman as a pragmatist, but it also paints him as...well, an actual combatant. Because, when your opponent is vulnerable, you take advantage of it. That’s not restricted to his character type, that’s just how fights work.

Now contrast that against Blake vs. Ilia in Volume 5,

First of all, no jitter. That’s not the camera shaking a bit, that’s the characters shaking, so don’t mistake this as having used good intel from previous animations--nonetheless that Blake getting her weapon shocked out of her hand is given none either. But moreover, what’s important is what happens immediately after this.

Ilia took advantage of her opponent’s weakness, and that’s good. Shock of shocks, I complimented something. But it’s still a step down. Why? Because Ilia just intentionally succeeded in removing Blake’s weapon and stunning her for an instant. Ilia also has a weapon in her hand and she is a foot away from Blake--why did she pause for a moment for Blake to recover and then perform a complicated acrobatic kick? Why doesn’t she just smack Blake with the damn whip the instant Blake loses her momentum?

You know...sort of like Roman did here?

Because, ya know, that’s what fight choreography actually looks like. Not all complicated rule-of-cool spin kicks. This might seem fast and simple in comparison to the flashy and, on the surface, cooler thing Ilia did, but what Ilia did was just one more way the pace of the fight was kept slow and restricted, rather than being heated and a matter of reflexes and skill. In fact, you might could say that Ilia lost the fight because of that.

The “fight” between Blake and Ilia, if you can call it that, ends with Blake pinning Ilia from above, like so:

Why the hell didn’t Ilia dodge that?

Blake gets a full two seconds of airtime before she actually hits!

You wanna know why Roman didn’t dodge it back when Sun did this?

Because Roman:

didn’t know Sun was present.

And because he didn’t know Sun was present, didn’t know to be on guard.

And because he didn’t know Sun was present, couldn’t have known he would attack or from where.

None of that applies to Ilia, who has been in a hostile engagement with Blake for a few minutes, know knows exactly where she is beforehand, and saw her attack. There is no reason whatsoever Ilia shouldn’t have let Blake fall on her ass and then kicked her when she made it to the ground, which is exactly what would’ve happened in Monty Oum’s RWBY.

Even the best fights of Volume 5, like this one, look like they came from amateurs, while the ones from Volume 1 look like a professional made them.

Well...a professional did make them, right? Monty was there and worked on them! It isn’t really fair to hold them to that standard, right?

I often say that the infuriating results of Volume 5′s fight scenes (and lack thereof) simply come from a matter of the ones responsible not trying and not putting in the effort (which makes them so easy to despise; it’d be one thing if they were just mediocre animators, but it ends up looking like they just don’t care). But here, we see a fight that clearly was worked on, and worked on by people that cared. There’s no denying that.

Yet it doesn’t stack up.

I also often see people say (and have sometimes said myself) that yeah, it’s not really Monty-standard material we expect from the living animators with us at the moment. But let me give you a hot take: maybe it is in fact perfectly fair to hold Rooster Teeh to that standard?

After all, they worked with Monty, right? It wasn’t just a one-man effort, right? It wasn’t just one man and maybe his close team bearing the entire weight of the process of animating, right? It isn’t like they’d just throw all the hard work to Monty while ripping his show out from under him, right?

The answer at the beginning of this post felt like “yes”. The more I think about it though, the more it feels like “no”. I already know they wrote “[MONTY ACTION]” when actually writing their fight scenes into the script. So I can unfortunately find it very plausible that all the hardest animating work, and the work that reflected most, was done by him and the few animators that left with Shane a few years ago.

Because if it wasn’t, things would’ve been picked up. Things would’ve been shared and learned and the animations from current day, while not seeming like a gleaming love letter to the Monty Oum talent, would at least reflect that he once breathed life into this project and in a way still does.

Maybe it’s because--and this is just a suspicious, but bleak feeling--no one bothered to hang around Monty and try to pick up what he was putting down back then that all of the fight scenes look so regressed. Maybe it’s because they never felt like they had to learn from Monty in order to create RWBY, which is why it appears that literally nothing was learned inbetween Volumes 1 and 5--because nothing was.

People praise Volumes 4 and 5 by saying the “production values” are through the roof. That’s true in the sense that Maya is more advanced and nicer to look at than Poser. It’s completely untrue in that the skill and effort used to deliver the product (and indeed, the money too) are the furthest thing from improved.

End rant.

#rwde #crew criticism #Major Salt Warning

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whatarubberchicken · 7 years ago

Text

ML Valentine Exchange

Hey, @mira-ele, I was your valentine for the @ml-valentines. Sorry this is so late, but the idea kinda ran away with me! I tried to incorporate as much of your request as I could into it, but I focused on the Ladrien angst-to-fluff. There are also multiple references to Taylor Swift songs in here, if you care to spot them! ;) Happy Valentine’s Day!

Everything Has Changed

Adrien hunched over his cup, trying (and failing) to make it look like he wasn’t hiding under a large hat and an oversized coat. In front of him, Chloe sipped her cappuccino and raised an eyebrow.

“Nobody’s going to say anything,” she chided her friend. “And if they do, I’ll make what’s left of their life miserable.”

Adrien snorted. She would, too. “Please don’t,” he said, absently rubbing his face, “the last thing I need is more people getting hurt because of me.”

Chloe kicked him under the table. Adrien yelped and glared at her.

“What was that for??” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

“Being stupid,” she said primly. “What happened with your father is not your fault. You shouldn’t have to hide from anyone.”

Adrien groaned and rubbed his leg. What should happen and what actually happened never really seemed to line up in his life. Finding out his father was Hawkmoth, being the one to turn him in, losing his Miraculous when the villain chose to fight rather than come quietly… none of those were really the “typical cares of a teenage boy.” And now…

Now, the press had scented blood in the Agreste name, so if he wasn’t dodging interviews about what had “really” happened to his mother, or ducking around leading questions on how he’d known his father was a villain, they seemed to be hoping for a new angle: Adrien Agreste, perfect model turned bad boy after his father was revealed to be Paris’s greatest threat.

They were everywhere. He still didn’t know how they’d gotten wind of the fact that he now needed sleeping pills to get some rest each night, but it had set them into a frenzy. And the two girls who had come forward, each claiming to be his girlfriend, hadn’t helped matters at all.

Right now, all Adrien wanted was to sink into a hole and never come out.

Enter Chloe.

She’d showed up at his house this morning and yelled at Natalie until the woman had allowed her to march into Adrien’s room, fling him off the bed, and declare they were going for coffee, so he’d better get ready now. Years of dealing with his oldest best friend had convinced Adrien to just do what she said. Which was why they were here now.

“And, by the way, you’re coming to my party tomorrow night.”

“What??” Adrien wildly looked up at his friend. Chloe just raised an eyebrow.

“It’s to celebrate the defeat of Hawkmoth—”

“Chloe,” Adrien groaned, slumping down again.

“—and it’ll be the perfect opportunity for you to show that you were never really on his side,” Chloe said, steadfastly ignoring his protests.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he grumbled anyway.

“Which is why I’m not giving you a choice,” Chloe said, smirking and sipping her drink again. “And you should also come with a date, just to discredit those stupid little posers from last week’s tabloids.”

“I don’t suppose you want to be my date?” Adrien asked hopefully. Chloe would definitely scare off the paparazzi that was sure to follow him to something like this.

“Sorry, Adrikins. Despite all the times I told you that you belong with me, you’ve made your feelings on the matter clear,” Chloe simpered, smiling sweetly. Adrien stopped himself from groaning again. Telling Chloe that he only thought of her as a friend had been the right thing to do at the time. No matter how inconvenient it might be now. “Besides, Prince Ali is back in town this week and I just have to play dutiful hostess.”

“And the idea of becoming an actual princess in the future has nothing to do with that,” Adrien agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes and sipping his own drink.

“Call it what you want,” Chloe sniffed, her nose in the air, “but eventually puberty’s gonna hit that boy hard. And who better to fall in love with than a childhood friend? Am I right?” Adrien laughed softly. Some things never changed.

“Great, then I’m out a date,” he pouted. “Guess I—”

“A DATE?!?”

Adrien barely stopped himself from swearing as they were suddenly surrounded.

“Mr. Agreste, could you further comment on this date??”

“Are you and Ms. Bourgeois, the mayor’s daughter, dating??”

“Mr. Agreste—!”

“MR. AGRESTE, ANY COMMENT FOR THE DAILY INQUIRIER??”

“MR. AGRESTE, WILL YOU BE TAKING MISS PAPINEAU OR MISS ROSSI ON THIS DATE???”

Out of the corner of his eye, Adrien saw Chloe deliberately knock her cup against the reporter closest to her. He braced himself.

“LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!!” Chloe shrieked, her voice rising above everyone else’s. “HOW DARE YOU!! THIS IS CHANEL!! YOU!! YOU SPILLED MY COFFEE!! MY FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!!! BACK OFF!! BACK OFF, ALL OF YOU!!!”

Instantly, about half of the reporters scattered. Chloe’s reputation for getting people fired was well-known in Paris. The rest retreated to a more-appropriate distance. She spun on them.

“Now, as to your questions,” she snapped, easily taking control of the impromptu press conference. “Yes, I’m having a party tomorrow night to celebrate Hawkmoth’s defeat. And yes, Adrikins will be there. It was even his idea!”

“Chloe…,” Adrien mumbled under his breath.

“But, no, we will not be going together,” Chloe continued. “I will be escorted by the esteemed Prince Ali, who’s currently visiting from the kingdom of Achu. Erm—please, go support his charity at the—um, the Children’s Hospital!” she added, posing for the camera.

“And Mr. Agreste??” one the reporters asked hopefully, turning back to Adrien. “Who will you be taking?” Chloe shot him a look, motioning with her hand. She could only save him so much, after all.

“I… uh, don’t know yet,” he fumbled, trying to think of someone who wouldn’t mind going with him. Alya was with Nino, Marinette wouldn’t want to go because Chloe was hosting it, Lila would claim they were more of an item than they actually were… gah! There had to be someone! Of course, if he could go with anyone, it would be…

“Ladybug!” he blurted out, then felt himself flush. “I-I mean, I really want to go with Ladybug, but I don’t know how to ask her!!”

Great. Had he just said that in front of a bunch of reporters?

Yes. Yes, he did.

They went crazy again.

After a few minutes of being yelled at from all angles, Chloe somehow managed to snag his arm and drag him out of the coffeeshop and to his car. From there, his bodyguard took care of the rest of the reporters and quickly drove off with the two teens in the backseat.

After a moment, Chloe started laughing. “I knew you were trouble, Agreste, but really??”

“It was the first thing that popped into my head!” Adrien moaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Well, I guess I can’t blame you. And it’s not such a bad idea if you think about it,” Chloe admitted. “Having Ladybug vouch for you would be the best way to put to rest the idea that you were working for a supervillain. Plus, can you imagine the love story?? A superheroine and the son of—”

“Chloe, please,” Adrien begged.

“All right, all right. Sorry,” she acquiesced. “So, you got an end game?”

“I literally just blurted it out,” Adrien said. “Never in my wildest dreams would I…” He trailed off as he saw his own face on the TV in front of him. He didn’t need to turn up the volume to know that his impromptu proposition of Paris’s favorite superheroine was now widespread news.

Chloe saw it too, pursing her lips. “See, now this is why we can’t have nice things.”

“I’m going to go bury myself in my room and never come out.”

“Fine,” Chloe sighed as they pulled up to the Agreste mansion. “But you’d still better make an appearance tomorrow. And I’m stealing your driver to take me home. Your backseat is nicer than mine.” She pouted.

Adrien chuckled and got out. “See you later, Chloe.”

“Stay beautiful, gorgeous!” she called back as the car drove away again. He shook his head and waved. Mean or not, Chloe had her own ways of cheering him up.

Natalie was waiting for him in the foyer.

“I did something bad,” he confessed as soon as he got close enough.

“I saw,” Natalie said. She sighed. “Just go to your room and try not to make any more statements to the press during the party tomorrow.”

Adrien’s heart sank. “You’re making me go?”

“I believe Miss Bourgeois will make a bigger fuss if you don’t go, Adrien.”

Adrien had to agree with her, and reluctantly trudged up to his bedroom. Once he got there, he collapsed on his bed. He opened his mouth to complain to Plagg about this whole ordeal, then quickly snapped it shut. The kwami wasn’t here anymore. It was surprising how quiet his room had become now that he was used to the little menace bugging him all the time.

He was about to cover his head with his pillow and just wallow in his self-pity again when he heard a slight tapping sound.

It was coming from his window.

He rolled over and turned around at the same time, to see a very familiar figure in red waving awkwardly to him. Eyes widening, he sprang off his bed to open the window.

“La-Ladybug,” he stammered. “What brings you here?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. His bedroom wasn’t exactly clean right now… he’d locked himself in here ever since that night, after all. There were candy wrappers from his rebellious sugar binge, clothes from the past few days—OH GOD, WAS THERE A SMELL??

“I, um… I just wanted to check up on you,” Ladybug said, sounding as nervous as he felt and shooting awkward glances at him. “I mean… I know these past few days must’ve been hard….”

“You saw the news a few minutes ago,” Adrien realized, wincing. Ladybug giggled.

“Well, yes, then there was that,” she admitted. Adrien wasn’t sure if he wanted to die of embarrassment right then and there, or melt into a puddle of happy goo because Ladybug was so cute when she blushed!!

“I’m sorry!” he said instead.

“Don’t be!” Ladybug immediately reassured him. “It was… a surprise, sure—I think I spit my juice halfway across the room—but I should’ve addressed the press long before now and told them not to harass you.”

Adrien snorted. “I’m used to it. You’d think I’d have learned not to say stupid stuff on camera already.”

Ladybug gave another nervous giggle, biting her lip slightly. “Oh, so you… thought it was stupid, huh?” she mumbled. Adrien blinked at her. She caught his gaze and flushed again. “I mean, it… it just might not be a bad idea… if you’re seen with me—NOT THAT I WANT YOU TO BE SEEN WITH ME!! Well, I do, obviously—but just to—or, well….”

“Are you accepting my invitation? You’ll go with me??” Adrien asked in disbelief. No way. No way could he be this lucky! Not even with all the karma in the world built up around him!

“Well, sure, I guess,” Ladybug said, smiling. “I didn’t have anything else planned for tomorrow night, and this could be a really good thing, you know? Plus… I’d really like to get to know you… you know, better.” Her face was matching her suit again, and Adrien was sure his cheeks were the same shade, but he couldn’t help but feel the well of joy spring up in him.

Ladybug wanted to go to the party with him!

She wanted to get to know him better!!

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Ahem, I mean… uh, thank you!” He licked his lips nervously. “So, should I pick up you… I mean, pick you up…?”

“Oh, um… it might be best if we just meet there, okay?” Ladybug suggested. Adrien nodded. She cocked her head to the side, staring at him. “And Adrien? Try to get some rest, okay?”

Before Adrien had realized she’d moved, she was standing in front of him, her fingers skimming his bangs, looking at him curiously. He gulped and quickly looked away from her face. Her hands withdrew and she suddenly looked very uncertain.

“You just, don’t look as put-together as you usually do,” she said softly, clutching her hands to her chest. Then she shook herself out of it, giving him a smile. “Of course, it’s to be expected, but—”

Adrien caught a glint of black around her neck and did a double-take. The ring. She was wearing—

“Have you heard anything from Chat Noir?” he blurted, kicking himself as soon as he did. Gah, he knew the answer to that better than anyone!! What was he thinking?? Ladybug looked at him, and her hands went back up to clutch the cord the ring was on.

The Miraculous was still black instead of silver, he realized. She hadn’t claimed it.

“No, I haven’t,” she said sadly. She looked up at him hopefully. “Have you? You said… he was the one to get you out of there when the room started collapsing. But I found his ring in the rubble so… I’ve been meaning to ask: did you see his civilian form? Do you know who he is??”

She sounded so desperate. So sad and scared for her partner. He wanted to tell her, right then and there. He wanted to reach out and grab the ring, and have Plagg spring out and start yelling at him and begging for cheese. But…

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, swallowing. He glanced at her. “Who he was?”

For a moment, he was sure she was about to say yes. She looked so hopeful… but then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped away from him.

“That wouldn’t be fair to Chat,” Ladybug whispered. “He’s worked so hard—we’ve both worked so hard to keep our identities secret. I feel like it’d be cheating if I asked you to tell me. If you could, though—if you know him—just tell him I’m worried about him, okay? And that I have something of his if he ever wants it back.” She smiled down at the ring around her neck. Then she looked up at him with a much brighter smile. “And we’ll get this whole ‘mess with the press’ sorted out for you too. And we’ll have some fun while doing it, right?” She winked him. Adrien smiled back.

“Sounds great.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then!” she called, already running for his window. He waved, waiting until she was gone to reply.

“Can’t wait, my lady.”

He tossed and turned that night, feeling the absence of Plagg’s soft purr more than usual. Dark images filled his head. Shadows and looming figures and his own overwhelming guilt.

Years of being a superhero, of saving Paris time and time again, and it had taken so little to break him.

“Help me, Adrien. I need you.”

He shuddered again at his father’s soft voice, curling into a ball at the words he’d longed to hear for years… the idea that not only could he help his father, he could make him happy….

“Just give me the ring.”

“NO!” he cried, waking himself up. He took a deep, shuddering breath, not even bothering to look at the clock to see how early it was.

I didn’t give in, he reminded himself firmly. In the end, I did what was right. I didn’t give him the ring. I called Ladybug. And the police, just to make sure he wouldn’t get away. I fought him. We fought him. We won… if only I hadn’t hesitated in that one moment of weakness….

“Help me, Adrien.”

He bit his lip.

Ladybug had been fighting her own battle, catching every single akuma Hawkmoth had managed to corrupt, while Chat was supposed to guard the villain they’d just defeated. And, with just a few words… spoken so softly that Adrien was sure Ladybug hadn’t heard them… Hawkmoth had managed to distract him enough to break free and unleash his final attack.

And really, who points missiles at their own evil villain lair??

He’d lost the ring in that last, desperate struggle with his father. Hawkmoth had managed to pull it off his finger, but Chat’d struggled so hard it had gone flying across the room. They’d both chased after it, until Adrien had realized that he was literally in the middle of a warzone, explosions everywhere, and very, very unprotected without the indestructible catsuit. Relief didn’t even begin to describe what he felt when he saw Ladybug dive through an opening and knock Hawkmoth unconscious. Then she’d spotted Adrien in the midst of the collapsing room and had frantically motioned for him to get out.

Not wanting to distract her from getting his father to the police, he’d obeyed, figuring he could come back for the ring later. But once he’d gotten to his room, the reality of everything that had just happened had crashed down around him, and he’d collapsed.

He could’ve gotten her killed. His partner. His love. All because of one moment of weakness where he’d listened to the evil villain who’d proved time-and-time-again that he was more than willing to kill them. And that he’d known who Chat really was for awhile now. And Hawkmoth had still tried to kill him.

That last one had been a real reality check.

Somewhere in there, he’d renounced his ring. He’d spoken the words in a shaky whisper, tears pouring down his face. He wasn’t worthy of being a superhero. He wanted nothing more to do with magic. Not if this was the cost.

Ladybug had come to check on him in his room, of course, once his father was sorted out, and Adrien had given her the half-baked explanation that Chat Noir had helped him get to safety, and that the superhero had told him he was leaving before his secret identity was revealed.

Adrien didn’t know if it was believable. But Ladybug had bought it and thanked him for his cooperation before running away as usual.

Now, here he was, staring at the morning sun streaming into his room, trying to figure out if he wanted to fly back to his lady’s side and tell her who he was, or just curl up and disappear from the world altogether.

He was the son of a villain.

He was a failure as a partner.

He was… not really needed anymore.

Fortunately, Chloe didn’t give him a choice. She burst into his room around lunchtime and declared that he was taking her to lunch, and then they were going shopping. Relieved, he let her drag him to a restaurant and all her favorite stores. She picked out a jacket, shirt, and pants for him that kinda reminded him of James Dean. And he got to hear her squeal with delight when he told her that Ladybug had agreed to go to the party with him.

Then it was another flurry of shopping as they hunted for the perfect outfit for her to wow her superhero idol. After all that, she brought him home so he could shower and get ready while she went back to the hotel to made sure everything was ready for her party.

Adrien had just enough time on his own to work himself up again, and he very nearly talked himself out of going to the party at all. However, the thought of both Chloe and Ladybug coming after him if he didn’t show up (dear God, those two would be scary if they ever teamed up!) was enough to get his butt out the door with time to spare. He even managed to pick up a rose on the way there.

Might as well do this right, right?

A crowd of reporters and cameras was gathered outside the hotel (no doubt Chloe wasn’t letting any of them in the door) and Adrien saw a speck of red on a rooftop nearby. He took a deep breath and, gripping his flower tight, stepped out to face them.

Instantly, flashes of light blinded him. Years of modelling saved him as he simply smiled effortlessly and blatantly ignored all the questions aimed at him. Silently, he thanked his father for ensuring that his bodyguard was paid until the end of the year. He was pretty sure he’d be lost already if it weren’t for the Gorilla.

Then, the rest of the world melted away as a streak of red inserted itself between him and the crowd. There was a flurry of flashes again as Ladybug landed, already smiling at him. Like him, she ignored the questions, her eyes never wavering from his.

Adrien felt his body instantly relax.

Taking a deep breath, he gave her his biggest smile and a courtly bow, presenting the rose to her. Ladybug giggled a bit as she took it.

“Such a gentleman,” she gushed, tucking the rose behind an ear.

“Thank you again for coming with me.”

“Of course. Anything for the boy who helped us defeat Hawkmoth,” she said, raising her voice just loud enough for the press to hear. There was furious scribbling as the reporters latched onto this information. Adrien flushed a bit, but offered her his arm, which she instantly took. “I know how hard all this must be for you, Adrien. It takes true strength to do what you did.”

“I wish I could’ve done more,” Adrien said bitterly. Ladybug gave his arm a squeeze.

“It’s done now. The bad guy is defeated, and tonight’s all about having fun,” she said as they walked into the hotel, leaving the crowd of reporters behind. In front of them, the party was in full swing. The superheroine gave him a bracing smile. “…Ready for it?”

“Living well is better than revenge?” Adrien asked, his lips quirking up despite himself.

“Exactly.”

The next few hours were a blur. He knew he spoke to Chloe and Alya, both of whom gushed over his date (his DATE!! A date with Ladybug!!), Nino had shot him some finger guns before being dragged off by Alya, they’d eaten some sort of cheese snack that had him reaching for his jacket to slip Plagg a piece before he remembered that the kwami wasn’t there, and then there was dancing.

Dancing with Ladybug was bliss.

Her pigtails bounced, her eyes sparkled. He could drown forever in the musical sound of her laughter, and the way she moved with him, totally in sync… Adrien never ever wanted to leave that dance floor.

But sadly, all good things must eventually come to an end, and all too soon, Adrien found himself saying goodnight to Chloe and his friends, and somehow holding Ladybug’s hand while he waited for his driver.

“I had a great time tonight,” Ladybug said. Adrien didn’t know if she was blushing again or still flushed from all the dancing, but it was quickly becoming his favorite thing.

“M-me too,” he managed, trying hard not to think of how bittersweet this night was becoming. Sure, it was definitely the best night of his life, but would he ever see her again? Should he tell her? Would this be his last chance?? “L-Ladybug…?”

“I wanted to give you something,” she said brightly, turning towards him with a small box in her hands. Adrien took it, feeling bewildered. Ladybug smiled at him. “Think of it as a thank you.”

“B-but I—”

He cut himself off as Ladybug suddenly stepped in closer to him and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t open it until you get home, okay?” she murmured in his ear. He could only nod. Most of his brain had been broken in the realization that LADYBUG HAD JUST KISSED HIM.

“See you around, handsome!” she called as she flew away. Adrien stared after her, face burning. After a few moments, he heard a pointed cough over his shoulder and looked to see his bodyguard waiting for him with the car.

“She… she…”

His bodyguard smirked.

Fun fact: words are hard.

What Adrien meant to do was proclaim his joy to the whole world: “SHE KISSED ME! DID YOU SEE?? Isn’t it wonderful?? The world is so beautiful!! Oh, happy, happy night!!”

Instead, what came out of his mouth was,

“She… kiss… me. I… um, good. I—”

The Gorilla chuckled and then indicated the car with his head.

“Yes… Yes! Car… home… must….”

Fortunately, Adrien finally made it into the car. Then he was suddenly very much aware of the little box Ladybug had given him. He stared at it intently. What could it be? The size of his hand… square shaped, when he shook it something rattled… Strange.

But she had told him to wait until he was home. So Adrien spent the next few minutes growing increasingly nervous. Once they arrived, he shot to his room, barely acknowledging Natalie with a quick, “the party was great, good night!” before closing the door behind him.

Then, and only then, did he open the box with shaking hands. Inside was a note… and another box.

This box, however, he knew quite well, and he stared at it in disbelief, his heart soaring and his stomach dropping all at once.

Not daring to touch it just yet, he opened the note.

Dear Chaton,

Yes, I know it’s you. I wasn’t that far away from you and Hawkmoth when you two were fighting during that last battle. I saw the ring come off. That’s how I knew to look for it in the rubble.

First off, I wanted to say that I am so, so sorry that something like this has happened to you. Fate has a twisted sense of humor and you don’t deserve it. You really have been brave, Adrien. And you are the sweetest, most generous boy I have ever met. I feel honored to have been your friend these past few years.

That being said, my kwami has informed me that the Cat Ring would not be in the state it’s in if you hadn’t already willingly given it up. I know you must have your reasons for doing this, and I’ll respect whatever decision you make, but please remember that the only one to blame for Hawkmoth’s actions is Hawkmoth. You should not feel guilty. Shake it off. I want you back. You have been nothing but a wonderful superhero, a perfect partner, and my very best friend. You are the other half of my heart. I know you’ve been beating yourself up, but what happened that night is not your fault.

Aaand, since I know all too well how stubborn you can be, we can chat about it some more when you’re ready to talk. No matter what your decision. I’m always here for you.

All my love,

Ladybug

Below her signature was a phone number. Through blurry eyes, Adrien suddenly realized she’d given him her phone number. Her civilian phone number! He choked as several tears fell onto the paper. He quickly moved the note out of range of the tears now streaming down his face.

She didn’t blame him. Didn’t hate him. She didn’t think he was a failure!

He’d need that number later!

His hands still shaking slightly, he reached for tiny black and red box. It must be hers, for her earrings, he mused, since his was still stuffed in a drawer somewhere. He’d have to give it back to her. But for now…

He opened the box.

A flash of light later, and a familiar tiny black cat was floating in front of him, yawning. Plagg gave him a sleepy smile.

“Hey kid. You got any cheese?”

“Your fridge is still full!” Adrien laughed, shaking with relief. Some things never changed! As the kwami zipped off without even a backwards glance, Adrien looked down at the note again and, before he could talk himself out of it, quickly dialed the number. He held the phone up, feeling all the weights of the world lifting off his shoulders.

This. This was where it all changed. They could begin again.

“Hello?”

#ml valentine exchange #ladrien #sorry this got so long

113 notes · View notes

teavious · 7 years ago

Text

i’d do it all again

fandom: boku no hero academia

pairing: midoriya izuku & everyone

summary: midoriya izuku: origins. (also on AO3)

commission for @heeeky !!! thank you so, so much!

It starts like this: Midoriya Izuku, aged 3. Coming back home from grocery shopping, noticing an opulent figure on the screens at the store next to the second right turn, his hold over his mother’s hand tightening when he takes in the blue and the red, the strong arms carrying civilians like they’re made of feathers. He’s glued to the glass in a second, happy sounds of admiration escaping his mouth, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears of overwhelm. His mother approaches him, a hand softly patting the top of his head, reading the name of the hero that enraptured him so. They take a detour, Izuku now rather clutching at his chest a figurine and a poster- of All Might.

It starts like this: Midoriya Izuku, aged 4. In his class, everyone wants to be a hero when they grow up; imagining oneself in a costume and able of anything is an easy task for fragile minds. And yet, few say it like they mean it, like their words will actually be remembered years to come. Bakugou Katsuki is the only one that sticks out from the crowd: maybe because he’s loud, maybe because he speaks those words like a man getting ready for battle. A young Midoriya gets the same gut feeling of immense potential and immediately follows the steps of a bold and self-assured boy, in simple admiration.

It ends like this: Midoriya Izuku, on the chair that he once jumped on in excitement, watching the video that changed his life for the hundredth time and crying his heart out. His own mother, on her knees in front of him, breaking down because of the smile he hoped would save her of this pain. They both cry, together, each with their own failure.

The story doesn’t end like this: a Quirkless boy giving up in front of relentless bullying, putting aside his childhood dream just because of a setback decided by fate and his own body, trusting the voice of those around him than the one telling him not to give up.

It goes on like this: one lonesome figure and the same notebook x 13; one lonesome figure and a villain; one lonesome figure and a hero.

***

The deeper the darkness, the more dazzling the light shines.

***

You know that moment when you meet someone you’ve admired, someone whose image you’ve relied on to get you through life – and your whole body turns to liquid, your tongue forgets to work? Midoriya Izuku would like to say that’s how his own fateful encounter went. No realities hardened, no dreams shattered by the figure who’ve made them possible in the first place. You know that when things are at their worst, they can only get better?

Maybe Midoriya Izuku didn’t have the stuff that heroes are made of; but he is hero enough to put others to shame.

When he leaps to defend; he leaps towards his destiny: trembling in fear, panicked beyond measure and ready to face whatever it is thrown his way.

***

If Midoriya is to be honest, he loved Kacchan. He loved that back when nothing was differentiating them, he was brave and bold in ways he’d never be – kind in a violent way that kept him strong and fierce. Maybe that’s why he followed so willingly: Kacchan was the closest thing to the hero he ever dreamt to be, to the hero whose strength could overcome all obstacles. It made sense, back then: Katsuki Bakugou has been the strongest person he ever encountered, and every meeting left him enraptured and aching and empty and less.

In time, he learns differently. It comes with having no Quirk, with being taunted for having no Quirk, with being in a whole class of weirdly skilled kids. It comes with All Might, the inspiration he can give, the power he gives, the smile ever returning on his face. A hero is made for sacrifice; and who else would be more fitting than the oh so scared boy, pushing through crowds to jump in front of dangers for others, even useless as he had been?

He had been pleased with his position: overcame and defeated, nursing a slight hope at greater things simply because he was left to, because no one actually told him that he can’t do it and given him necessary proof. Objectively speaking, his raw force would never reach that of his childhood friend. It took him a decade to sit next to Kacchan from equal grounds; and only from now on do they actually grow into the roles of rivals, pushing each other constantly one more step forward – and when Deku this time says they’re friends, the term doesn’t seem so foreign, so outrageous anymore.

If Midoriya is to be honest, the only real recognition of his new powers, of his new role, of his dream that he ever needed was that of his oldest friend. The support, afterwards; the knowledge ingrained in so many other heroes that whatever he’s doing (because even he is not so sure) is good – is overwhelming.

***

Heart, skill, body, wisdom and knowledge.

***

He’d like to tell his mom – let her know that her son is trying his best, on his way to fulfilling a dream thought futile for so long. He wants to tell her: it would have meant the world if you would have told me otherwise, but now I know it was your own way of protecting me later on. The world is cruel, mom. The world is vile. The world is evil. But I will fight it all. Please be proud of me.

***

When he runs on the beach, his chest heaving in pain, his throat aching; when he soaks t-shirts in a matter of minutes after he started; when he eats servings after servings, ending up coming home still hungry; when he barely lifts objects that he should have no deal trying to lift – he’s not sure if he does it for All Might or for himself.

When he swallows a hair, when he goes through a hellish examination where he ends up making the same heroics he’s been noticed for in the first place, when he wears the costume his mother sewed – he knows the answer.

***

There's nothing more fragile than a heart that's swelled to bursting.

***

“I’ll support you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry,” is what his mother told him, after the first time she saw him using his powers in the reckless way of someone who just learnt to walk wants to start running.

Nowadays, it’s easier to put her nerves at ease, though he suspects that from time to time she uses up a tissue box even when he’s safe at school, simply because he’s all grown up. He thinks worrying became natural to the people in his life, mainly because of his own fault. But it’s nice to know that he has a support net of persons that are ready to cheer him on, his own mother with her tears and sometimes overbearing carefulness at the head of the crowd.

In time, the circle just gets larger – and having people wishing him the best, even as strangers, just because they appreciated his performance, his heart and guts bleeding on a cold floor, will probably never not make him blush.

***

When All Might smiles, things fall into place: one knows for certain that peace is to be restored, justice to be brought, evil to be defeated. In that smile, in that laugh of his lies the essence of a hero.

But when All Might came to save his (but don’t tell others) favourite class, he was not smiling. He once told Izuku that he smiles to hide the fear, but in that moment, all those golden eggs, bright minds and youthful souls that he learnt in such a small time to care so much about were in danger, and that fear have kept his lips frozen in a most menacing smirk. Later, there would be other things to blame: the pain, the knowledge that power stays only for a while, and the wounds his juniors had suffered through in his absence. They’ve all been devastating: continuously tearing apart at the broad figure, and the smile has been absent until the very bitter end.

Midoriya Izuku still doesn’t know what to make of his hero, of his teacher. In his heart, he wants to make All Might proud, bring honour to the image that he has to represent, as the one with power such as the symbol of peace. But even deeper, behind the desperate need to please someone who’s shown him light when he thought he was engulfed in darkness, is the equally annoying nagging to be better, to surpass the one he once looked up to. Such is the destiny of young pupils.

A hero… goes beyond.

***

1-A is a class that holds potential for greatness: best of what the youth can offer mixed with best of the Quirks. It’s been hard not to feel like a poser sitting next to these people who’ve been honing their skill since they found out about it; sit still and act like he knows what the hell he’s doing while breaking the bones in his body, each at a time, as need asks of him. It is unfair towards his classmates, all who have been welcoming and accepting (as rule of thumb, Bakugou is excluded from all group mentions), who actually look at him and consider him a possible threat to their own luxurious future. A possible companion for years to come, a friend to rely on when things get back. Sometimes, he can’t take it: how blessed he feels simply by having his feelings reciprocated by those around him.

When it comes to Uraraka Ochako, he keeps finding more and more amazing sides to her. He feels like he can’t really do anything for her, cannot reciprocate the kindness she has shown him over and over again, the support she has given him even in the worst of times. He’s not worthy of being looked up at, he’s nothing that special when compared to this girl who’d rather collapse than admit defeat. Everyone learns what their heart yearns for in different ways, and it is always a moment of immense magnitude. When Midoriya realizes he wants this: a family away from home, Uraraka is the first he reaches out for.

Iida Tenya is the next one; gesture as natural as saving him a seat or waiting after him whenever he gets hurt is for the class president. The passion in these people, the intricate pattern of events that brought them in the hero class, with a clear road ahead of them… fuels his own. Growing alongside Iida feels like an honour, especially after knowing exactly the kind of feelings that lie in his heart.

Others follow, naturally. Asui, the one who kept asking of him to call her by her first name and kept her tongue as honest even in the direst situations, and as such being the saving grace of the class several times. Takoyami, whose approval is soft but firm, whose Quirk is the coolest Midoriya had seen, whose trust in his ideas make him blind with happiness.

***

The phrase “worthy opponent” can also mean “friend”. When it comes to Todoroki Shoto, he’s the worthiest of them all. He looks at a young and desperate Midoriya Izuku and thinks: this is what a real hero is, a person that puts his own feelings aside and tries his damn hardest for others, even if those are the enemy. Even with both ice and fire aimed at his body, Midoriya finds a way to slice with his words, to awaken a truth that’s been frozen inside his heart for the longest time.

Prompted by such a fierce dreamer, how can he be left behind? How can he not be prompted to action?

***

I have to live up to the hopes of those who supported me.

***

It really ends like this: Midoriya Izuku grows to be the greatest hero of his generation, still. Plus ultra.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #all might #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #iida tenya #bnha #midoriya inko #tsuyu asai #fumikage tokoyami #todoroki shouto #bnha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #tododeku #izuku x ochako

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years ago

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Life Story - Part 34

The Christmas of 2003. My Uncle Bob and Aunt Marty came from Florida to visit the family. Because of the guests, everyone is in a good mood. And I can't necessarily be out getting bad grades or talking to boys so my father has no animosity towards me for those two weeks. Everyone is more or less in positive Christmas cheer. I really don't remember much of what I got that Christmas, other than I was very happy with it. Perhaps I was living in the endorphin high of thinking back on all the positive exchanges between Zack and I. I was being eaten alive by this good kind of stress that is associated with being in love. It hurts. It's all consuming. You can do painful physical tasks without pain or complaint. Temporarily, everything you do seems to have purpose, but at the same time nothing makes any sense at all. There is nothing you can do with it. It's simply there. And it can actually get in the way of actually living if you let it. I could not wait to go back to school to see him.

The only thing I do remember getting that Christmas, is my father for some strange reason decided to buy me this Guns n' Roses music video DVD. Why he bought me this I don't really know. I told him I didn't like Guns n' Roses. He himself never cared too much for Guns n' Roses either. I think he bought me this completely random unneeded gift because he had spent the last year associating me with my eldest sister Maria, who actually was out doing the drugs and having all the sex at my age. Her young wild years had been during the time of Guns n' Roses. She had the big hair, this sort of snotty almost L.A. Cheesy 80's teenage attitude. When my father bought me the DVD, I was thankful, and I even watched all the silly music videos, mostly I remember watching Axl walking down a dark hot looking sidewalk with his bandanna. Later, my father apologized for having gotten me that DVD. He said he had no idea what had gone through his mind when he was picking out gifts in the store.

I got this 50$ Hastings gift card (RIP), and I was so stoked. Sarah had also received some money and we made plans to go into Lewiston (bigger town 45 miles west) together and go shopping. Lewiston doesn't snow much, but it was dry and cold. There was snow on the surrounding valley hills. I remember walking in to the store and seeing all these possibilities that I hadn't really noticed before. It was probably the first time I ever took a real interest in what Hastings had to offer, at least the book or music sections. Previous to this, the only thing I ever had truly enjoyed about going to Hastings was that back in the 90's, I used to get over dubbed obscure foreign fantasy movies from the 80's and B movies for kids. A lot of movies from Moonbeam entertainment. After searching around for some time, I found the new White Stripes album, Elephant. I also found and purchased the biography of Kurt Cobain's, 'Heavier Than Heaven'. I read it over the course of that winter break, and I felt rather cool about it. Now I for sure knew more than anyone else did about Kurt Cobain.

After that, we went to the Lewiston mall, not a very big or good mall, but we were with Sarah's grandma Tutu, and we had to go to a bunch of old lady oriented stores that sold get well cards and soap and old lady jewelry. As we were walking down the mall absently, when suddenly I saw someone sitting at a bench back turned. It was unmistakable who it was, an all too familiar hunch and an all too familiar flannel, but I couldn't believe it. Zack was sitting there on the bench. I walked passed him, and we stopped and said hi. I didn't want to act as pleased as I was, so I swallowed it up. He was with his sister and some visiting cousins. He looked shocked and happy to see me as well. At some point we sat at the A&W, and he, his sister and his cousins were sitting behind us. He and I began throwing things back and forth. His sister and cousins seemed slightly alarmed. I was magical and fun, and I of course could not help but see this as a huge sign. It really did seem to me like the universe wanted us to meet. I could never explain it, but there were just so many coincidences.

I ended up listening to The White Stripes 'Elephant' over and over again. Up to that point, I had to say, it was my favorite album of all time. My father hated it. He would come into my room and accused Jack White of being a talentless guitarist. He made it out to be some aggressive juvinile noise album with no melody. He made out The White Stripes like they were a hardcore punk group, or like Black Flag or something. Later on, after he read reviews, he suddenly became highly interested in Jack White, particularly after the documentary, It Might Get Loud. It was kind of unfair, but it happens from time to time. Particular with front men and guitarists. They become icons for older middle class white dudes who want to start being musicians and think of themselves as 'bluesy'. They always end up spending a bunch of money on P.A equipment and specialty guitars and such.

Most of the time they don't really progress too much as guitarists. For them, it's more about what they can buy than it is what they can do. They always latch on to either Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, a number of various blues musicians, and most importantly, The Who. You can find these men in almost every guitar shop across the USA. They are generally dentists or real estate agents. Some of them are retired. They are bored. Their wives pretend to get into it as well, but actually they only like a few of the love songs and otherwise don't care. This sounds as though I am demonizing this, and it's really not the worst thing someone can do. There is nothing really wrong with it, only older middle class white people (if someone tries to tell me I am being racist against whites I am going to laugh) are the most universally typical group of people. If you don't believe me, you have never worked in the service industry. I really don't want to come off like I am discouraging artistic endeavors either. But it's funny to me because it's so universally the same. All these men are identical in my perspective.

Anyway, I mention these sorts of fellows because I feel like this crowd of people kind of took Jack White and claimed him as their own. And yeah, I know these sorts of people are not terrible, deep deep down they as individuals they are intricate human beings with their own unique qualities, our economy depends on their bored mindless spending habits. But they ruin everything. They just do. When they get into music, they take on music like it's an Olympic event. They think the fastest musicians are the best, or the oldest. They are looking for some kind of authenticity that they lost five years into their practicing medicine or whatever. They try to be seen at the right concerts. They are shameless posers. They brag about what they own. They have to essentially be told what to like. When The White Stripes were wholly a thing unto themselves and appealed to minimalism, childhood nostalgia, and abstract perspective they really just took the Jack White is an acclaimed guitarist with blues influence. Meg was a minimalist drummer, and these guys are all vaguely sexist and skeptical if they should like female musicians so she gets ignored.

My father later in time kind of became one of these older people who want to be cool in time, and he took Jack White and made it seem really uncool. He went from complaining about The White Stripes like they were an example of what's wrong with young folk these days to using it as a prop to seem edgy himself. And of course, he never really listened to it. But he would brag to other people like he did.

I have digressed, and should get back to what I was saying. As I go along in my life story, I am probably going to here and there explain my take on slightly off subjects simply because as I got older I formed more personal opinions about the world. It shapes the story to a degree.

There was a slumber party at Ava's that winter break. We invited Teal, whom I still didn't really trust. She was Ava's friend, not mine. And as I have stated before, she shoved me hard in 6th grade, and there was something really revealing about that shove. I didn't think she was a nice person. Basically, all of us sat around (I mostly just listened), and Teal and Samantha talked about their sex lives. Teal had slept with her babysitter, which I thought was kind of disturbing and weird. Her mom had trusted this high school guy to watch Teal as a junior high school student, and this insignificant dopy foolish creep had covered Teal's naked body with whipped cream and licked it off. I remember this story very vividly. This guy was super dull. I felt like Teal liked him on the grounds that he was older than her. And I just could not imagine letting his greasy boring face near me. Of course, that is just me.

At some point in the night, my friends all put on this Andrew WK song and started dancing. I liked Andrew WK, but dancing seemed weird to me. I was starting to notice group psychology a little more. Sarah and Samantha didn't want to do it, but they felt they had to. Teal and Ava were genuinely into it, and everyone was trying to impress Teal. I decided I didn't want to dance. They ended up putting on some boy band music on and I told them with honesty that I didn't want to dance. I told them I didn't like the songs. I wasn't like rude about it, and I wasn't trying to judge them. I just felt like it was 50% phony. Sarah later admitted that it was, and she was confused as to why she danced. And maybe to a certain extent, Zack labeling me as the 'anticonformist' was beginning to get to my head just a little. I was beginning to live up to the hype.

My Uncle Bob had bought us kids the movie 'Spirited Away' for Christmas. It was really good and I ended up watching it frequently. But then Ava came over, and she became this whole other level of obsessed with that movie. She ended up coming to my house off and on from winter break to Februrary just to watch Spirited Away. She talked about how she was the main character Chio, and how Tyeson was the character Haku – none of which makes any sense at all – particularly Tyeson who was mostly stoned at all times and had little ambition or personality to speak of. And I didn't want to address it, but Ava reminded me of Noface when he was manically creating gold more than anyone in the movie. When she went to sleep I had to tip toe over her and turn the television off, and eventually I got tired of watching this movie over and over again with her, but would do it anyway to be nice.

Eventually Christmas break ended, and we were back in school. My uncle and aunt went home. Ava was acting spongtaneous and crazy. She seemed desperate and moody. She had hoped that Tyeson would come back for the second semester, but he never really did. She was in despair. Sarah had just bought herself a lot of Him and CKY merchandise, but other than that, we were all back in the frying pan.

I mentioned Billy Arnett a while ago. He was the guy that I often saw in detention, whom all the girls thought was super hot. By age 18, he had slept with well over 50 girls, not just in our town, but in neighboring ones as well. I really didn't like him because he was starting to take advantage of girls who were way too young for him, and the only thing that stopped me from being outwardly against him as a person was the sad fact that Zack and him were buddies. But a few of the more popular girls in my class were obsessed with him. I guess these two girls who were already enemies both wanted to fuck him, and try to be the girl that could tame the bad boy, as if that were something anyone could ever do. Billy of course didn't care, so long as he was getting laid. He thought these fights were hilarious and he didn't take any of these young girls seriously. There was some kind of cold-war style mutually assured destruction realization between these two girls, Erica and Amanda. One little move would make the whole thing blow up.

Ava, having watched this whole fight go down from afar, decided to see what would happen if she wrote in black sharpie “Erica is a fucking slut who fucked Billy Arnett” in the bathroom stalls. This ended up causing Erica to think that Amanda wrote it. Amanda of course was innocent, but Erica decided to confront her on it, and this all escalated into a fist fight of scratching and punching and physically attacking one another in the girl's locker rooms. All for the love of stupid Billy who didn't even bother to brush his teeth. Meanwhile, Ava and I sat on the bench out in the gym – though we didn't actually see the fight, we watched them both have to be physically separated. It was 100%. I know that sounds bad – it really isn't in keeping with my feminist values, but both of these girls were stuck up, and pretentiously full of themselves and after being in their class for the last eight and a half years, it felt fun to watch this happen. And I hadn't done it personally. It was all Ava. Besides, the two of them ended up becoming friends because of the incident, so I don't feel too badly.

I ended up doing something similarly a few months later. I wrote YOU WILL DIE SOON 666!!! on a sheet of paper, opened up someone's locker – I didn't know who's, and put it in. It ended up going to this ultra sweet girl named Britney. She was one of the few people who was both popular, and truly a wonderful kind human being. She was always nice to everyone equally and didn't judge other people at all. When she opened her locker and saw what was written, she became frightened that someone was after her. And everyone was baffled. Who would ever want to come after Britney? I felt really guilty. I would say sorry today, but that wasn't how I responded then. I just shut my mouth and looked down at my desk as everyone spoke about it for the rest of the year.

I ended up getting kicked out of math class. My math teacher was named Mrs. Rush. She lost it. As is to be expected, it was the first year of alebra, and I was so confused by this part of the years as to what was being taught. I felt like the things you learned one day were contradicted by the lesson of the next, and I could not follow it. I have always needed more time with math. I can't digest a lesson that quickly. There was this rush, and for whatever reason, I simply could not follow even if I had the right attitude. They might has well have been speaking Latin for the entire hour of math. I didn't do my homework ever anymore. I used to stress about it, but now I didn't see the need to stress if the outcome would be the same regardless if I stressed out or if I didn't. Which teachers hate this attitude. I tried in the beginning, and then I simply stopped. I would instead look out the window and brush my hair with my fingers and think about Zack, and song lyrics and daydream about the future. It was on such a day that Mrs. Rush asked me a question abruptly in class. I didn't even know what she had said, let alone the answer. I had been very deep in thought, a strand of my long curly brown hair was in my hands. She flew into a rage. She called me a lazy worthless human being and she demanded I follow her to the office, she was screaming at me the whole time, I don't remember what. She told me I was never allowed in her classroom again.

I was taken into the office, and she yelled at the office woman, and the counselor telling them I was absolutely under no circumstances allowed to be in her classroom ever again. I was a little besides myself, but a little proud in a way. Zack had also been kicked out of math class after all, and now was taking a really dumbed down math class called practical math. I was hoping they would put me in there instead with him. The office women didn't know what to do with me. They had me sit in a chair. The next day I came to the office at that time and asked them what I should do instead of math, and they told me that I had no choice but to go to math class anyway. So I sheepishly went back to Mrs. Rush's class. She glared at me, but said nothing. Perhaps the principal had shot down her ambitions to have me sent somewhere else.

And to be fair to her, I was a miserable student. I really was. I think she was a small minded judgmental woman, but she was passionate about mathematics. More than anyone else I have ever met. I really don't understand that passion fully, but I have to respect it for what it is. She knew a great deal more about things I have never had the discipline to sit down and learn. I do imagine it was hard to have someone like me in her class, essentially disrespecting everything she was passionate about and undermining her determination to teach. And it had to seem dumb, me twirling my hair with hearts for eyes looking out the window all lobotomized by petty teenage fantasies of romance and rebellion against 'the system'. The again, she was getting paid. And she never did anything when she saw I had been beaten by my dad. Cognitive dissonance kicked in and she decided that I deserved it, whatever it was that had happened.

And she got her revenge. Three months later, nearing the end of the school year she had worn this very boring tan pant suit type outfit, and one of the girls in my class complimented her attire. She gushed and started talking about how it looked good on her because she had a certain body type. I wasn't really paying attention to this conversation because it was boring to me, but she then had started to talk about how some women don't look good in pantsuits and should never ever wear them. She then told me to stand up. I didn't really register that this was connected in any way to her conversation, and thought it had to be something more straight forward. I stood up confused. She then started pointing out what was wrong with my body piece by piece, and why I could never wear a whole bunch of different kinds of outfits that she could wear. I realized eventually that she was standing me up in front of the class to essentially point out that I was chunky. She didn't say I was fat, but that was essentially what she was getting at. I sat down, more baffled than anything. It was extremely unprofessional and inappropriate. Good student or no.

Mrs. Rush ended up dying of lung cancer three years later. She smoked like a chimney and it eventually got to her. The town had a huge fund raising thing, and they raised the 120,000$ needed for this operation that had a chance of saving her life, but then she died a week later, and the money went to another person. I was sad about it. She wasn't a bad woman, and despite our problems she didn't deserve death. My father laughed and called it karma – having heard eventually some of the things she said and did. It is one of the many things I don't really like about him, that kind of dumb reactionary bullshit. I knew she also had a very good side. Her husband was a very friendly and warm person, and you could tell they were very much in love. And at one point the next year she had been teaching a class that Sarah was in, and she had a very strange younger girl in her class that was easy to bully, that she kind of assisted the other students at picking on in the class room. Sarah actually went up to her desk after class and told her that she was tired of the bullying and felt that Mrs. Rush herself was provoking it. Mrs. Rush actually listened to what Sarah had to say, and seemed genuinely concerned, having not even realized her own behavior. It isn't actually an excuse, but there is something to be said for a person who is willing to take criticism and learn from their mistakes.

One day in mid January – I actually think it was January 17th, the day was the day to end all days and that date is forever carved into the aged tree trunk of my memory chamber. Zack had taken me aside after FFA, the sky overcast and grey, the outside air brisk, and other than the river the world was very silent, and he had told me that he thought I was a very special person. He looked me in the eyes and said 'You are a very special person Renee'. He took me aside and told me he really really did love me. I was dear to him. And I didn't react, I don't think I could. I was shaking and in shock. And I had to get to my next class.

I honestly would react so differently now, that it hard for me to put myself in the shoes of someone who simply wouldn't react to this. This would not be a situation that would come up now, but if something like this happened to the person I am now, I would have suggested we skip the rest of class and talk by the river. And I would have figured it out that day. Either he loves me and we should date, or he doesn't love me like that and we don't. I now have this internal person who would know how to naturally be in those shoes. But then, I feel like a part of me that should have been there was a blank slate. Maybe I really had no self esteem, or it had been wiped away by my upbringing, a sort of confience that most everyone has that I don't. Or maybe I am naturally someone with a lot of voids in my personality. I think all three are the case.

I was an empty glass. I hadn't been told I was loved in years. I hadn't felt loved for years. I had become so accustomed to being the bottomfeeder that it didn't even hurt anymore. It was hard for me to accept that someone could love me. Each time he stated it, a part of me felt like it was internally being made whole again by an act of magic. Like I was being put back together better than I had been before. I was getting very close to being emotionally able to react, the glass was close to being full, but it was taking me some time still.

I also had no experience with boys really to speak of, outside of throwing things at them and saying flirtation comebacks. If he tried to kiss me and I totally messed up, which would be likely, then what then? And maybe I lacked the courage to reach out. It's hard to be vulnerable, and I had a lot to lose. A lot of my self esteem rode entirely on his daily encouragement. He really was the only thing in the world I cared about. If I did reach back, what if he realized it had been a mistake all along, and I might lose the one thing in life I cared about. I could not afford to lose him for good.

I tried to tell my friends about it. But they didn't really get it. They took it as a typical reporting, even though the situation was a little different than the others. Like, it was practically a confession. After lunch, we were indoors in the gym watching various sport games being played on the gym floor by oblivious students a million light years away from my emotional state. Zack came up to me, and he sat right next to me. He was acting very strangely, and I didn't know what he was doing. He scooted up so close to me he was practically sitting on me, and he grabbed my head. And he began singing 'Creep' by Radiohead in my ear. It was really kind of sporadic and crazy, and hard to explain. It was awkward and atypical, but that had never been anything to stop Zack. I just sort of melted. My friends all looked baffled. I tried to resist him at first, but then just gave in and let go of my ego entirely. He really was kind of off key a bit in his singing, but it didn't matter either. Eventually I just closed my eyes.

Probably for the first time since some doctor had pulled me of my mom's stomach, I felt at peace. I have ASMR so it had a strong affect on me. It's the kind of peace I fully expect at death. I leaned on him and just stopped even worrying about anything. I could have died right then, and the peace I felt would have made it worth it. He finished singing and I was dazed. I couldn't even tell where I was anymore. The whole world around me looked like a new place. The colors had changed and everything. Everything was new again. I was a new person. I was just about to tell him I loved him back. This was it, and I was mustering the right way to say it. I heard him distantly in the outside world of my thoughts saying to Ava that he could tell that I really did love him – as I am sure I was at this point concealing absolutely nothing. And I was about to tell him how I felt and everything at that moment, but then the bell rang and he walked away. I felt like putty and I was unable to reach him. I decided I would tell him how I felt the next day.

But the next day he didn't come to school. Or the next day, or the next. He was gone. My stomach felt sick. Where was he? Why was he gone? Did this have something to do with me? During this time, Ava acted very annoyed with me. Everyone was slightly annoyed with me, I was pining pathetically, barely able to make it through my day without him. Nothing else in the world was real to me. Was it over before it even began? He was gone for two and a half weeks, and there was never a clear definition other than his father came into the office stating that Zack was sick on day three of his absence. How could this happen?

It was around this time that everyone in my class was signing up for driver's ed. It was something I needed to go to, but the idea of driving seemed daunting and unrealistic to me at the time. I didn't really care if I went or not. Nobody really asked me about it either. I ignored all the papers that got passed around, or the office lady talking over the intercom that it was our last day to sign up. It just didn't seem real to me at all. It was all part of that fake world out there that demanded I know things and do things. All that was real was Zack's blue eyes. And he was somehow gone. Because of my drunken haze, and my unclear judgment, I never ended up signing up for driver ed. And I didn't end up learning to drive that year. Or the next, or the next, or the next. And to this day, this is why I don't have a license and can't really drive. Sure, I can turn on a car. I have even driven rural roads of Idaho, which is fairly easy. But other than that, I don't really know. All because Zack sang Creep by Radiohead to me in my ear and I lost my mind.

PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz

PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd

PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul

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PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf

PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73

PART 25 - http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj

PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r

PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g

PART 22 - http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 - http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c

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PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

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PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

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aviationfiction · 8 years ago

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XIX

Autumn Dupont

It’ll get better.

This is a new beginning for you.

Though it may hurt now, ultimately, you will realize that it’s for the better.

Now is the time for your personal growth.

Some people believe that holding on and working on it is what makes you strong; sometimes it’s letting go that is the strongest act that one can do.

I’ve heard it all.

I have pages and pages of a marble notebook filled with the many different quotes and words of advice that I’ve been given in reference to divorce from Dr. Jill, my parents, Issac, and friends. Though I didn’t do it out right, I eventually laughed at every single one of them for loosely offering advice for a circumstance that none of them have gone through. Human beings tend to believe they’re expects on every situation when it has nothing to do with their life and livelihood. There’s an arrogance within that. It often comes into play when life is good on their end. For that reason, they can happily assess your incompetence or shambles of a life, to figure out where not to go wrong in their own, and finally to offer you a charade of advice. It’s always from their perspective; what they would and wouldn’t do if they were in your shoes. It’s rare to have someone step outside of themselves and actually view what’s happening to you from your eyes; to feel the pain and severity of the situation and finally, to understand the hardship. I’ve flipped through those pages endlessly, reading every single piece of advice I decided that a mental note was enough for, and none of it soothes me or has prepared me for what I am facing today. It hasn’t aided in the much needed closure I don’t believe I’m ever going to get. Instead, I’ve been left internally conflicted and confused because I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is the correct way to go about this. I’d love to have the divorce party, where my friends and I cheerfully toss back endless amounts of alcohol, dance to our favorite tunes, and verbally trash every single trait about my husband. If not that, I’d love to sign those papers and walk out of there in my high heels feeling liberated and confident in the decision that I personally made for the betterment of myself. I’ve imagined it all by letting it play out like some heavily directed alternate universe scene out of a dramatic sitcom but my reality is anything but that.

I had a session with Dr. Jill yesterday evening and we discussed the stages of heartbreak that she swears by. Though she admitted there are different therapists and psychological doctors who will pan out anywhere between five and ten stages, she lives by the lucky number seven. We spent nearly three hours discussing these stages with no regard for her paid time or my much needed breath of fresh air from the intensity of her office. First, I’d been desperate for answers. Actually, I still am desperate for the necessary words or even excuses to fill in these holes that I have. The demise of my marriage has been a difficult puzzle to piece together on my own and the other party involved has been no help in bring it all to perspective. According to Andreas, it’s my fault. It’s the only way he’s made sense of our beginning, our middle, and finally, our destructive ending. I’ve yet to truly debate anyone about it; just myself. It’s a conversation that my mind has with itself when I first wake up in the morning and as I lay awake in bed at night tossing and turning with a dire hope to sleep, so the bitter thoughts will temporarily cease. The denial was strong; stronger than I needed it to be. Shane’s death heightened it. The stroke was my wake up call. I don’t know why, but when I hit the wooden floor of my parent’s entry hall clutching my head while my surroundings blackened, I knew right then and there that Andreas wasn’t returning to me. It wasn’t the arguments over the phone that ended in him angrily hanging up on me, my rants about the death of my sibling to guilt him about his neglect, or my deteriorating mental health. It took my mind and body suddenly feeling like I was on the brink of a young and sudden demise to understand we were irrevocably broken.

Bargaining? Oh I did plenty of that. Suggested marriage counseling? Check. Worked on myself? Check. Attempted to figure out what I wasn’t doing right? Check. Hell, I even worked on my appearance. I did my best to tackle every possibility there was to fix us and came up short. We haven’t relapsed. At one point, I wished we did. I desired for us to foolishly allow ourselves to toss our emotional sorrows aside and to get caught up into the physical aspect of our love, so we’d have no choice but to confront what tore us apart at some later point. He didn’t need my body anymore. Amber came into the picture to fill every physical void he was experiencing and seemingly has done a much better job than I ever could have. The anger I feel is beyond what woulds can ever express. It has taken me on this roller coaster ride of mental and physical responses to what’s happened. I scream, yell, cry, and blank out. I’ve punched a few things; knock over plenty of delicates. I’ve ripped pictures and even thrown the rings a couple of times. Dr. Jill has always told me that my anger is empowering because it is within those moments that I step outside of Andreas and realize that what I feel matters just as much. I stop worrying about what wasn’t right for him and acknowledge what hadn’t been right for me and all the hurt he’s inflicted upon me. It’s not victimizing. I don’t want to be a victim. It’s a reminder that I may actually deserve better and possibly more than I was given. Within the anger, somewhere in there, I’m telling myself the truth. I’ve come to accept this. I’ve surrendered. I’ve withheld this divorce for long enough and dragging it along is no longer beneficial for my emotions or childish thoughts of revenge. We’re not meant to be and though it’s taken quite some time for me to come to terms with that; I have. It’s painful to let my connection to my husband go but it’s far more painful to contain it with an idiotic hope that somehow it’ll all work itself out.

It’s over.

We’re over.

Love’s over.

Late last night, I was assured of my choice in a blush toned figure fitting pencil dress that I keep in the back of the closet for those days of necessary professionalism, but the high eighties Miami weather convinced me to leave it lying in my garment bag. Instead, I opted for a fairly new pair of acid washed, blue denim, cut off shorts I purchased from the California based revolutionized brand Runwaydreamz. The holes, rips, and frayed styled could easily scream hipster poser at Coachella, but with my elongated legs and caramel skin, they were a nice choice for the scenery of this beach front hotel. My choice of a top was an ode to my brother. Shane had a love for vintage t-shirts and created arguably the most ridiculous collection of them. He’d lay around his apartment using rags soaked in Clorox to bleach various parts of them and would use razors to intricately cut rips, holes, and fringe type of styles into the material. As his little sister and favorite muse, I reaped the benefits of either stealing them out of the closet that was specifically for them without a verbal lashing or he’d run around the city grabbing shirts for the both of us to create matching masterpieces that we’d go out in. He made this Motley Crue top about four years ago, here in Miami, after we spent the morning running around visiting numerous thrift shops. By that night, I was wearing his bleached, distressed, and slashed up creation while tossing back Jamaican rum and tooting my tail end up towards the ceiling as we danced to reggae, soca, and kompa classics at some little hole in the wall spot in Little Haiti. Now I’m wearing this top as an armor; a piece of him to cling to me and console me through what I wish he was here to hold my hand for. A mixture of tough and soft love; the soft often edged out the tough and he happily basked in his position as my earthly protector from all. Though it’s just threads of fabric, it’s a representation of the embodiment of him being threaded within me; within my soul. Knowing that should be enough to hold me up as I sit before two lawyers and my husband.

“Autumn, it’s mom.” She’s the only person who calls and announces her title and relationship just about every single time as if her name and number aren’t stored in my phone book or her position in my life hasn’t been engraved into my being for twenty six years. Occasionally it’s funny, but today, I am in no mood for my mother or her sometimes intentionally annoying antics.

“Hey.” I glanced between the black and white classic Converse All Stars and the Sophia Webster sandals resting on the bed and opted for the sandals. The black, pink, and orange cameo effect on the knotted cage shoes is a perfect pair with the shorts and vintage tee. Their vertiginous height would further enhance my legs.

“Where are you honey? Lauren and I landed about forty five minutes ago and we’ve checked into the hotel. We’re going to change and I figured we could catch an early brunch. Heather’s bridal shower isn’t until later on and we’re starving. What do think?”

“That sounds nice but I cannot join you. I’m extremely busy. You two go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

“Surely you can take an hour of your time to spend it with your mother. I’m not negating your time consuming tasks but come on. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. I’d like to have a meal with my child.” I listened to her huff as a bit of guilt slithered through my frame. Between work and this divorce, she’s accurate about us seeing less of one another but this is what she wanted. I’ve been living in her home and under both she and my father’s care for about two years now. After my release from the hospital, I’ve been cooped up in my second floor bedroom, wallowing in depression and boredom, for far too long. Dr. Jill has been my only escape and I had nothing to say to the woman for quite some time. My mother’s been nudging and persuading me to pick up and move on with my life; to let Andreas go and become anew again. Now that I’m officially working towards that, she’s questioned my job, my whereabouts, and now, how I’m using my time. She’s arguably the most backwards person I know.

“I can’t. Maybe another time? Possibly tomorrow if you’ll still be in town.”

“You gave me the same excuse when you came home two days ago.”

“I had to get ready to travel down here. You cannot fault me for that. You’re not being fair.”

“Okay. I apologize. I just miss you that’s all. It’s what us moms do. I worry. I’ll let you go and I’ll see you at the shower. Okay?” The defeat in her tone heightened the guilt within me as I finished pulling up the zipper on my right foot sandal. They older I’ve become, the harder it is to censor myself and cater to her need to shower me with her endless affection and meddling. Maybe it’s not my age but rather my circumstances. Affection is just not what I need right now; it’s not what I want.

“Okay.”

“I love you honey. Lauren says hi.”

“I love you too. I’ll see you later on.”

I tossed my phone on the bed; leaving her to end the call and quickly headed in the bathroom to apply another coat of the gold shimmering and warm peach Yves Saint Laurent lip gloss I grabbed out of Sephora in the city just yesterday afternoon. I went on a last minute and extremely panicked shopping run for a dress appropriate enough for today’s festivities. I thought I’d be able to nab something out of my closet and be satisfied with that. There wasn’t anything that particularly grabbed my attention so Glen happily drove me from store to store until I found an entire ensemble for this afternoon. Sephora was my last stop. I needed to grab another bottle of my favorite Armani Luminous Silk Foundation. The additional lip glosses, tubes of lipstick, and mascara was just me spoiling myself for the hell of it and upgrading the mediocre make up collection I have in my parents home.

While heading in the direction of the suite’s door, I tossed the lip gloss in yet another bag I’ve taken out of my mother’s closet. This time it’s her pink vintage Chanel bag that I’m praying I return back to it’s original place on the wooden shelf before she can ever notice it’s missing. She’s given me permission to borrow whatever I like…unless it’s vintage. I’m sure to earn her infamous glare if she notices that it’s gone.

“Excuse me.” I stepped out of the elevator and picked up my pace as I neared the doors of the Mandarin’s entrance. I bid the doorman a proper thank you as I exited and immediately slid into the already opened back of the awaiting SUV. He’d been waiting for me for about twenty minutes now. I’d taken far more time than needed flat ironing my hair. I thought about it curling it but the Miami humidity would have ruined it as soon as I stepped out into it.

“I’m heading to two six six five South Bayshore Drive.” As the driver closed the driver’s side door behind himself, he glanced at me through the rear view mirror and nodded his head with a small smile.

“That’s about fifteen minutes away from here ma’am. Traffic is down. We should be there shortly.”

“Thank you.”

I was looking forward to him forewarning me about a bit of traffic or even abruptly running into a bit of it on the way there. I’ve stalled myself with the flat ironing and I needed yet another interruption to mentally prepare myself for what’s to come. I’ve rehearsed lines, coached myself into avoiding all possibilities of crying, and mentally beat myself down to a pulp so Andreas wouldn’t be able to do it to me. I’ve run down every possible emotionally insulting, dismissive, and unreasonable comment he could verbally slap me with and I meshed the tears in with the running water immersing from the stainless steel shower head as I cleansed myself. The last time I had a genuine meltdown over that man, I woke up with tubes all over the place and the reddened eyes and distraught expression of my mother’s beautiful face. I will not give him that power once more. More than anything, I will never do that to my mother again. I will never forget my father tensely describing how her piercing screams rang out throughout their entire home as she clutched my body in her arms and wailed to God for my life. She pleaded and offered him all, including her own life, in exchange for mine. My father described what seemed like a shell of himself as he watched the paramedics wheel me out of the house. Though I wish I could have seen it myself, he described a frantic Issac who used his boisterous voice and intimidating demeanor to nearly bully the hospital’s staff and two of it’s board members to make sure the best of the best were in charge of my care. Their promises didn’t stop him from calling friends and friends of friends who could reach out to some of the best neurologists in the country. Even when I was awake and just about completely alert, it didn’t stop him from walking the hall giving orders as if he were recently appointed the Chief of Staff. I don’t live for them but I do take their love into consideration. Enough is enough. I’ve exhausted all of them, including Heather, with this part of my life. I no longer have the will power within me to further it.

I thought of you when I woke up this morning and I’ve contemplated on whether I should send this or not for a couple of hours. My conscious won the battle. I wish you all the best today. Let me know if you’re okay later, please.

My fingers tapped along the screen of my phone and it was my turn to contemplate if I should say anything to him. My pain won the battle as I clicked the lock button and slid it back into my purse. Thoughts of Dante seized my brain as soon as I checked into the Mandarin yesterday. This has become my go to hotel whenever I’m in Miami since meeting him and I’m reminded of the time we spent together together watching the moonlight dance along the Biscayne Bay. Whenever I go to and from the entrance, I cannot refrain from flashing back to the evening he was standing there waiting for me. Because of the incredible time he showed me at Palmeiras, I’ve booked the beach club for Heather’s bachelorette party. We parted on somewhat of a confusing note after such a sublime time in Paris, but it was necessary to minimize any further assumptions or confusion we may form between one another or at least on my end of what has already crossed the line of professionalism. I miss him and that should be forbidden within itself. With every conversation and moments spent exploring some location in the world I’ve never experienced before, I bask in how cultured he is and it heightens my avidity to learn more from him. The glances into his penetrating almond shaped brown eyes and his overall striking countenance entices my body in manners that leave me mentally abashed. His mannerisms and demeanor reek of power, control, and a confidence in who he is that serves as a representation of his masculinity and leadership within his manhood. His allure nearly has me in a choke hold and my internal battle against it has resulted in nothing more than multiple loses.

Issac would not only fire me but he’d verbally rip me to shreds of nothingness if he picked up on even the slightest hint of Dante and I being anything beyond employer and employee. He’d then turn it into yet another example of me being an impulsive, irresponsible, and childish “rebel” and further feed into my family’s quiet thoughts about my lack of self control and responsibility. I’d be the subject of company gossip and never escape the unwavering scrutiny about the perks I am sure to be receiving in exchange for me possibly sleeping with one of the company’s wealthiest clients. Rachel would scold me for having followed in the footsteps that she warned me about. Lastly, I’d have to berate myself for treading into uncharted waters once more. To expect a different result this time would be absurdly foolish.

“Ma’am. Your destination is just one building down.” He interrupted my chain of thought as he pointed towards the window and I nodded my head as I secured my bag over my shoulder.

“You don’t have to get out. I got it. Thank you.”

The warm air was the perfect contrast to the chills running down my spine as I neared the front entrance. Upon my entry, the cool central air blew at me with an unexpected force as soon as I stopped at the wall directory to search for the appointed floor of suite twelve zero four. The elevator ride up was filled with the churning of my stomach and the spinach omelette I forced myself to eat for breakfast began to reappear at the very end of my esophagus. I could barely subside the contents from threatening to completely come up into my mouth. As the ride came to an end and the metal doors slowly pulled themselves apart, my feet began to drag themselves down the hall. The sound of my heels scraping the marble caused a faint ringing in my ears. I could only wonder if my purposeful lagging aggravated the receptionist who leaned over her desk to find the source of the noise. The smile on her face caught my attention but her greeting never registered. As my eyes landed on the woman comfortably waiting in a leather black lounge chair, my stomach suddenly dropped to the heels of my feet and my throat tensed until it was tight enough to bring me to the brink of suffocation.

The future Mrs. Andreas Scott Harrington sat back in her seat staring at the double doors of the conference room with a visible expression of incertitude. As her fingers danced along her extremely protruded belly, a soft sigh slipped past her lips and finally, she turned to find me within her presence. She froze, as her glistening skin suddenly flushed into a hue of pink and her brown eyes widened in unison with her mouth falling agape. My expression remained blank as I glared at a small piece of the puzzle that is my pain. Beyond Andreas’ actions, I’m disappointed in her as a woman. It’s her stubbornness and willful blindness about her participating in the demise of my marriage that urges me to slap the shit out of her on my worse days and leaves me shaking my head on my calm ones. I cannot fathom how she isn’t capable of hypothetically putting herself into my shoes and fearing that she too will be on the other side of this happy life she believes she’s created with him one of these days. Does she believe that the universe and the way this world turns will always work out in her favor? Will their recklessness have no consequence? The bliss clearly isn’t forever; or maybe that’s just my story.

“Mrs. Harrington you’re right on time. Everything is all set up in the conference room. Mr. Harrington arrived just a few minutes ago.” I nearly choked at the sound of my marital name and the grimace on Amber’s face sparked my own. Suddenly I felt like nothing more than a forgotten about possession on Andreas’ memorabilia shelf in his office within our home. We both belong to him. The man has his wife and pregnant mistress within the presence of one another as he sits in a conference room anticipating himself finishing off the shattering of one of our hearts. Though I didn’t expect to see Amber lingering around awaiting this entire process to be over, I am not surprised that she made the decision to attend. What intrigues me about this woman’s presence is her lack of glee. There’s a tension radiating from her dainty frame that wasn’t so apparent when we crossed paths in my kitchen. The confidence has receded and the questioning look her eyes holds a tale that I have no interest in knowing.

“Thank you.” I bid the tiny woman a small smile as I walked ahead and for the first time, I didn’t hesitate. I entered the conference room and closed the door behind myself; ending Amber’s determination to burn a blazing hole into my back.

“Ah. She finally arrives.” I glanced over at Sorrell Trope who held a smirk on his face that I wasn’t expecting to see. He’d been very displeased with my method of handling this divorce ever since our first meeting with one another and I only furthered his aggravation and disappointment whenever he’d plan out new strategies to make sure I left my marriage with a bank account filled with Andreas’ earnings.

“Hello.” I couldn’t force a smile or even muster up the strength to wave at any of them as Mr. Trope pulled out a seat for me on his side of the table. The set of eyes that I’d fallen head over heels in love with were observing my every move as I sat deliberately across from him. My internal challenge to avoid making eye contact with him already failed twice and I’ve only been in the room for less than a minute. He made it no easier by never breaking his gaze and nearly placing his hands towards the tips of my fingers as they rested on the table. The four stacks of papers and the two personalized pens to the right of the table caught my attention as a breath of air slowly flowed past my lips. They’d need my signature about a million times before this would be all over with.

“Hello Autumn. We haven’t met in person but I’m Raymond Rafool, Andreas’ lawyer. I’ve been in constant communication with Mr. Trope about the proceedings and the negotiating between both you and Andreas. You two opted out of continuing to go to the mediating sessions and there were no court appointed sessions that were legally required to attempt to move both you and Andreas towards a final resolution on the issues that stand between the two of you. There were no marriage counselors involved and if there were, they have no standing in this proceeding or any ones prior to this final step. There are no children involved so custody, visitation, or child support is not relevant to this proceeding or the settlement involved. In going back and forth between you two, there have been no issues in which you two absolutely cannot come to an agreement with one another on so there is no need for a trial. Honestly, that’s a good thing, because not only does that prolong this process but it is also costly and the results are less predictable depending upon what the circumstances of both parties are. Mr. Rafool have drawn up the legal paper work necessary to dissolve your marriage and we’ve both carefully looked over each document to assure that everything is absolutely the way you’ve requested.” His words were going into one ear and directly out of the other as I twirled my thumbs around one another endlessly and stared at the window directly behind Andreas. The blind shield my eyes from the world but I took it upon myself to imagine what was happening outside. Thoughts of half naked women cheerily skipping or skating down the sidewalk while immersed into lighthearted conversations about their activities about the night before and young men childishly howling in the direction while walking along in their summer garb; a few with surfboard strapped to their backs; was far more interesting to think about than this.

“Autumn.”

“What?” The harshness in my voice nearly startled me just as much as it did everyone in the room as I gave Andreas the attention he called for. In his usual fashion, he widened his ocean blue eyes at me and slightly shook his head in disdain for me answering him in such a manner. He always hated for me to snap at him or raise my voice though he often did it with me. Our shouting matches often became a competition for the two of us with me working my hardest to win. There were days I’d challenge myself to see just how quickly I could get him to walk away from me or walk out of our home in anger. I had to find the fun in my misery.

“Did you hear what Mr. Trope said?” I hadn’t even noticed he’d slid one of the stacks of paper in the middle of the table and he’d placed a pen in front of both and Andreas and I.

“Autumn. I know what we spoke about many times over our phone conferences and while I do understand how assured you are in your position, Andreas brought a second possibility to the table that he’d like to discuss with you. Well, we all will discuss it. You don’t have to agree to it. It is your legal right to refuse. Mr. Rafool handled every single detail precisely and I spent the last couple of days going over every single detail to make sure it is proper and fair.”

“What the hell did you do?” I turned to look at my husband again. I can’t stand to do another month, week, or even a day of this nonsense. I refuse to. I no longer have the will power to mentally prepare myself for every blow this gut wrenching process forcibly takes on my mind and heart.

“I want to give you twenty million dollars.” He leaned forward, with his elbows resting on the table, and he glared into my eyes in that all too convincing look he’d give me whenever he was either offering me false hope about something I wanted from him, bidding me a promise that he knew he’d break without ever considering it, and lastly convincing me to consider or do something that worked out in his favor far more than it did in mine. With his seniority in age, education, professionalism, and finance, he would always operate in a manner that reeked of him believing that he knew what was best for me without him ever verbally saying so. Initially, I didn’t bite back. I enjoyed having a man taking the lead and making sure I was in a good position without me ever having to request it but it also became my enslavement to his mind and deceptive behaviors.

“Twenty million dollars? You’ve gone from twelve to twenty? Seriously?” I laughed out loud as his jaw tightened. He tosses around these estimates and prices to buy me out of this situation with no regard for what all of this actually means. I’ve heard the commentary from media personalities. I’ve read around about the large sums divorcees have gotten from their significant others and I’ve seen the lavish lifestyles that they’ve living but I can only wonder if that clears their conscious of all of the hurt and anger that had to happen in order for them to attain it. Is that what it all comes to? Is that supposed to be redemption for all the damage on his end? “No.”

“No? What do you mean no? You’re being senseless and you’ve been behaving that way since we began this process.” He knocked his knuckles on the table hard enough to draw three sets of eyes on him and I aloofly sat back in the chair with a shrug of my shoulders in response to what is most likely going to turn into a verbal attack on my intelligence, character, and personality.

“I don’t want your money. What part of that don’t you understand? You had me sign a prenuptial agreement because your obsessive and controlling mother dropped numerous hints into your ear about it and I did so without a fight. I didn’t question it. I even did so without a lawyer which is damn near illegal. I wasn’t thinking about your money before I signed it, when I signed it, and I’m certainly not thinking about it now. Keep it Andreas. You’ve earned it. It’s yours. It’ll be far more beneficial to you than it is to me. You don’t have to pay your way out of this. I’d just like to sign these papers and go. Let’s do what we originally came here for. Fuck all of these extra negotiations. This is a divorce. It’s not a business deal.” As he stood to his feet, his lawyer oddly stood along with him and he bewilderingly stared at Andreas as he walked around to my side of the table and pointed at the double doors.

“Can we have the room please?”

“What?” Mr. Trope questioned him in confusion and Andreas continue to point at the door.

“Can you two step outside. I’d like to speak with my wife in private.” My eyes widened and a sarcastic chuckle followed as the word “wife” echoed in my mind repeatedly. I haven’t heard him use that possessive term in quite some time and if I’m lucky, I’ll never have to hear him or anyone else ever use that word in reference to me again once I exit this building today. I failed at that position. I didn’t live up to the standard of what it means to be a wife and he never gave me the chance to redeem myself. At this point, I don’t even know what it means to be a wife nor do I ever want to know. I don’t ever want to be here, in this position again.

“Okay. Raymond, let’s give them some privacy. We’ll be right outside.”

As the door closed behind the two older men, I hoped Andreas would return to his seat but instead he stood, towering over my frame and roughly breathing over me as if we’d already been fighting for fifteen to twenty minutes like we usually do. Before we could make it past a longer time frame than that, he would have already locked himself in his den or grabbed his car keys and left out for a couple of hours; sometimes even for the rest of the day or night. I’ve spent more nights alone in our bed than I’ve spent cuddling with him because of the team being on the road, him traveling for business, or our feuds. I grew so accustomed to him not being in the bed to the point of it sometimes being uncomfortable when he was along side me. As the distance continued to grow between us and within our marriage, I found myself sleeping on the edge of the bed whenever he’d join me. Though our king size bed was sizable enough to keep a decent extent of space between our bodies, he had the tendency to roll into the middle of the bed and just about on my side, so being on the edge kept me away from him. I don’t sleep in the bed with anyone at all now and yet I still sleep on the very edge because of my habits with him.

“Getting me alone isn’t going to help you convince me to take that settlement. You constantly talk about how stubborn I am but here you are not taking no for an answer. Now who’s the stubborn one?” I purposefully pushed my chair back to garner some space between he and I. As he backed away, I quickly stood up and stepped away from the table.

“Because I want to help you.”

 “Bullshit. You want your conscious clear. That’s really what this is all about. You want to be able to walk out here knowing that you made sure I was alright, so you can move on with your life without guilt tripping over everything that happened to get us to this point. I wasn’t perfect but we’re not going to stand here and play like the blame balances out. Your part in this is far bigger than mine. You think that you can pay me to make this right?” With a sigh, he ran his hand down his face and shook his head in clear frustration. He couldn’t possibly feel any more frustrated than I do.

“This isn’t about me. This is about you. You have to start over and get back on your feet and you cannot do that with nothing. You’re currently residing with your parents. Don’t you want to be able to move out? Do you have a car in New Jersey because if I remember correctly, you don’t. You’re going to have bills to pay. You want to go back to school. Universities aren’t free. Graduate degrees aren’t free. You need the basic necessities and so much more beyond that. Instead of being stubborn, do this for yourself. Do this for the sake of your own happiness.”

“So that you can know and say that you’re responsible for it? This isn’t about me, it’s because you. I don’t care how you try to map this out. If I walk away with that settlement, literally anything that I do you will accredit to yourself and I don’t want that. I want to be able to say and know that I earned it, whether I have to struggle and bust my ass to be able to have it. I don’t want your charity Andreas.” As he took steps towards me, I took more than enough steps backward to leave me nearly on the opposite side of the room. The frown on his face was harsher than my own.

“You’ve been married to me for six years. When the hell have I become that arrogant? I have never thrown anything back in your face. Are you kidding me?”

“You didn’t have to say it. It was your actions. How don’t you understand that? Your demeanor said it all. I am beneath you. You have done and accomplished far more than I ever have. You are the bread winner. I was in a position of dependency which allowed you to damn near run all over me whenever you saw fit to do so. I had to stay in my place on so many decisions that you made for the both of us because I was merely your stay at home wife. That’s not arrogance. It’s control. You had all of the control and I’m not going to allow you to control my subconscious by doing this. I’m tired Andreas. I have fought for you, I have fought for our marriage, and I’ve fought to save myself in the midst of all it and I’m mentally exhausted. I reached the point of physical exhaustion and had a stroke. Stop fighting me. I don’t want to fight you anymore. I’ve given you so much of myself and now I’m giving you one final request. Give me something. Let me walk away with a peace of mind.”

“You don’t feel like I’ve given you anything in these past six years? Nothing?” For the first time in the past couple of years, I saw a glimpse of the kind hearted man I fell in love with during the final teen year of my life. Those beautiful eyes softened, the hardened expression on his face dissipated, and the undeniable charm that I immediately latched myself to on the evening we shared our first cup of coffee together in our favorite little cafe swarmed me and thickened the tension radiating between our souls.

“Lessons. I learned so many in these past six years. Our glory days were beautiful. It’s almost laughable to look back on that timeframe and then to fast forward to where we are now. It’s unbelievable but I should have known better. The signs were there. You didn’t want this. Your hesitance, questions, and fears were all there and I tuned it out; you did too. All of this isn’t on you. As I said, I have my part in it. I became so addicted to you and the love. I couldn’t slow down, turn back, or let it go. I believed you’d continue to give me a never-ending emotional high until the end of my days and I should have never given you that much responsibility. I put too much on you. I pressured you. You just didn’t put a stop to it. You saw all of this coming from the very beginning and you didn’t stop it. Our relationship turned into this speeding train and we finally crashed; leaving fatal damage. I learned a lot about myself. I have some growing up to do; certainly. I don’t have it all together and I need to work on myself for a while. I have quite a bit to figure out. You took care of me. I cannot deny that. I was housed, fed, clothed, and I had the finances necessary for leisurely fun but I don’t think you considered me to be your wife, Andreas. I was a responsibility; a bill. I don’t want to become a twenty million dollar bill. Take the money and put it into a trust fund for your unborn child. Just let this go. Please.”

Silence fell between the two of us as we solemnly stared into one another’s eyes. The minimal strength I’d mustered up earlier gradually began to unravel as my eyes began to ache and fail the battle. The stinging followed with a flush of salty water and the stream began to flow down my face with no sign of halting. A knot formed in my throat at the sight of the sea of blue suddenly being surrounding by a hue of red. As weakness entrapped him, he suddenly glanced away and gave me his back to see. His head seeped lower with eyes panning to the floor and his confidence faded into the abyss.

Without a second of hesitation, I opened the door and signaled for our counsel to return to the room. There was nothing more either one of us needed to say to one that mattered, would change our fate, or would heal the gaping scars we’ve left on one another over the years.

Our fate is sealed.

“We’ve chosen to go with what we originally settled on.” Andreas made the announcement of our final choice as I pulled a piece of tissue out of the box to the left of me and dappled the corners of my eyes. It became a pointless task as my abdomen tightened and another set of parting tears rapidly cascaded down my face.

“Okay. We’ve placed a sticker that says sign here next to every single place that needs your signature. Once you’ve placed your signature on all of the documents, you’re done here.”

My fingers reached for the maroon pen as Mr. Trope slid the packet directly in front of me and I spent just a couple of seconds staring at the first page of our ending before I began to sign page after page until I finally reached the very end. In one final step, I slipped my hand into the silk pocket inside of the Chanel bag and retrieved the two rings I donned on my left hand ring finger the past six years and carefully placed them on top of the packet before sliding it in his direction.

His eyes set on the rings and finally, on me. He then slightly nodded his head as I stood up and used the back of my legs to push the chair away. He opened his mouth to speak but his words remained stuck in his throat while I placed the strap of the bag over my shoulder.

“Goodbye Andreas.”

Those were the final words I said to my ex-husband as I exited the room and his life.

“All of the gifts go right over there on that corner table with the lavender lace.”

My eyes panned over the sea of pastels covering just about the entirety of the villas backyard space and I nodded my head in content of what Janice and I had done to appease Heather on one of her many special days. Though she slyly scolded me every now and then for slacking on my maid of honor duties, little did she know, her mother and I had been going back forth over multiple phone calls, text messages, and e-mails to get this bridal shower together in a timely manner. We already had the color scheme figured out. Heather is by far the most feminine woman I know. She basks in whimsical shades and gleams at all things dainty. What we couldn’t agree upon for a few weeks was the theme. We bounced around from website to website picking apart what has been done before and eventually settled on one of her favorite pastimes as a child: a tea party. The vintage materials and pastels as well as the outdoor setting were my ideas. We envision lacy umbrellas, tons of garland, glitter, personalized desserts and tea bags, tulle table skirts and pastel tissue tassels. Though she’ll tell you it’s cliche, her favorite flower is the rose so we made sure one of the best florists in Miami collaborated with the decorating team to cover every single area of the dreamy garden in peach, yellow, salmon, cream, lavender, and pink roses. The two murals of her childhood to adulthood and of her engagement photos were her mother’s added touch and mine was a table specifically dedicated to cosmetics since that’s her field of work. Whatever touches the guests needed to do to their make up before stepping inside of the photo tent would be at their disposal and if they arrived barefaced, the table would serve as tons of fun. There’s a candy bar, an actual bar for alcoholic and non-alcoholic cocktails, and a station filled with many desserts; my favorite being the cake pops shaped like teapots. We weren’t absolutely sure if we’d be able to pull this off flawlessly but I must say, we’ve been proven wrong. Heather’s been squealing and waltzing around since the event started.

“You look amazing Autumn. I love what you’re wearing. Also, long time no see.” Adrienne wrapped her tiny arms around my waist and I politely pulled her in for a hug. It has been quite some time since I’ve seen her. Usually we’d greet one another at the home games and share a small conversation before heading to our seats. Andreas and I also attended she and Chris’ wedding. At this point, she’s more of Heather’s friend than mine. I never mingled with the wives of the players much but now that she’s becoming one of them, she might as well form a few friendships.

“Thank you and yes, it has been a while. How are Chris and the children?”

“All is well. The kids are sprouting non-stop and don’t get me started on those little personalities. Trinity is five, Jackson is two, and Dylan just turned one.”

“Wow. Trinity is officially in school now.”

“Yes. She’s in the kindergarten and is loving it. How’s everything been with you?”

“All is well.” That’s the only response I could muster up while I silently prayed that she didn’t make this extremely awkward by treading into my personal life. The last person I want to speak about is my ex. You don’t have to hear it from me to be familiar with the story. The details of my divorce settlement are already circulating around the internet and the ink hasn’t even dried on the papers yet.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. You make sure you keep in touch. You have my number. Whenever you’re in town, lets grab a bite to eat or head out to shop a bit.”

“Will do.” I most likely won’t. Actually, I know I won’t.

“And save that dress for me.” I nodded as we shared a small laugh over my choice of attire. The nude and mahogany Zimmerman dress wasn’t exactly the look I had in mind for this bridal shower but it was the perfect shade of nude to blend in decently with the pastels and most of all, it was cut and created in a manner to be cool enough for the Miami weather. I favor the Christian Louboutin pumps and all of their intricate laser detailing far more. If anything, they’re the stand out piece.

“I’ll do that too. It was great seeing you Adrienne.”

As I jealously eyed the open bar, I took yet another sip of the passion fruit flavored tea I’d been holding in my hand while silently wishing it would give me the side effects of loud giggles, overly done touchiness, and carefree vibes as the alcohol is already doing to the guests. Instead, I’m left with dry mouth; a side effect of the Lipitor I’d taken before I left the hotel. They can care less about the puffed pastries, the strawberry and cream tea sandwiches, the prosciutto crostini with fennel slaw, or the smoked salmon and egg canapés. They’ve been drinking and mingling since their arrivals while showering Heather with alcohol influenced marital advice; most of it being about sex. I even overheard Lauren spilling a bit of gossip about she and Issac’s spicy bedroom life, which nearly left me regurgitating the mixture of salmon, mayonnaise, and herbs. I internally cringed and nearly felt like an adolescent as all the women, including Janice and my ever classy mother, chimed in on intimacy and I took a vow a silence while the yard full of married women bestowed their expertise on Heather. Despite the topic, I’m pleased that she’s having this moment to speak with women who’ve gained more than enough experience to be offering sound advice. I didn’t have that and honestly, I didn’t want it. I dived in head first, believing that I’d figure it out along the way and didn’t need the support or guidance from anyone. I was fooled.

“I sent your father a photo I snuck of you today and he said that you remind him so much of myself when I was around your age. I think so too but you’re just so much more stronger and beautiful.” As she sat along side me, she ran her long fingers through my hair and planted a kiss on my cheek. The glow on her face matched the nude pencil dress she chosen to wear for the afternoon; most likely designed by Victoria Beckham. Our matching wasn’t intentional nor was it surprising. We tend to think alike in the fashion department from time to time. I learned all of what I know from she and Shane.

“He always says that.”

“He does. He knew that you’d be somewhat of another version of myself when I found out I was pregnant with you. I didn’t think I’d ever have a daughter but a blessing came when I least expected it. My little girl.” Another kiss followed her response and I withheld the sigh I so badly wanted to let out. I love her dearly, but the affection isn’t helping. If anything, the hugs and kisses from these guests and my tender mother were breaking me down. I’ve been swallowing knots in my throat, quickly patting my eyes dry, and forcing smiles on my face since I walked out of that lawyers office and the difficulty to keep myself together is worsening.

“Hm.”

A few seconds of silence fell between us as she buried herself into her thoughts and suddenly she solemnly leaned her body toward mine.

“Autumn.”

“Mom, please don’t. Please.” I’ve omitted a lot from her, including my coming down her to finalize my divorce. I left her with the truth that I needed to be here for the preparations of this bridal shower but withheld everything else. I got myself into this alone and I didn’t want to hold anyone’s hand as I got myself out of it. She’s helped me more than enough and I love and cherish her for it. There is nothing she could have done for me earlier today nor did she need to be there to face him or my struggle.

“Okay.”

I left her at the table before she could press the issue again and to distract myself from my inner most thoughts, I began the Bridal Pictionary game Janice and I planned out. We split the guests into the two teams, with myself being on Heather’s and Janice being apart of the opposing one and we nominated one person from each team to be the designated artist. From a bowl, we pulled out phrases related to weddings and spent sixty seconds guessing for each turn. Our team took the lead until a tipsy Heather couldn’t figure out what was supposed to be a picture of her jumping the broom. Luckily, we won the Bridal Shower Bingo. The gift opening portion of the afternoon may have been the best part. To watch the bashful expressions on Heather’s face with each piece of sexy and provocative lingerie she held up for us to see was my highlight. Though I enjoyed watching her nearly fall out of her chair at the sight her most desired Tiffany holiday china my mother and I purchased as a joint gift, it was her facial expression when she held up the flimsy pink Agent Provocateur playsuit and the rose gold pasties I’d gotten to go with it. It was by far the worst of all of the sexy attire she’d been gifted and I took pride in that. It was payback for all of the moments she’s made me uncomfortable around some guys or said something extremely outlandish in front of my mother or brothers.

“So, I want to hug and kiss you and kick your ass all at once. All of this was so incredible. I can’t believe I ever slightly doubted you. You always come through for me. A tea party? Yeah, you’re my soulmate for sure.” Heather wrapped her arms around my waist and tightly hugged my frame from the side as she buried her face into the side of mine.

“I forgot to tell people everyone to wear those ugly hats that the white women wear at their tea parties but overall, I think it all came together well. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I can tell. Your breath reeks of vodka and cake.”

“I wish you had some vodka in your system for the bomb I’m about to drop on you.” As I turned to look at her, she grimaced in preparation for whatever annoying or bad news she had to give me. She’s never been great with bearing bad news. In most cases, she’ll avoid it until she cannot do it anymore and this is most likely yet another one of her cases of doing so.

“Mario invited Andreas to the wedding and you know that the RSVP comes with the option of a plus one, so of course he’s bringing Amber.” I can only imagine the whispers and stares when we’re all in the same room of two hundred guests, who are all familiar with our story whether it’s because they personally know both he and I or because they kept up with it via some credible gossip blog or sports site. I’m going to have to become an actress; outshining the likes of Viola Davis in her craft the entire night while also doing my best to keep my grudge holding mother from verbally lashing him until he combusts into a pillar of dust. We’ll avoid one another of course, or maybe he’ll purposefully greet me and pretend like we’re friendly despite our bitter parting. Either way, though I expected this to happen, I didn’t want or need her to confirm it.

“I figured. That’s his coach. Why wouldn’t he invite him?”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Sure.” No, I won’t, but it’s not my wedding. It’s Heather and Mario’s day and I’m willing to compromise just about anything for her wedding to be perfect. I love her enough for that.

“Oh and one more thing.” I finally let out that sigh I withheld at the table as I sat with my mother and she gave me a reassuring squeeze to let me know that this wouldn’t be as bad as the first.

“Please don’t tell me that he’s the best man.”

“No. He’s not. I was going to tell you that I changed your dress. I didn’t like the other as much, so I got you another one. You’re going to love it.”

“Heather.”

“Oh shut up. You hated the bow on the other dress anyway. This new one is sexy. It’s Elie Saab and it falls right in line with the different shades of pink concept that I wanted for my bridesmaids and maid of honor. Wait until you see it. Actually, why don’t you come and spend the night with me at the house tonight so that you can try the dress on. I’ll have Mario pick up Chinese from that place we love so much when we’re drunk, we’ll actually get drunk, and I’m thinking movies. We’ll do our favorites.”

“We’ll see.”

“Hey! It’s my day and if I want to have a slumber party, then you have to agree to it.” I thought about it for a couple of seconds and eventually nodded my head. She’s somewhat correct.

As quickly as she planted a kiss on my cheek is as quickly as she squealed and ran in the direction of her final surprise of the afternoon; Mario. We invited him to come at the very end of the bridal shower to brighten her day even more while also giving commentary of thanks to both he and Heather’s family and friends for coming out to celebrate their up and coming nuptials. As I looked on at the two, the idea was a brilliant one. The love radiating between the two as they stand wrapped up into one another’s arms and sharing kisses like they’re the only ones in the room is good enough proof that all of this is deserved and worth it. Most would say it’s too soon to tell but those two are going to go the long haul. They’re going to be just as in love when they’re old and grey with children and tons of grandchildren keeping them busy. She deserves this, they both do, but I’ve been on her comical, bumpy, and sometimes stubborn journey to find this kind of love and it’s finally proven to be worth it. A part of me feels like I’m losing her but overall I’m excited to see what comes of this. I’m looking forward to becoming a God mother.

Autumn, are you okay?

As I retrieved my clutch bag from the table, I thought about an answer to Dante’s question as it remained in my inbox unanswered and the trembling of my hands answered for me. Early today, I quickly signed those papers and left out of there because I couldn’t bare to watch him walk away from me again but it didn’t make much of a difference like I thought it would. He’d already done that early on. I thought celebrating Heather would temporarily cease all thoughts of him but being surrounding by everything that represents love and unity only served as a continuous kicks in the back and vicious slaps to my face. Not even the medication is helping this.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Lauren grabbed my shoulder and stepped close enough to close the gab in between us. As she used her hand to gently caress me, I stared at my sister-in-law who I’ve refused to connect with in a manner that neither one of us expected. For the first time ever, I appreciated her.

“Yeah.” She could sense the lie but she didn’t push it. Instead, she nodded her head and finally stepped back.

“Tell my mom I’ll see her later. I’m heading out.”

“Back to the hotel?”

“Yeah. I didn’t sleep much last night and I’ve been up since early this morning. I’m tired.”

“Can I check on you later? Or I can just send your mom if you want.” The hesitance in her tone softened my approach with her yet again.

“Sure.”

“Me?” Her eyes widened as she pointed at herself and I gave her a head nod to reassure what I meant.

“Yeah, sure.”

If I’m going to change, I have to change my approach overall and I’ve taken the wrong steps with Lauren. She’s never done anything wrong to me and yet I’ve sort of used her as an outlet for my unresolved issues with Issac and the ones beyond him. I’m not sure how severely I’ve hurt her or if even hurt her at all but I won’t do it again. She’s family and I need to treat her as such.

While sitting in the back of the chauffeured SUV, I began another session of patting and wiping at the corners of my eyes. This time I wasn’t working hard to preserve my make up. I finally let the tears ago. Now, I just want to keep the stains of mascara off of my dress.

No.

I gave him the honesty that I’ve yet to falter on thus far.

I figured that you wouldn’t be. No one is okay after something like that. Are you still at Heather’s bridal shower?

As the rays of the sun began to slowly disappear into the sky, I glanced out at the beauty of the sunset and did my best to bask in it’s serene nature.

No. It’s over with. I’m heading back to the Mandarin.

Somehow, I could picture him sitting back in his posh office, clothed in a Tom Ford three piece suit, while glancing out of his large windows at the unparalleled New York City skyline. The visual eclipsed the sunset. The sense of tranquillity that rushes through me whenever we’re in one another’s presence or connecting through some means of communication is by far the most confusing and yet addicting feeling I’m currently facing. I barely know this man and yet I’ve already fooled myself into believing that it doesn’t matter.

You want to talk about it?

Well of course you don’t want to talk about it. You probably don’t even want to think about it even though you can’t help but to do so. We always wish the hardest parts of our lives could just erase themselves from our mind once we’re in the midst of the aftermath but it never works out that way.

He’s accurate.

Wishes don’t always come true.

I learned that the hard way.

They don’t because wishes are desires without an attempt. You’re going to be okay. Soon enough, you’ll believe that and knowing you and how much of an intelligent, strong, and hard working person you are, you’ll began to work on actually attaining what you wish for. For now, stop going through this alone and lean on someone. You need that.

I paused and reread all of his words of encouragement, including his accuracy towards the very end.

What makes you so sure that I’m going through this alone?

I never mentioned or even alluded to that when speaking with him.

Because you shut me out. I’m sure I’m not the only one.

I glanced up as the SUV came to a halt. We ran into the traffic that I was wishing for earlier. The city failed me.

I apologize. I just had to get my mind right. You understand that, right?

I’m sure he does. He rubs me as the type of person to do the same thing whenever he needs to figure things out.

I do. There’s no need to apologize. I’m not holding that against you. You can’t get through this on your own and you don’t have to. Start opening up about this beyond Dr. Jill. Everyone may not experience the same hardships but we’re human so we do have the capability of understanding.

This man has become my own personal Buddha or motivational book. Like Shane, he always has a logical answer to everything. I don’t know how he does it.

Lately I’ve been around you far more than anyone else. I think my mother’s slightly jealous and she doesn’t even know you.

I know she’s scolded Issac for giving me that job. She won’t say that she hates it but I know she does.

You want to take some time off?

Absolutely not. I can’t bare sitting up in my bedroom anymore. I’ll go insane.

No.

I kicked off my pumps for comfort and tossed both of my legs up on the backseat. Suddenly, the traffic didn’t matter.

Well, my shoulder’s ready then. I play basketball a lot but I suck at working out so it’s kind of soft. You can talk my ear off, cry, slob, sneeze or whatever else. Now snot is gross but you get one pass for that. Just one.

For the time time today, I let out the most genuine and loudest laugh I could muster up. I don’t think I’ve ever slob, sneezed, or blew snot on anyone but the thought of embarrassing myself by doing it to him tickled me.

I don’t slob or drool. I’m not snotty either. No need to worry about that.

As I imagined doing it, I giggled even more. I’d never.

Well then the shoulder’s yours.

I smiled. I know I’ll cry again today, tomorrow, and for some time to come but it feels so good to just freely smile right now.

Thanks for letting me rent your shoulder.

Now I can see him walking around his office as he texts me, effortlessly turning his charm into words as he types away on his iPhone’s screen. His blazer is most likely resting on the back of his chair and his broad shoulders are standing tall.

Rent? No take backs. It’s yours to lean on whenever you need to. So I guess that means you own it.

My head fell against the window as I read that text three times, prompting the driver to glance back at me through the rear view mirror. He’d officially thrown me off course; off track. Whatever you want to call it.

Okay, well thanks for letting me have your shoulder.

I’m not sure if I’ll actually lean on it, but it’s nice to have the offer extended and it be genuine. He’s a great person and he continues to prove that time and time again despite our differences.

You’re welcome. I’m here if you want to talk. I’m here if you don’t want to do that as well. Alright?

I nodded my head as the thoughts of Dante in his office slowly vanished. I returned my attention to the horizon, allowing the last of the faint rays to illuminate my face before the faintly twinkling stars took over the skyline. Peace surrounded me and suddenly my shoulders didn’t feel as heavy. The weight of my burdens temporarily subsided.

Alright.

#j. cole fanfic #j cole fanfic #j. cole fanfiction #j cole fanfiction #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #rihanna fanfic #rihanna fanfiction

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cas-tellation · 8 years ago

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Not what you thought (I’m sorry, I didn’t know.)

Dan's ready to start his new life, as a boy. As Dan instead of Yazi. He's going to a new school in Manchester, where everybody knows him as Dan. Everything's going fine, except for when Nichole texts him and his binder is too tight and when dysphoria hits him like a fucking train. Oh, and there's that kid that sits with him behind the school at lunchtime and brings him food.

A/N; here’s the first chapter of my new fic :)

Updates every Tuesday.

Masterlist -- Next chapter

Dan takes a deep breath. Last month's events play through his already-too-full mind, swirling together and making tears sting the corner of his eyes. Not sad, no. More like, just overwhelmed. To the extent of crying. In short, he was a mess. He takes another deep breath to stop a sob from escaping his chest, rolling onto his front, a whimper muffled by his pillow.

Boxes litter the floor around him, still having to be properly unpacked. A few Muse posers poke out of one that he had opened earlier, though he hadn’t actually found the will to take all the trivial bits and pieces from his old life and spread them and the memories that they held all over this fresh, new, clean start. His Dad had helped him set up the bed, and his mother had spoken about re-painting the walls, the pale pink paint that the room currently held was flaking off. Besides, it was pink. After the bed had been assembled, his Dad had said something about getting the wardrobe and desk up the stairs the next day, in order to put them into Dan’s new room.

A fresh start.

The first night, and tears are already on the pillow and maybe it’s overwhelmingness of maybe it’s homesickness even though this is his new home. This is his fresh start.

He hears a soft knock on his half-open door, and halfheartedly sits up, offering his Mum a little smile, leaning against her side when she sits on the edge of his bed.

“I’m okay.” Dan says, in lieu of the tears that still raced down his pale cheeks.

“Then why the tears, love?” She wraps an arm around Dan’s shoulders and hugs her son.

“I’m happy.” He confesses.

Even her chin trembles at this. She says, “Oh, Dan.” Because s he can’t remember the last time that Dan had said that. Years ago, most likely. Before soft white lines specked across his wrists and thighs and stomach, barely visible now. Before a night spent at a hospital, getting his stomach pumped after a badly-ended party at a friend’s house. Before she had asked him, “Why, Yazi, why are you doing this to yourself?” To which he had broken down and said, “Because I hate myself and I feel gross all the time and I think I might be a boy and it’s killing me!” He hadn’t been able to breath after he said that. Some said that when they told someone about how they were feeling, it was like a weight had been lifted off their chest.

Not Dan. It had felt like he was drowning, suffocating under too many emotions. the next day, according to his parents, he had passed out in his room, in a pool of blood. He didn’t wake up until hours later, in a hospital, more thick bandages wrapped around his wrists and a therapist talking to his parents.

He had been scared, of course. Not knowing what was happening and not recalling the exact words that he had said before. He wanted to go home but they wouldn’t let him. He had stayed at the hospital for weeks. They made him talk to therapists, talk to his parents, talk to doctors, all in trying to figure out what would happen in the future.

‘Are you going to try and do it again?’, ‘Do you feel like you need to get drunk or high?’, ‘Do you regret it?’, ‘What would you like us to do?’, ‘Can you tell me how you feel, Yazi?’

‘No. Yes, I don’t know yet.’, ‘Yes, I do.’, ‘For other people, yes.’, ‘I don’t know.’, ‘I don’t know, don’t call me Yazi.’

They had settled on Dan in the end. Daniel James Howell. Dan thought that it sounded good. Masculine and strong. A new name, a new house, new school, hopefully new friends. A new start.

Three months after everything had happened, yet it still seems as if everything’s moving too fast.

His mom tells him that she’s happy, too.

She tells him that she thinks that this will work.

She tells him that she loves him.

And then, she leaves and Dan is left alone with his thoughts again. He flops back onto his bed, his hands resting on his stomach. He decided to try talking to his parents about going on testosterone tomorrow at breakfast. That is, if he could pluck up his courage. Even after all the therapy and endless pushes from other people to just talk to them about how he feels; he’s still constantly struggling to open up.

His parents tell him that they understand, and how this is hard for them too, but they support him and will do everything that they can do to help him, but what they don’t get is that a huge part of this is something that Dan has to deal with on his own. They can’t fix everything, no matter how much they’d like to.

The binder is hurting his back more than he’d like to admit. His parents had gotten it for him as a ‘you’re out of the hospital which means that you’re not going to try to kill yourself again yay we love you son’ gift. Still, Dan had been overjoyed. Very obviously, it made him feel more valid. Like his parents accepted that being trans was a thing that he actually was, and not just some weird teen ‘phase’ or trend.

He runs his hands under his T-shirt, feeling the flatness of his chest, slight happiness trailing through his body. Back down, to the curve of his waist that’s too feminine and brings the dysphoria back. Hips that are too wide. Fingers slim and slender. Torso too narrow. Face too angular and eyelashes too thick.

He pinches at his skin, pulling a bit of it away from his body and then letting it go, the fat instantly going back into place. A glare makes it’s way onto his face.

The room feels too small.

His chest hurts and it feels to tight and why can’t he breath where did the air go?

He gasps, fighting for breath and then launching himself out of bed, to the window. Fumbling with the lock before pushing it open, letting the cold autumn air press against his too-warm body.

He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps telling himself that this is all happening just because he’s overwhelmed. That’s it; just overwhelmed and homesick for his old house back in London.

He pulls himself up to the windowsill, letting his feet dangle down into the empty space outside, cold swirling around him, offering comfort of sorts. If his mom saw him now, she’d yell at him to get down, saying something about how she didn’t go through all of this just for him to break his neck whilst falling two stories down from a window. He ignores her non-existent nagging, focusing instead on the sharp window frame cutting into the back of his thighs.

He tells himself that he shouldn’t like the discomfort that it’s making him feel, but likes it anyway.

He ignores the slight bruising on his rib cage when he puts his binder back on after a shower. In the past, if he had a bruise, he would press his fingers against it, letting the dull ache feel considerably sharper. But he doesn’t touch the bruises on his rib cage. Doesn’t stare at his naked body in the mirror, picking out all of the things that he hates about himself, either. He tells himself that these are steps forward, however small they may seem. He tells himself that he’s happier, pushing the lingering thoughts of how he still craved to do the things that everyone had told him were wrong.

He paints a smile on his face before he goes around the corner to the kitchen, taking a deep breath despite the binder’s restrictions.

Just overwhelmed, but he can get through this. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Nichole texts him just as he’s shoving a forkful of syrup-drenched pancake into his mouth. He chokes on the food, coughing it out all over his plate, his eyes watering. His Mum frowns at him, and he shoots her a slightly-apologetic looking smile, before grabbing his phone off the table.

Nic: Maven said that Tris said that you moved wtf.

Dan: Sorry for not telling you yikes my bad.

Nic: Tf happened.

Nic: Don’t ignore me you little shit im ur best friend why didn’t you tell me?

Dan: It’s a long story.

Nic: Well, I’ve got time. Tell me.

Dan: Im trans. A boy. Yknow how bad the drinking and drugs got, and the selfharm you know about that, too. My parents found out. In the hospital for ages and now in manchester. A new start, apparently.

Dan’s hands are shaking as he types. But only a little.

Nic: And you didn’t tell me, why?

Dan: I should have. I’ve been a mess.

Nic: A mess is an understatement, kid. I haven’t heard from you in ages.

Nic: I didn’t even get to say goodbye??? How’s that fair???

Dan: Sorry.

Nic: Stop apologizing, I get why you did it.

Nic: I just fucking miss you.

Dan: You know I miss you, too.

Nic: I gtg but we need to talk later bye

Dan: Bye.

“No texting at the table.” Dan’s Mum chides just as he puts his phone back down. He swallows thickly and sips at his orange juice.

Through everything, breakfast was the one thing that had always stayed the same. His Mum would always make a huge breakfast, and they would always eat it together. Him, his Mum, and his Dad. Two years ago, Nichole would have joined them too, many times a week. That was, until everything spiraled down into shit.

His parents had told her not to come by their house anymore. They thought that she was the one who was bringing their child down. Backwards, even then, trying to make everything someone else’s fault.

Nichole’s fault that Yazi’s coming home drunk, Nichole’s fault that we have to get Yazi’s stomach pumped, Nichole’s fault that Yazi’s high, Nichole’s fault that Yazi is hurting herself.

Never once, the truth. Never once a ‘Yazi’s like this because she’s sad and we’re blaming other people instead of trying to help.’

Apparently it took a suicide attempt to get their heads outof their asses.

The school is only a ten minute walk away from their new house, but Dan’s parents still insist on driving him. An excuse of; “We have to talk to the principal” was one that Dan couldn’t really brush off that easily.

Dan’s hands shake a bit as he walks up the steps to the intimidating front entrance. His parents are a few paces behind him.

This nervousness isn’t really comparable to any other that he’d felt before. Right now, he’s scared that someone will find out that he’s trans. Maybe his hips are too wide and this eyelashes are too thick and his lips to full and his chest to big. The binder bites into his ribs uncomfortably but he tells himself that this is normal and that everything’s going to be fine.

Dan’s standing in front of the men’s bathroom door. He takes a deep breath, then another. He glances to right towards the girl’s room.

He glares, then pushes open the door.

He did it.

It’s hard to breath. The classroom seems too small and stuffy and his new classmates seem to loud and his chest feels too big even though it’s compressed down so much that it digs into his ribs.

He lifts two fingers up to his neck, pressing them into the skin just below his jawline, feeling his pulse. Like he’s checking to see if he’s really alive.

Thump, thump, thump, his heart goes.

They’re going to see that you’re not cis, his mind goes.

The teacher -- Dan hadn’t bothered trying to remember her name -- is talking about some sort of math equation. He’d look up how to do it on youtube later. Right now, he main priority is trying to stay somewhat sane.

He’s never really felt like this before and therefore doesn’t really know how to deal with it.

Everyone here called him Dan. Or Daniel. Not one ‘Yazi’ had slipped past anybody's lips.

Wasn’t this supposed to make him feel more like himself? Because right now it just confused him even more. Yes, it feels good to hear everybody calling him by his new name. But would they still call him that even if they knew that he was trans?

Lunch is another thing altogether.

In classes, he had a set schedule.

Though he hadn’t really been paying too much attention to the teachers, it seemed as if he had a purpose; to learn. To absorb knowledge that he’d most likely never use again. To ignore the loud cis boys at the back of the class and the equally loud straight girls at the front, to smile in a way that hopefully was kind at the misfits scattered around everywhere - the people that his Mum would want him to be friends with. The people who actually listened. He could promptly ignore the other ones; the Nichole-type people. The ones who smoked behind the school gym when they were bored and got shitfaced on school nights and seldom slept for a full six-hours. He could remember being one of those types of people. Maybe he still was. Maybe that’s why his skin itched when one of their gazes fell on him, silently asking, ‘whom art thou Daniel?’

And then, Lunch.

Dan goes outside. He’s not hungry anyway.

He debated walking down the street a bit to go to the cafe that he had seen on the way there.

As it was, he ended up behind the school, glancing around quickly to see if anybody could see him, then shoving his hands up his shirt and pulling the edges of his binder away from his red skin. It didn’t help much.

He sits there, beside a storage shed, until the bell rings.

Nic: Where are you living now anyway?

Dan: Just outside of manchester.

Nic: You gonna get a northern accent?

Dan: I’d rather die tbh

Nic: So.

Dan: SoO??

Nic: How are you?

Nic: And dont you fuckign dARE pull any of that ‘im fine’ bullshit

Nic: Tell me, Mr.Howell, how are you doing?

Dan: I’m goooooooood

Nic: No ur not tell me how ur really doing you nerd

Dan: Idk

Dan: Emotions are complicated af

“Did you have a good day at school?” Dan’s mum says when her son barges through the front door.

“Yeah it was fine.” Dan grumbles, throwing his bag onto the floor and stomping up the stairs to his room.

“Y’know you could be a bit more grateful,” and then faintly hears his mum call, “We did this all for you, after all.”

He pretends that he didn’t hear her.

Binder on, or binder off? Does the dysphoria win over the pain?

He keeps his binder on.

He paces back and forth in his room. It’s too small for this kind of emotion.

He throws open his window, leaning out of it. Downstairs, he can hear his mum preparing dinner. Minutes later, he was sure that he’d be able to hear his father coming home from work. They’d want to hear how his first day at school had been, “Did you meet any friends?”, “How are your teachers?”, “Did you find your way to your classes on time?”, “What did you eat for lunch?”, “Are you happy there?”

No, fine, yes, nothing, no.

He turns his phone on, his thumb hovering over the ‘Call’ button on Nichole’s contact. He shuts it off and throws it across the room. He needs to be strong and cut her off, isn’t that what his parents wanted him to do? And shouldn’t he pay attention and listen to their wishes after they’d literally uprooted their lives and moved to a new city -- all so that he could start over and be who he really is?

He growls lightly, listening as the front door opens and then banging shut and as if on cue, his father’s bright and loud voice easily resonating up the stairs and to Dan’s little room full of too much but not enough.

He digs into his pocket for earbuds and crosses the room to his phone, plugging them in and turning on the music too loud to hear anything. It can’t drown out his thoughts, but he does try.

The sun fades from the sky quickly.

Dan peels his binder off his body when his mum calls him down for dinner. The red marks it leaves itch when he pulls on a loose hoodie, but he ignores it.

Dan wakes up before the sun’s rays shine over the horizon.

He likes being awake early, it’s peaceful. He turns on some soft music and pushes his window open, letting the cool morning air waft into his room.

He can see every one of his ribs. The mirror is a bit dirty and cracked, distorting his face slightly but showing his toso nearly perfectly. He prods a bit at the skin on his hips, a glare instantly making it’s way onto his face. There’s red marks along his chest, showing where the binder pressed down too hard.

He cups his tits in his hands, digging his fingernails in, so much that it hurts.

He moves his hands up, running them through his short brown hair, pushing it back up into a quiff and jutting his jaw forewards a bit, squaring his shoulders and standing with his legs farther apart.

Masculine? Maybe?

His breasts are still there, his boxers fall flat where there should be a bulge. His eyelashes are thick and his hips are too wide and his stomach too flat and arms to skinny. When he talks, his voice sounds a bit too high. His face is smooth, no stubble.

Feminine? Maybe?

But then again, what defines femininity and masculinity? Does it really all just depend on what you look like?

He ends up scrunching up a sock and stuffing it down the front of his boxers, securing it in place with a few safety pins. He takes a huge deep breath, and then slips the too-tight binder on over his bruised ribs.

Baggy jeans and an old T-shirt, followed by a sweatshirt. It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anybody. He digs through one of the cardboard boxes that still have yet to be unpacked, finding some matching socks and putting those on as well.

He looks at his reflection again in the full-length mirror. Jutting out his jaw, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin up, spreading his legs a bit.

He swallows thickly.

Masculine, almost.

As long as you ignored the things that he was hiding.

The atmosphere at the school seems different. Dan brushes it off easily though, internally snapping at himself when fear jolts through him.

He smiles at one of the girls in his class, looking away quickly when she furiously blushes.

He sits behind the school by the shed at lunch again. He doesn’t know anyone well enough to eat with them. He scrolls few a few missed messages from Nichole, telling himself that he’d answer them later.

Killing time has always been one of Dan’s talents. It wasn’t useful for much, except for the fact that he could sit completely still for hours without getting bored. Most people would get all fidgety and want to move around, but he just sits there for the whole duration of the lunch time. An hour later, he goes back to class.

He hasn’t made any friends.

It’s been a week at the new school, and he hasn’t said more than a dozen words to the same person.

When his mum asks him how things are going, he brushes it off with a simple; “It’s fine.”

It is. It is because everyone calls him Dan even though his voice is a little higher than most boys. It is, because nobody offers him a cigarette when they come behind the school smoke. It is, because his parents call him their son.

But, in another way; it’s all wrong. When asked about going on testosterone, or having surgery, his parents had exchanged a look and then said that they’d discuss it in the future. It’s wrong because his binder feels too tight and it’s bruising his ribs too much. It’s wrong because he doesn’t talk to anyone in case they figure out he’s trans.

#trans #transgender #ftm!da #phanfic #phanfiction #dysphoria #suicide mentions #selfharm metions #myfics

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