#me staring at the fact that these are from early 2016: dear god that's when i started playing game of dice... i've been here too long

[eddsworldstuck]

have some old sketches of their dreamself outfits.

cause why not.

they're from early 2016.

i still like the designs and i have recently drawn RT and Matt's dreamself outfits for something else, so i guess they're all still in use lol.

they all have more simple versions of their dreamself outfits i have designed in the past (can be seen in old prospit/derse art that might still be public), but then past me made these designs and i adore these designs so i wanna keep them in some way lol.

Tord's dreamself outfit does have a crown like everyone else, past me just didn't draw it on him. i might not keep the crowns anyway tho (it's extra work tbh. especially since all the crowns are different styles and all of them have gems).

[~☆~]

and here's the duo cause why not.

RT, left. SA, right.

they've already ascended to god tier before the story starts so their dreamself outfits won't be seen but i still adore the designs, especially RT's.

RT is based on Laotian and Filipino fashion. i don't have the exact images i used as inspo. i also used Laotian fashion i've seen irl as inspo (cause of extended family).

it's hard to tell but that's a skirt for RT, not shorts.

[~☆~]

and have something a little more recent kinda (2020) that i had saved in my files. slight redesigns of the derse dreamers of the 4. (i could only find them) don't mind the random hand on Tord's sketch, i don't need to go back and look at my notebook to know that's just Ion Christine from Game of Dice. (i know those bandaged hands and cape anywhere. i just know that's the design for an idea i had for Ion)

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[etherealsenpai-blog]

Noctis x Reader (SFW)

Word Count: 2,106 words

Made back in 2016 and it was the first post on Wattpad. So it shall be the first post on Tumblr. 

There was a fine line between common and royal. Two different worlds entirely. [Name] [Last Name] was a commoner, she was nothing special or someone of great importance. She was just a cashier at a mildly popular diner.

She just never imagined that she would one day be waking up next to the future king of Lucis.

~ ★ ~ ★ ~ ★ ~

The sun was shining high above Insomnia, it's bright waves evoking such a positive mood over the city. Though from where you slept, the beams of light merely cracked through the tightly shut curtains.

Your eyes opened slowly, the mental alarm clock in your head causing you to wake up at the same time almost everyday. With a small sigh, you turn onto your other side to peer at the dork sleeping next to you. Noctis had one arm under his pillow, the other dangling off the bed. His hair was spiker than it usually was and he was almost completely hidden under the blanket. You couldn't help but smile at his sleeping form, it was always so cute to see him this way. The only part that wasn't so cute though, was trying to wake him up.

"Noct, wake up." You shook him lightly, earning a small grunt and a turn of his head. You rest your chin in the palm of your hand and watch him. You knew shaking him would get you no where, so there was only one thing that would work.

Hopping out of bed, you stride to the floor to ceiling windows and fling open the curtains. The light glares down on Noctis, making his eyes fly open and then close from the invasion of light. You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. It takes a moment, but Noctis does sit up and rub his eyes. You could tell the poor prince didn't want to be up this early, but he knew there was no fighting you.

"Sometimes..you're evil.." He mumbled, looking at you now. You shrug with a smile and stride back to the bed, taking a seat beside him.

"Well I wouldn't be able to wake you unless I used the light. Though it is funny every time." You smile some more, and Noctis merely shakes his head. He never imagined that he would be waking up at right every morning when he was with you, but he was slowly...very slowly getting used to it. He noticed how happy you were when he was with you, so it was always worth it, even if he went partially blind from the sun.

"Ha ha, very funny. I don't see how your up so early all the time..it's just..uncalled for." Noctis said, climbing out of bed and stretching. You leaned back on your elbows and tilted your head.

"Not everyone can lounge around until noon my prince. Some of us has to work and make a living." You say, watching Noctis search for a shirt. Your eyes wondered over his back for a moment before returning to his unruly hair. He may not be super built like Gladio, but Noctis was utterly perfect in your eyes.

"Right..sorry." He apologizes, turning towards you once he has a shirt on. You shrug and get off the bed, "It's all good. No need to say sorry because if I didn't work, I wouldn't of been able to get close to you." You say, standing in front of him now. He slowly smiles and snakes his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. Your hands rest on his chest as you look up at him.

"Very true. I really do need to thank Prompto for shoving me into you." Noctis says, amusement in his voice. You nod with a chuckle and grip his shirt, bringing him down to you for a kiss. His lips melt against yours as your hands move to cup his cheeks. His arms tighten around you but the moment is interrupted with a knock on the door. The two of you break apart as Prompto strides in, but stops when he sees how the two of you are.

"Am I interrupting something?" He says, leaning against the door and nearly falling on the floor.

"What do you want? Your already here." Noctis says, wondering what his friend could possibly want at this time of the day. Prompto waves his precious camera and smiles real big.

"We're gonna head outside the city for the day. Ignis demanded that I ask if you wanted to go."

"Yeah, give us ten." Prompto gives a thumbs up before walking out, shutting the door behind him. Noctis looks at you again, realization hitting him. "You've never been out of the city before have you?" He asks and you nod in response.

"Nope, are you wanting me to go with you boys?" You ask, backing away and crossing your arms.

"Duh..now go get ready before Ignis kills us." Noctis lightly shoves you towards the closet before he heads into the bathroom. You blink at the closed door and smile. You couldn't help but feel excited.

~ ★ ~ ★ ~ ★ ~

Sitting between Noctis and Gladio made for a comfortable seat, despite your earlier doubts. Noctis held your hand in his, your fingers laced through his own.

Ignis drove towards the Duscae region, only stopping once for gas. Prompto was up front gushing about a Catoblepas, and how he wanted more shots of one since his old ones were lost.

"I'm not being your bait again." Noctis shot from the back. Prompto turned in his seat and pouted, playing the puppy dog eyes.

"Oh come on! I mean just imagine posing in front of the beast and impressing your lady!" Prompto tried to convince, which made Noctis think. You looked between the two, feeling lost in this conversation. You never heard of a Catoblepas, so you didn't see why Noctis was saying no.

"Why are you saying no?" You pipe in, wondering what was so bad. Noctis blinks at you and Prompto just smiles.

"I almost got eaten."

"It was at least ten feet away from you."

"You weren't the one holding the mushrooms."

"The shots were great though."

"Yeah, for the sake of my safety."

"It was for a good cause."

"It wasn't so great if you lost the damn photos."

Prompto just stares for a moment and turns around, slumping in his seat. Noctis had won this argument, a triumphant smile on his face. You had no idea what just happened, but you figured you'd help Prompto out here.

"I think you should do it." You say, resting your head on Noctis' shoulder. He looks at you and blinks before sighing in defeat. Prompto turns around again, waiting for the verdict.

"Fine...Only for [Name] though."

"WooHoo!" Prompto hollered, turning around in his seat again. Noctis shook his head and smiled at the thought of impressing you.

~ ★ ~ ★ ~ ★ ~

Three hours and several photos later, you have finally seen a Catoblepas and understand why Noctis didn't want to do it. That thing was huge to a humans standard..you couldn't even go near where Prompto stood.

"These are better than before." Prompto said, looking at the photos while munching on a beef on a stick..you didn't know what they were called.

"They better, I could feel that thing breathing on me." Noctis shuddered at the thought, rubbing your thigh gently under the table. You have come to realize that when you were out in public with your dear prince, he always had a hand on you. It wasn't something you would complain about though, oh no. You loved it to death, it made you all fuzzy and warm on the inside.

You gaze out of the window while Noctis and Prompto talk about the photos. Three months ago, you were a single pringle struggling to pay the rent. Now you were dating the prince of Lucis, always by his side when time allowed it. The relationship was awkward at first as the two of you got to know one another, but now it was a comfortable relationship. It was the best one you have ever been in if you had to admit it. Sometimes your just thrown off by the fact your dating a prince. A lowly commoner won the heart of Noctis..you often felt unworthy of his love. But you never let that feeling surface.

"[Name]," Noctis waved a hand in front of your face, frowning slightly, "Are you okay?" He asked, taking note of the frown you wore on your face. You quickly smile and nod, washing away the thoughts that surfaced in your head.

"Yeah I'm fine." You kiss his cheek and smile again. Noctis smiles back, but he feels like you are keeping something front him. That gut feeling rised within him and they weren't usually wrong. But for now, he'd drop the subject and talk about later in private.

~ ★ ~ ★ ~ ★ ~

Instead of heading back to Insomnia, the group decided to camp out tonight to avoid the lingering daemons that lurk in the night.

It was around one in the morning, everyone was asleep except for Noctis and yourself. He was playing Kings Knight while you rested between his legs, watching him water his money trees. Your mood took a gradual decline after all of those thoughts invaded your head, but you kept a bright smile on your face. The last thing you wanted to do was burden Noctis with your ridiculous thoughts.

"Alright [Name], we need to talk." Noctis shuts off his phone tosses it to the side before turning you to face him. "What's going on in that head of yours? Your being different and...I want to know if I did something to offend you.." He frowns, wondering what was going on. All day his mind was wondering of possibilities, none of the results were positive.

"You did nothing wrong, it's all me," You start, avoiding his gaze and looking out towards the land behind him, "I just...don't feel worthy of being with you. That just about sums up what's wrong with me.." You admit simply, deciding against beating around the bush. Noctis scoffs and pulls you to him, holding you close.

"If anything, I'm not worthy of you. You have such an amazing heart and your so nice..my god..Just..please don't think your not worthy of being with me. I love you with all of my heart even if I don't show it sometimes." Noctis says in your ear. You hide your face in his neck, your cheeks burning from his sweet words. It wasn't everyday you received a confession like that, so it really hit your heart. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you moved to look at him.

"I really don't want to be a mistake in your eyes.. I'm not Luna or..just..ugh..stupid tears." You rubbed your eyes, fighting the tears that wanted to fall. You hated getting emotional, but has been weighing down on you for awhile now and it's finally surfacing. What was such a good day, turned ugly so quickly.

"Of course your not Luna. I wouldn't want you to be Luna. I want you. [Name] [Last Name], the love of my life. If I have to say it over and over, just tell me. If it will get it though your head, I'll say it until you believe it. Please don't cry.." Noctis pulled you back to him, holding you tighter than before. Your headed nestled against his neck once again as silent tears fell. His words meant so much to you that you were crying from overwhelming fuzz and your worries. This was what you needed to hear to finally put your worries to rest. You knew how he felt deep down, but hearing it helped so much.

"Thank you for this..I'm sorry for brining something like this up though." You finally say after a moment or two. Noctis kisses the side of your head and sways gently, knowing how you like that type of gesture.

"It's better to let it out now then to hold it in. Thanks for telling me so I could reassure you. Just know that I love you, with all of my heart. I want you to be my queen one day." Noctis makes you look at him, the sincerity in his eyes and voice nearly made you melt right then and there.

"I love you too dork, with all of my heart." You sniffle with a smile. Noctis returns the smile with one of them crooked smiles that kill you every time. His lips find yours for a loving kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair while his hands cup your cheeks. It was a kiss of reassurance and pure love, one that proved he really wanted you just as bad as you wanted him. There was nothing that could beat that.

[seniorbrief]

This Climber Was Stuck in a Crevice for 22 Hours—Here’s How He Survived

This article originally appeared in the May 2016 issue of the International Edition of Reader’s Digest.

Alexander Mazurkevich/Shutterstock

The crevice is little more than a crack in the rough terrain, barely 50 centimetres wide. Curious, Seth Rowe stands at its edge, poised to go in. It is just before noon on June 20, 2015. The sun peeks out but it is still chilly in the Nottawasaga Bluffs, a rugged area in a snow belt about 140 kilometres northeast of Toronto, Canada.

Seth knows the temperature inside the crevice will hover around minus two degrees Celsius. But he loves the challenge of exploring caves and crevices and he figures that his jeans, T-shirt and the sturdy jacket he carries should be protection enough. I won’t be in long, he thinks.

At heart Seth, now 31, a plumber and pipefitter, is still a daredevil kid—an avid hiker and hunter, charming and sometimes irresponsible. He knows that after a night of partying with his buddies, he should be at home. But his wife, Jamie, also understands that he has to get away every once in a while. It is as much a part of him as his love for her and their two children.

“You’re a bad boy,” Jamie, 25, always says. “It’s part of why I love you.” Then again, he thinks, maybe this time I went too far. In his mind, he replays a conversation—okay, a fight—they had barely an hour earlier. “Where are you?” Jamie had asked on her cell phone, her tone clipped and angry.

“In the forest,” he said.

“Come home now! Remember we’re all going to a movie later—and I need some help around here,” she replied, a pointed reference to Joella, four, and 15-month-old Wyatt.

“OK, I’ll be home in an hour.” he replied. He thinks: But not while you’re mad at me.

Now, bracing his arms on the edge of the crevice to control his descent, he breathes in deeply and exhales to relax his muscles and make his 183-centimetre-tall, 70-kilogram body as small as possible—a trick he learned in his early 20s caving around here. Down, down he goes, between the ice-covered walls while his feet, in sturdy hiking shoes, cast about for purchase.

It does not matter that he has neither a rope nor survival kit for he has done this countless times before, in and out with nary a problem. Coming to a stop on a ledge, he opens his cell phone and uses it to illuminate his surroundings. The crevice walls come into glittering focus and his breath hovers in front of him. The smell is a mix of mould and earth, damp, heavy and dark.

Billion Photos/Shutterstock

After a few minutes Seth realizes if he goes any further, he won’t be able to climb out. He steps onto a rock ready to hoist himself up and out of the crevice. OK. One, two… Oh God! The rock gives way and Seth slides into the black void, through that tiny opening, like a finger donning a too-small ring.

There is no time to cry out.

There would be no one to hear him if he did.

Once he comes to a stop, Seth takes a few minutes to catch his breath. The sheer force of the fall has left him wedged like a cork in a bottle, with the tip of his nose squashed against one jagged wall and his back flush and raw against the one behind him.

He has no idea where he is. How long did I slide for? It felt like forever. It wasn’t a straight drop, either, for he knows crevices follow the whim of nature and erosion.

Stay calm, he tells himself.

He looks up and sees a crack of light about 20 metres above him. Phone for help, he thinks. But when he reaches for his cell phone he realizes, with a chill, that there would be no service that far underground. He tries to move upwards but the crevice holds him fast: a prison—maybe even a tomb.

Stop thinking like that! He tells himself sharply. One hour passes, then maybe two or three, but in the dark Seth loses track of time. He wonders what everyone at home is doing. Every once in a while, he calls out: “Help! Is anyone there?”

There is no answer.

Jamie will find me. She’ll find the truck and bring a rope. It becomes his mantra. Even though he parked his truck in an unploughed field about half a kilometre beyond where he usually leaves it, he has to believe his wife will find it.

He notices his hands and feet are numb from the damp and the fact that he has not moved for hours. He wishes he could put on the jacket he was carrying but there isn’t room. His knees are killing him.

So might the crevice.

That is when he begins to pray out loud.

“Dear God, I got myself in here, I know,” he said. “But could You help me out? Tomorrow is Father’s Day. I want to spend tomorrow with my family.”

It’s totally dark, and the close space feels as big as a cathedral. Then he hears snuffling and growls from above. What is it? There is a glint from a pair of eyes, golden and feral, staring through the opening: It’s a coyote, and Seth realizes it can smell his blood.

(Don’t miss the survival story of the man who was stranded at sea for 438 days.)

Patsy Michaud/Shutterstock

Frightened, he cries out, “Please, someone, help me!”

Then he hears a voice, or thinks he does: He’s been calling out all day.

I’m hallucinating.

But the voice repeats the question: “Where are you?” It is real. Relief floods through his body for he has been found and his icy ordeal will soon be over—or so he thinks.

At 8:05 p.m., Jamie’s cell phone goes off in the movie theatre in Collingwood, 23 kilometres away. She was about to settle into seats with the kids, fuming at her husband’s absence. She had gone to look for him earlier that afternoon but there was no sign of his truck—and he wasn’t answering his phone.

As she listens to the hiker who found him, Jamie begins to run, somehow managing to hold Wyatt close while dragging a protesting Joella behind her.

It is about 45 minutes before Jamie gets to the field because she calls a friend who agrees to meet her and take the kids.

At the clearing where the hiker heard her husband, she kneels by the crevice and calls out: “Seth! I’m here. I love you. We want you to come home.”

Fire Chief Colin Sewell and other members of the nearby Clear-view Fire Department are already on the scene when firefighters from the city of Barrie, a city 59 kilometres to the east, arrive. The team is prepared to rescue a man trapped in a crevice. It happens every year in this area. But Bill Boyes, then Barrie’s deputy fire chief, soon realizes this is going to be more difficult than originally thought. There was no obvious opening to get at Seth, and the team thinks he must have slid at an angle for at least six metres from the entry point and gone down approximately 20 metres. “We’ve got a call in to an off-duty guy on our force who is experienced in crevice-diving,” Boyes continues. “Right now, he’s our best hope.”

By 10 p.m., the site is lit up like an airport landing strip. David Dunt, the rescue expert, arrives. “Let me go down to get an overview,” he says. Thinking he will be in the crevice for 20 minutes or so, Dunt, 178 centimetres tall and 91 kilograms of pure muscle, puts a full-body harness on over his light clothing, claps on a hardhat with a lantern and headset. His colleagues lower him eight metres into the black.

Landing on a narrow shelf, he trains his flashlights downwards. The beams catch a tiny figure about 12 metres below him off at an angle more than 10 metres away. In between is the opening that Seth has been staring at for more than 10 hours, no more than 20 centimetres across, barely enough room for skinny legs to pass through, never mind a full torso.

“Seth?” Dunt calls. “I’m here to get you out.” Unspoken is the thought, Dead or alive. “Have you been into crevices before?”

“Yeah, lots of times,” Seth replies, his voice thick and slow from cold and lack of food.

Although Seth is woefully under-equipped, Dunt is relieved to learn that he understands the principles of caving, such as of muscle relaxation and diaphragm compression, and how to use a seat harness. But Dunt knows he is also probably hypothermic.

“We’re racing against him freezing to death,” he reports urgently into his headset. “We have to get him food—energy—and water. Because we can’t get him out without his help.”

The firefighter stays down, talking with Seth about life, his wife and kids—anything to keep the trapped man awake. At 10:37 p.m., he helps thread a weighted rope more than 12 metres into the dark, which Seth catches and somehow manages to secure. A rudimentary ferrying system ensures that at least Seth has water and energy bars and a thermal blanket.

(You won’t want to miss how these pilots survived a crash landing in the Alaskan wilderness.)

Shane Miller/Shutterstock

Next, firefighters send in a rescue harness, which Dunt talks Seth through putting on. It takes half an hour, with each minute, each second, filled with scrapes, grunts and searing pain.

“I can’t move my legs!” Seth cries.

“Yes, you can, Seth,” Dunt says, his voice steady.

Finally, around 11:15 p.m., after nearly 12 hours in the crevice, Seth is on the move. Firefighters pull him slowly, less than a millimetre at a time, but within minutes the screaming starts. It echoes through the crevice, wordless and panicked.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dunt yells into the headset. “Drop him back! Talk to me, Seth!” Is his shoulder dislocated? His hip? If it is, we’re finished.

Although the screams stop, Seth, caught up in a haze of pain and fatigue, doesn’t respond. The firefighters start again, reeling him in like a big fish, centimetres forward and then back again. One hour runs into two, then three and four. Finally, Seth is shifted over the six metres so that now he is directly under Dunt and warming up a bit from a heater blasting into the crevice. But he still needs to get through that impossibly small gap. At that point Dunt hears rhythmic knocking, like a woodpecker. He realizes it is his helmet hitting the wall behind him; he can’t stop shivering. I have to get out before I become useless, he thinks. Hauled up, he is wrapped in thermal blankets. Another firefighter goes down to keep Seth talking.

Meanwhile, Boyes meets with Shewell again. It is nearing 3:30 a.m. They need more expertise. Shewell calls the Ontario Provincial Emergency Operations Centre, which dispatches the Toronto Fire Services to the scene. At 5:30 a.m., firefighters from the city arrive. Dunt is happy to see his old friend Chris Rowland among them. A stocky rescue specialist with a loud, commanding voice, Rowland soon takes charge.

“Quiet!” he yells as he kneels at the edge of the crevice. By now, there are about 50 firefighters and paramedics on the site. Seth has been in the crevice for 17 ½ hours.

Rowland outlines a plan: First, Toronto firefighters chip away at the narrow entrance to open the crevice up. Then, three of them in hardhats and protective glasses get into harness and pivot themselves to upside-down positions so they can use electric chisels to further enlarge that tiny gap by about eight centimetres.

“It should be enough for Seth to squeeze through,” Rowland says.

The last-ditch rescue operation begins at 6:14 a.m. For nearly three hours, the chisels whine and echo, punctuated by Seth’s cries as shards of rock fall on his head. The upside-down firefighters take turns coming up for breaks.

As the clock ticks towards 9:30am, the opening is wide enough to use ropes to carefully haul the still harnessed Seth up from the depths. But first Dunt goes back into the crevice to give his lifeline to Seth.

At 9:41 a.m.—nearly 22 hours after Seth went in—he rises slowly out of the ground, dirty, with shredded clothes, a body scraped raw and red and a bleeding gash on his head. It is as if the earth is giving birth to him.

Jamie takes his hand. He wants to tell her something. “I want a Big Mac and fries.”

Laughing out loud, Jamie turns to the paramedics and says, “He’s fine.”

She’s right, too. Miraculously, Seth spends only one night in hospital, where he is treated for hypothermia and abrasions to his chest and back.

At a celebration in Barrie on June 30 – Seth’s birthday – he and his family showed their appreciation of the legion of people who gave his story a happy ending. He spoke of how grateful he was for the chance to be more present as a father and husband. Now he and Jamie go out together as a couple, solid and loving.

“[It] would be absolutely horrendous to every year have Father’s Day be the day your dad didn’t come back,” he said.

To highlight that sentiment, Joella, now five, presented a daisy to Chief Shewell of the Clearview Fire Department.

“Thank you,” she said, “for saving my daddy.”

Next, find out how to save your own life in 12 scary emergencies.

Original Source -> This Climber Was Stuck in a Crevice for 22 Hours—Here’s How He Survived

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/this-climber-was-stuck-in-a-crevice-for-22-hours-heres-how-he-survived/

[realization20s-blog]

Dear God

I feel like I have a lot to tell you. I know that I’m talking to you about every day, every hour and even every minute. I feel like I’m more comfortable talking to you and talking about you to others. I have done a lot of stupid things. I didn’t know that I could change for the better. I never thought to live my life according to your will and fulfilling your purpose. 

I’ve been through a lot of hardships and heartache. I even feel like I’m not good enough at all. God, the first 2 men I ever love broke my heart already. 

The first man, my first ever lover (the father of my first child) cheated on me and left me hanging last 2012. And I couldn’t find any reason why he’d do that. I have been too good to him. I have been keen on all the details to make sure that I’m making the right choice to love him. But I was wrong. I committed a sin. I let my wild thoughts rule over me. I let the temptation win over me. And I’m deeply sorry for that. I know that I hurt you a lot. And it surely hurts me too. I was a fool to fall for that. I pitied myself. What the worst woman am I? I feel like I’m not worth loving at all. Not by anyone. But you wiped all that insecurities and helped me stand again. You make me feel the love that I couldn’t have with any human here on Earth. You help me respect and love myself, to fight for my life and future because you gave me a wonderful, healthy and handsome baby boy. That’s my first child smiling right there. I know you asked him to smile back at me to make me feel better. Thank you. 

God, I have no friends way back in 2013. They abandon me because I was never able to meet their standards. I was smart back then and a lot of people idolized me and it surely makes me feel better and my heart flutter. I gave birth at a very young age. 18 years old to be exact. All the humiliation, insults, and worst descriptions. I carry them all. I experienced them all. I stay silent but you know that it’s breaking every bone of my body and I feel so weak. I let their judgment rule over my life for years. I let them look down on me thinking that the sin I committed is something that is unforgivable. But do you know what’s the worst feeling is? I bet yes. Every time you walk down the streets and you see these kinds of people looking at you like you commit a murder, a heinous crime, like you’re some kind of evil or wicked is much more painful. Their gossip is killing my will to start a new life. I feel like I’m not even worthy to become a mother of this child. But you know what? You came down to heaven and rescued me. You came on time just when I was about to fall to the ground. You let me rest in your wide beautiful arms. You sang a good song. You touch my heart and pour a never-ending love to my cup. Thank you

God, you remember the time when I feel alone? Year 2015. I feel hopeless. I feel like it’s me against the world. I have a lot of problems. How to raised a 2 years old child, how to become a good parent by the age of 20. How to handle my officemates and their shitty attitude. How to make my family’s life comfortable. Just staring at our bills makes my head wanna pop out anytime soon. I feel like I’m worn out. I have a lot of problems but I have no one to talk to. There’s no one who’d love to listen to it. I feel like I’m alone. But you gave me 4 wonderful crazy friends. Soul sisters indeed. We were happy. We were sharing our faith, love, and hope. That being single isn’t lonely. It’s about being contented and happily waiting for the man that God sent to us. And thank you because you never let me fall for those boys and repeat the same mistake again. Thank you because you have given me enough strength to say no to temptation and focus on my child. I know it was planned by you. 

God, I lost my job 2 years ago, the year 2016. I was crying all night because I was worried about my needs, my family’s needs. What are we going to do? Can we even survive a day? You know that I’m the one who’s supporting my family plus my child. You know that I’m a single parent after all. But in just one snap, you’ve given me a new job. I know right there that it was a test of faith. I cried all night, worrying for 5 days. I was unemployed for 5 days. You planned it all along to give me rest, don’t you? And I owe that meaningful rest to you. I’m thankful up to this moment. You always got my back.

God, the Second man was my father left me when he died last 2017. I know he’s in good hands now. He’s on your side and there’s nothing to worry about. But the thing is, I missed him every day. I missed him so much that I could die and go to heaven and meet him right away. But I know that I just can’t do that. Dying all of a sudden is like committing the biggest sin and ending up in Hell. I don’t want that to happen. God, I’ve been dying inside to see him, feel and embrace him once again. But I can wait until your perfect time arrives. I know your plans are ALWAYS better than ours. And thank you because you were there when my heart was shattered into pieces. You never left my side and even make me feel the most comfortable person ever. Though it’s hard, I know and I can feel that your presence is there and that’s more than enough to keep me going. 

3rd Quarter of 2017 till the end. God, I have forgotten you. I worship Money above you. I have forgotten that you were by my side when I needed you. You called my name, but I pretended not hearing it. I have forgotten you because I was just doing fine. I was earning 6 digits salary that time and I feel like I’m in control of my life from now on. I was mistaken, again. After my father’s death, though I keep telling others that it has a beautiful reason why it happened, I still feel sad, angry, and resentful towards you. I feel like you never care at me at all. I hate the thought that I couldn’t hate you for taking him so early because you’re too good to hate, God. I hate the fact that the Holy Spirit is helping me get through it and just forget that my sunshine is gone. I questioned you. Why me? Why do you I have to go all through this? Why do you want to keep me going through hardships? Why do you like seeing my heart shattered into pieces a thousand times? Don’t you remember that I boast my faith to others because I believed in you? Have you forgotten all the good deeds I have made to please you? Have you forgotten all my unselfish decisions to make someone else’s life comfortable? Have you forgotten about me? Have you forgotten that I’m your child? Have I ever make it to your list? Have you ever think of me and think of good plans for me? Have you ever think that it hurt so much that the little girl who once believes and loves you were trapped inside of this prison composed of guilt, insecurities, pains, tears, and much more? I was helpless. I want to ask for help but I couldn’t shout. I feel like my mouth was shut down. 

And then, December 24, 2017. A friend gave a book of Mr. Rick Warren to me. The Purpose of Driven Life. I even attended a church (Christian Life Center) because of her. And for the first time, I feel like I’m home again. I feel like there’ll be no one to judge me here. I feel comfortable in your presence. January 2018, I know I’m ready to start a new life. 

February 2018. I started my DAY 1 with the book. It wasn’t easy. It’s not and never will. You turned my emotions upside down. You make me feel loved, and make me cry at the same time. I feel sad and feel grateful at the same time. But that very moment, I repent my sins and I feel like I’m being washed with the most expensive soap from heaven. For the first time, I was crying not because of hardships or bad experience but because You’re in Me. I feel like all this time, you never let go of me. You never let go of that little girl who believes and loves you with all her heart. You know the very deep of my heart God. You never abandon me. You understand me. You have never forgotten about me. And from that moment I finished the book, I know I was able to improve a lot of things in my character. My spiritual growth absolutely grows rapidly. I know that the moment I touched the book and read it, You’re calling me home. You’re calling your lost child home. Now I understand more. That it doesn’t mean I’m your child, I’ll be excluded in all the hardships and pain in the world. But because I am your child, I am made for it. Temptation and evil works will go after me but you’ll be in my side reminding how much you loved us. I learn to love because you loved me first. I know that I’ll be facing a lot of problems and pains so soon. Many of them, maybe. But it won’t bother me at all. I won’t even ask “why me”. I may be angry or yell at you but I will still worship you and know that you’re my God. I’ll live my life according to your will, I will work on earning your approval, I will love you with all my heart, all my soul, with all my strength and with all my mind. Thank you for letting me be part of your Spiritual family. Thank you for not letting go of me. Now that I’m spiritually matured, I’ll be able to conquer all evil with your name and praise you like I’ve never done before. I will fulfill my purpose and trust your plans. 

I will love you because you are my GOD. 

[justventingjustventing-blog]

“See you laters” are the worst.

I’m not talking about the kind when you go on a trip or won’t being seeing someone close to you for a short time. I mean the kind when you have to say “see you later” to someone you only get to spend a short time with every few (a.k.a. SHIT TONS OF) months. People in long distance relationships will know what I’m talking about, in fact that’s exactly what I’m talking about.

I use the term “see you later” rather than “good-bye” because in my mind good-bye is forever, see you later is more promising in the future. I’m sure many of you have seen things stating the same thing, I like to take it to heart. 

Being a young army wife, our relationship started out pretty much like in the movies (or like you hear about all the in the military community). We started seeing each other seriously just a few weeks before he went to basic in fall of 2015. We already knew we were going to get married at the ages of 17 and 19. That was the first see you later. He lived a town over and since he would have to go through my hometown on his way to MEPS we decided him and I would drive the first 10 minutes (to have some last alone time) and his mom would follow and pick him up there, I couldn’t go with because I had to work. The moment he got out of one car and into the next will forever be imprinted in my memory. I remember thinking how terribly I was going to miss him, I remember crying my eyes out and watching them drive away, never breaking eye contact until they were out of sight. I remember thinking “the next 2 months can’t go by fast enough”, since he would be in basic through Christmas he was able to come home for a couple weeks. It’s funny now how 2 months really doesn’t seem as long as it did then. 8 weeks. 56 days. I remember thinking about how I knew I was going to have to get used to this in the future, and dear God was I right. 

The second see you later was when he came home for Christmas during basic. I was so happy to see him and spend every waking moment with him, we had the time of our lives, we always do. At this point in time we were dead set on getting married after he was out of AIT but we hadn’t announced it yet so his mom wasn’t so happy that we were spending every night together, I was still just 17 and our families like to be “morally correct” like that. But of course we still spent the night together the entire time he was home and when he had to go back he was not taking that 3 hour drive to the airport without me by his side - which his mom wasn’t too happy about that either, so you can imagine how awkward the ride home was. I was able to help myself from crying at the airport when we kissed “see you later”, I think the awkwardness of the circumstance helped me from being overwhelmed at the time being. I thought “this won’t be so hard we’ve done it before and everything was fine, we can do it for another 2 months and then we will be able to talk to each other rather than writing letters! This is cake!”. It was far from that, in fact it was harder. He would tell me how much he missed home, even more than when he first went to basic, and all I wanted to do was give him a hug. It sucked. 

My mother-in-law and I got to go see him graduate basics, that was a fun trip! We only got to see him for 2 days, so I don’t really count that as a “see you later”. I say that because I didn’t have the heart crushing feeling I had the other two times before. It’s like when you go on a vacation on the other side of the world, you have jet lag. It takes a few days to feel it, and then a week or two to get used to it. I was so ecstatic to see him, and since it was for such a short time it was like a really long dream. We didn’t have time for normalcy to set in. We spent those two days just staring at each other and smiling and just enjoying each other’s presence. Plus, he was going to AIT! He was finally going to have the luxury of having his cell-phone! I was more excited about that than sad about the fact we would have to go another 3 months states away form eachother. 

Not too long after getting home from that is when I learned to make time go by literally as fast as I can. It was my senior year of high school (2nd semester) but I graduated a semester early so I could work and just do what ever I want, and that’s exactly what I did. I worked and took classes through the college to pass my time. I got a second job at the high school cafeteria (I thought it was pretty fun serving my classmates...bitches) for a few months, and I just tried as hard as possible to be doing something every waking moment. During this time apart we announce we were engaged! We just used Facebook, and then I decided I should probably tell my parents before they hear it from someone else. It was a fun time. 

In April of that year (2016) my family went on a trip to San Fran to see one of my cousins get married. Just a week after I was going to go see my husband (at the time fiance) graduate AIT! But this time I went by myself. It was just a short trip, I was hoping to spend two days like we did last time, but instead I only got the one day - his graduation day. But I don’t regret going. It was a memory I’ll never forget and I am so proud to say I was there for my husband. So like the time I saw him before, we didn’t have time for normalcy to set in, so I felt like I was in a dream.... a really really amazing dream... 

After I got back home I continued doing the same things I was doing before my trips up until May. My husband was still at Fort Lee where he went to AIT, even though he had graduated already it wasn’t time for him to leave because of orders. In May I still walked across the stage with my graduating class like normal, I was really hoping he would be able to make in for that! But he ‘still wasn’t able to leave’. Well, I had a feeling That he was going to surprise me and sure thing he did! This was another moment in my life that I will forever remember. We were all walking out of the gymn while the procession (I think thats what it’s called) was playing and as soon as I got through the door and was about to turn down the hall I saw my amazing man standing right there! Best. Moment. Ever. He was home for 2 weeks and in that two weeks we got married and just had shit loads of fun. As always. 

But the thing that sucked about it - we would have to say “see you later” again. A-FUCKING-GAIN. He found out when he was in AIT that he was getting stationed in South Korea. Originally we were like “damn that sucks because we can’t be together for a whole fucking year still” then we were like “oh wait we can probably be together families move here all the time” then we were like “fuck he got put on a small base with no housing in a random Korean city, maybe we can get an apartment off base and be together”, well by the time we kinda got things figured out it had been like 4 months so we just thought “fuck it”. This “see you later” was one of the worst ones. Probably because it was more recent and honestly they just keep getting worse. Can you tell I’m getting angry now? Because he was home this time for 2 weeks like in basic, but we had been together much longer now and we were married now! AND I WAS ALREADY SO TIRED OF NOT BEING WITH HIM. We thought after AIT we would finally be able to BE together! It sucked. Like always. Normalcy set in when he was home for that 2 weeks, and honestly it makes saying “see you later” even more difficult. 

By this time, after he got to Korea, I was still trying to make time go by as fast as possible. I loaded up on classes, was no longer working at the highschool so I tried finding another second job - not with much luck as they didn’t fit well with my schedule. I found one but only stayed there for 2 weeks, working as a dairy department stocker at a grocery store. Fucking hated it. I pretty much hated everything by this point in time. Didn’t know when I would see my husband next, unless it would be in a year, then I knew, but that fact made me even more sad.

Luckily he was able to come home about 4 months (give or take) of him being in Korea.He came back for one of his cousin’s wedding. It was amazing having him home again. Of course I couldn’t help but think about how he was going to leave in 2 weeks from then. Then 1 week. Then 4 days. Then tomorrow. Then I’m driving home by myself after dropping him off at the airport. It was a depressing image in my mind and it was depressing when it actually happened. I tried not to think about it when he was home for those two weeks because I found myself being bitter and sad, and that was not the way I wanted to be when my husband was home for only 2 weeks every 3-4 months. I think this was the worst see you later out of all of them. In fact it is the last one so far. I was devastated. I didn’t want to go 7 months with out seeing my husband. That was just too much for me. I could do 4. But not 7. 

Well, I decided I was going to visit him. I was terrified of going by myself so I found a friend to come with! We spent a few months planning it, I decided on February because that would be about halfway between the time he went back from leave and the time he would be done there. That way I wouldn’t have to go more than 4 months with out seeing my husband. It made me feel better. I continued working and doing classes, I even decided to get my own rental house while I was waiting for him to come back to the states! It didn’t last long. My roommates were pretty much the shittiest roommates ever with out actually ruining any of my stuff or being dicks. I partied a lot that 1 month I was there. And by party I mean get drunk and then get upset because I missed my husband and then go to bed. Fun. Times. 

So I moved back in with my mom and it was almost time for my trip to see my husband! My friend and I took the train to Chicago (it was cheapest to fly out of O’hare.. like way fucking cheaper). We got to the airport and it turns out my friend couldn’t come with. He only had a card passport. Couldn’t use it. It was no good. Fuck. So I went by myself! Stayed a night in China because my connecting flight was the next day - terrifying. It was terrifying because I’m cheap and got the cheapest hotel and it was sketch. But I survived and made it to Korea! My husband met me at the airport and we had an amazing time! (Do you see the pattern here?). I couldn’t help myself from thinking about when we will have to say “see you later” again, but I didn’t let it interfere with enjoying being with my husband. I made the trip so I would be in Korea for about two weeks. The glorious but deadly two weeks: long enough to fully enjoy eachother and have the time of our lives, and also long enough for normalcy to set in. You know what is coming now. But the question is: Is it going to be as terrible as the other times, going weeks feeling lonely and sad and crying just trying to keep myself busy, or will I be able to go back to normal? Will this next 3 months of my husband being out of the states go by fast and will we REALLY FINALLY be able to be together after this long ass year?! - I know we will but it just feels like it is inevitable. But I know it’s real. I don’t to be sad and depressed like I usually am after saying “see you later” but I can never help it. And everytime before this seems like it got worse. Will this time be like that too? I think this to myself as I sit here in my hotel in South Korea waiting for my husband to get off work and come see me so we can have our last time together before I go to the airport tomorrow morning. I don’t want to leave him. I just want to live with him and be with him with out knowing when we have to say our “see you laters”. GOD 

P.S. I don’t regret marrying the man I love who is in the military. And I am not mad at him nor the military, I am so so thankful. I just wanted to vent how I feel about missing him. And if you took this post to think I am angry at someone, no, I’m not, I’m just putting my feelings out there.

P.P.S. (or is it P.S.S.???) I also wonder every now and then what it would be like to actually have an army wife friend like me - since I haven’t really been acquainted with this life yet I just don’t know. Does anyone else feel like this? I feel stupid about this but i guess that’s the good thing about not putting my identity out there. 

Bye. 

EDIT: Also I am very thankful that I was able to visit my husband where he was rather than him being on a true deployment. It’s gonna suck when that happens. 

Ok. Bye for good.