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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 6

So we’re slowly but surely getting into the Hannigram shit I promised.

Someone with murderous intent finds y/n just as she thinks her life is beginning to improve. Little does she know, it will.

@deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovadokren here you go homies

Trigger warnings: Suicide bombing, graphic descriptions of violence, gun violence, death, cults, cult manipulation

You waited until he had left the restaurant to read that all-important scrap of paper. For some reason, you felt the need to hide in the bathroom to read it. It was probably just a name and phone number, but your brain was anticipating some kind of love letter.

You carefully unfolded the receipt like it was your most treasured possession. Inside, it simply read ‘Hannibal Lecter’ followed by a phone number.

You hugged the paper against your chest and a huge smile overtook your face. You couldn’t attach any rhyme or reason to why you suddenly felt so alive, other than you were completely and utterly infatuated. You felt like you could break into song.

“Hey, [F/N]!” Charissa said, banging on the stall door. “Not to interrupt whatever this is, but could you take out the trash please?”

“Oh.” You answered, your voice cracking. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Charissa trailed close behind you as you collected the bags from each can around the restaurant. She was uncharacteristically quiet, probably waiting for you to start spilling every detail of your night. The joke was on her, because you could let the silence go on forever. She wasn’t getting a word out of you.

“So you’re not going to tell me?” She sounded deeply offended.

“What’s to tell?” You said, hoisting a very full garbage bag over your shoulder. “Nothing happened.”

“He sunk his teeth into you, didn’t he?” Charissa asked. At this point, you weren’t sure if she meant it metaphorically or literally. “That’s why you’re acting all, y’know, not downright miserable?”

“Is that how I act usually?” You began to make your way to the back.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but,” She prefaced. “You basically have two moods. Depressed and customer-service happy, which is just depressed with a facelift. And whatever is happening here doesn’t fit into either of those categories. So something happened.”

“Detective Charissa Rodriquez does it again.” You rolled your eyes and put one hand on the back door. “Some things just have to stay between a bartender and her... possible love interest.”

You punctuated the last sentence with a wink, sending your friend into a righteous fury.

“Holy shit, [F/N]!” She exclaimed, smacking her hands together. “Come on, [F/N], I’m your best friend. You’ve got to let me in.”

“I’m still trying to process what happened myself.” You said in earnest. “Believe me, if I’m telling anyone, it’s you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Charissa wagged her finger.

You tightened your grip on the garbage bag and lugged it outside. The night had fallen, and the orchestra of cicadas and crickets was in full swing. The warm pre-summer air welcomed you. As much as you resented her for bringing it up, Charissa was right. You hadn’t been truly happy in a very long time. And, as terrifying as the thought may have seemed, in a way, you owed it to Chase Mulvaney.

You hauled the garbage bag into the dumpster and slammed it shut. The crash echoed and you turned back towards the door.

Someone grabbed your arm. Your immediate thought was that it was just Charissa playing a cruel joke, but then they twisted it back and shoved you against the wall. You felt the cold blade of a knife against your neck and you froze up.

“You didn’t repent.” A manic voice hissed into your ear. You could feel your heartbeat against the cold brick wall. The hands that bound you were soft and the voice was much more female. This was noticeably not Chase.

You sputtered as you tried to articulate any of your thousands of questions. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Silence, she-devil!” The girl slammed you against the wall. “Keep your forked tongue between your teeth or I’ll cut it out!”

Her voice and hands shook and she enunciated as if she were reading off a script with a gun to her head. The adrenaline turned to genuine fear when you felt something hard strapped to her midriff. You knew in that moment that she wasn’t going to use the knife.

"I thought Chase wanted to kill me himself." You muttered.

“Did you really think vanguard would be stupid enough to come back here?!” She forced a laugh but her voice was broken with fear.

“Yes.” You said back, resigning to at least die with honor. “And, why is Chase the one in charge?!”

She tightened her grip on your arm and smashed your head against the wall. “Don’t you dare talk about vanguard that way!”

He ripped off his cult leader title from fucking NXIVM? You thought, fully aware that it could easily be your last thought ever.

“No, but seriously, think about it!” You implored her, hoping that if you got her talking, she wouldn’t hit the detonator. If there was one thing you knew about evangelicals, it was that they loved to hear themselves talk. “Chas- er, vanguard attacked me in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. You’re smarter than he is! You came after me when I was alone in the dark!”

“Everything he does, he does for a reason.” She shouted. "It's not the unwoman's place to question vanguard!"

“Oh god, now he’s ripping off Handmaid’s Tale?” You said out loud this time.

“Vanguard told me that you would try to fill my head with lies!” She growled. “So long as you are alive, you stand in the way of god’s work! You spread only falsehoods about our savior!”

“Is this about the TattleCrime article?” You ask. “Because I didn’t say anything about god, I only talked about--”

Then it hit you, again. “Oh, so this is a cult cult.”

"It's not a cult!" The girl screamed. This was the first time you'd sensed any genuine emotion behind her words. "Vanguard takes good care of us. And he can take care of you, too [F/N] [L/N]."

"By sending someone to kill me?" You spat.

"No!" The girl exclaimed. "No, no, no, no, no! Silly! I'm here to save you. If you repent now, and let Jesus Christ into your heart, your earthly shackles will be broken!"

"And what's in it for you, huh?" You struggled against her grip. "The privilege of blowing yourself up for Chase Mulvaney?"

"I was a sinful being like you, once." She said. "My grand reward is to give my life to save another."

You heard the click of a gun behind you. “Put the knife down and take off the vest!”

The girl grabbed you by the neck and turned you to face this approaching foe. She held the knife to your throat. “If you shoot, she’s dead.”

You couldn’t make out the details of his face, because he was backlit by headlights. You could, however, see the face of your captor. She was completely emaciated with bones protruding from her skin. Her head was sloppily shaved and whatever instrument she used to shave it left deep cuts on her scalp.

She reached a shaky hand into her pocket and pulled out a detonator. Tears streaming down her face, she began to chant. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The man let off a shot, sending a bullet into her leg. She fell backwards, dropping the detonator and the knife and giving you an opportunity to run. The man gestured for you to get behind him and you obliged. He then let off a second shot, this bullet hitting her right through the skull. The girl collapsed backwards, her brain matter painting the side of the building.

The man dropped his gun, mumbled something about a bomb squad into his phone, then turned to you. Finally, you could get a good look at his face. Immediately, you noticed his rich brown curls and a smattering of scruff around his jaw. His features were soft, comforting even. But a long enough examination of his face told you that he was just as deeply haunted as you were.

“Are you okay?” He asked, weakly.

“You...” You said over desperate gasps for air. “You saved me.”

Soon enough, the first responders joined you. But for a few minutes, it was just you, the man and some unspoken mutual understanding words couldn't articulate.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #hannigram x reader #tw violence #tw bomb #tw suidice

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tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Two Night Stand AU: Part 6

Ao3

I’m...chasing the ever illusive feeling of accomplishment upon finishing things. Heard it’s possible.

“How was…how was that?” Hiccup asks, flopping back onto the bed with more force than his skinny shoulders should be able to produce.

They’re a few experiments in, a couple of failed hypotheses closer to the truth. Her hands are shaking, her skin twitching when he pulls the sheet up her chest, a fond gesture that she should tell him to stop. But they’re being honest, and she honestly likes it, enough that she scoots sideways to rest her head on his shoulder.

His hand finds her hip, stroking in a lazy, exhausted way that makes her chest throb even though it’s somewhere beyond the middle of the night and there’s no way they’re doing that again. Because there’s no way they have energy to do that again.

Maybe if he did all the work.

“That was good,” she adjusts to get comfortable, her temple against a sweaty collarbone that doesn’t quite do the trick. He’s the close kind of bony, like he has less of a buffer, and she can see why his personality is as oversized as his hair.

He might kiss the top of her head. She’s not sure. She should ask, in the name of honesty, but she doesn’t know how much she cares about honesty if he’ll touch her again in the morning.

Like there’s a limit, obviously if he started spouting racist slurs or required a pledge of allegiance first, that would be a no-go, but a little hair kissing? Forgivable.

Corny, but forgivable, given the circumstances. Given how if she thinks about it, it feels like there’s no one else on the planet.

“I’m…” He trails off, nose in her hair. Nuzzling her hair. And Ruffnut said no one would bang her pre-shower. Ruffnut just doesn’t have a mind for the science of it all. “I’m…”

“You’re…” She half-asks, half-ignores, eyelids feeling heavy as his warm palm settles on her waist.

“Hungry.” He laughs, stubble evident on her forehead.

Her stomach growls.

He laughs. He kisses her head. She should ask why he keeps doing that and also ask if there’s a pizzeria in the basement that she didn’t notice in either her haste to get up here or her haste to leave. A 24-hour pizzeria. Open during a blizzard.

“We should go figure that out.”

“I was thinking take out,” he laughs, voice still low, kissing her head again, and his boniness shouldn’t be so soft. This shouldn’t be so ok. “Or we can eat here.” His hand migrates down, tickling her stomach, and she twitches at the memory of the last hour even as she grabs his fingers.

“I’m literally hungry,” she laughs, “for calories. Not jokes.”

His stomach growls. And he earned it, and that makes her laugh, which makes him laugh, chest reverberating like it’s bigger than it is. Big hand on her waist. Lips in her hair.

“Me too.”

“Well, let’s go do something about it.” She sits up, taking the blanket with her, and he has the audacity to be groggy as he sits up slowly and fumbles for his leg. Before his boxers. It feels intimate. And he looks up at her through his eyelashes, adjusting his stance, everything out.

And penises are weird. And she feels like she can’t look at anything else. Maybe it’s allowed though, for science.

It looks hungry too. Not for calories, necessarily, but it has also driven the show for the last few hours, so maybe it’s someone else’s turn.

“Here,” he tosses her the shirt he’d been wearing before pulling up his boxer briefs and it’s easier to pull it on than it is to emotionally fund an archaeological expedition to the site of her strip tease that wasn’t a tease.

It was an appetizer.

And he ate.

And they’re still hungry.

Because scientific endeavors don’t have any calories.

“Food?” He looks at her like it’s really a question. Like her answer isn’t ‘forget the food and get back here because I’m cold’.

Her stomach gurgles and he grins, holding out his hand and pointedly ignoring her eye roll. He pointedly ignores a lot of things, among them, how obvious it is that there is no food. He lets her look through every cabinet and find mustard, a pack of gum, vitamin C supplements, and a single packet of fruit snacks.

And it’s snowing.

And she’s wearing his shirt and nothing else and she knows what she can do with his hands and she swallows hard as she turns to face him.

“We have to ration the fruit snacks. Who knows how long they have to last?” She tosses the packet at him. He drops it. He bends down to pick it up and his ass is right there. She wonders if she’s allowed to tell him that his ass is more distracting than his leg, but even asking that of herself ruins the game. “Also why don’t you have food?”

“I did, until we got high.”

“Fair.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Fair.”

“Why…why don’t you just go back to bed?” His voice dips as he asks the question and she wonders how asking him to do all the work would really come across as his fingertips glance across her thigh. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Are you weighing the fruit snacks?” She backs into the doorway and pauses, elbow on the doorframe, “because as the person who just got off more, I could make a concrete argument for getting the bigger half of the fruit snacks—”

“You can have the whole packet.” His lip twitches like a warning he tries to squelch and she takes it, for once, shuffling out of the room. Badly moonwalking, almost.

His awkward is contagious.

She has the feeling there’s a vaccine, and she should have acquired it socially at some point, but she didn’t. And she’s here. Badly moonwalking out of a kitchen over a fruit snack victory.

Sometimes rock bottom isn’t so hard. Sometimes it’s padded with expired fruit snacks.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she mumbles before turning and shuffling off, refusing to hold the shirt down.

The longer she sits in it, the more comfortable Hiccup’s bed becomes. His bedroom is homey in a way hers never has been, disorganized enough to feel lived in, the blanket well-worn and soft around her waist. Her bedroom was always so clean, everything in its place, until the last few months. And even now, it’s not really comfortable, it’s more just…messy. Like she lost interest in everything before it made it back to its place. It feels like lethargy, like sleeping until three, and staring at a computer screen until her eyes burn and she’s forgotten all that she didn’t get done.

She likes Hiccup’s room. She likes thinking about last night, about being tangled together in a web of constant communication. She flushes when she remembers that she probably shouldn’t be thinking about it, adjusting Hiccup’s shirt around her waist and curling her knees to her chest.

Hiccup comes in a moment later, holding a suspiciously laden tray, the all too familiar smell of Kraft macaroni and cheese wafting towards her.

“Where did you get that?” She shifts, accepting the tray as he slides back into bed next to her, quickly thumbing his prosthetic off and hiding his leg immediately in the blankets. There’s a full, expired packet of fruit snacks on her side and she wonders if feeding anybody anything has ever been sexy and if that’s enough of a concept to turn into an experiment.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Astrid takes one of the bowls from the tray and frowns, because where Hiccup’s skin is touching hers it’s warm, and he didn’t go outside and—

“This is your neighbors’ food, isn’t it?”

He avoids her eyeline just enough to prove her point and she grins, “you were such an asshole about me breaking that window, and now you’re breaking into their apartment and stealing their food. Hypocrite.”

“They will understand,” he shrugs, stirring his food and taking a bite. “I’ll tell them it was life or death, that if I didn’t feed the crazy girl I met online, she was going to go all Donner Party on my ass.”

“I still might,” she’s suddenly too aware that it’s his shirt warm and soft on the back of her neck. “You did witness me breaking and entering, I probably shouldn’t let you live.”

“But I fed you,” he elbows her, shifting slightly closer to her in a magnetic way she wishes she didn’t notice. “And for the record, I thought it was pretty badass when you broke that window.”

“I agree,” she takes a bite, and Kraft has never tasted so good. The muffled moan at the taste of fake cheese is embarrassing and she clears her throat, “I’m glad you came to your senses. It was badass.”

“I have to say,” he slows down, stirring his mac and cheese and looking at her, eyes narrowed. His eyelashes are ridiculously thick, dark in the half-light of the room, and she wonders what she would have thought about him if she’s met him anywhere else, in any other way. “I really don’t get you. Like, one moment you’re unemployed, looking for a booty call online at midnight, and the next you’re just…this go-getter, take-no-shit-even-from-windows-or-laws rebel. Which is it?”

Astrid should be angry, and some remnant of who she used to try and be stirs in her chest, offended at the idea of being a rebel. The rest of her is…well, she’s flattered he asked. That he noticed.

“I don’t know, both?” She takes another bite, mulling it over for a while. “I was valedictorian in high school. Graduated college at the top of my class. I had not the requisite three, but six letters of recommendation ready to be sent off to medical school but…”

The way he’s looking at her makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to remember that she’s damaged goods, doomed to keep that never-healing injury close to her chest until it scabs over and becomes some knotted whorl of scar tissue.

“I was engaged once,” she can’t look at him as she says it, and her hands suddenly look like they should be attached to someone older. Like they’re her grandmother’s knuckles. “Sounds like I’m writing a memoir. I was engaged recently, up until a few months ago.” She shrugs, “he cheated. I wanted to work it out, he didn’t. You know, typical…whatever, bullshit, but…” It’s hard to talk about in a way she can’t explain, hard to form the words on her tongue even while they’re surging through her brain.

Harder when he looks at her, more curious than sympathetic, chin tilting to the side.

“I thought…” She swallows, thinking about rebellion, and how maybe after months of listening to the reality of her shit situation, she needs to push back against it. “I thought that maybe getting back out there, getting back on the metaphorical, dick-shaped horse might make it sting less and maybe that’s stupid, but—”

“Did it work?” He’s too quiet to really cut her off but she was so hoping to hear him talk that she pauses when he does.

And he has those earnest eyes.

She shrugs, wishing she’d grabbed her own shirt while also being glad that she didn’t. His is softer. The kind of shirt a girlfriend would love to steal, and she’s never thought of being that person again. All paths forward were cul-de-sacs to be walked alone in fits of depressive pacing.

She bites back a smile. She feels tired. A bit sore. Her stomach more than the rest of her, because it was hilarious when he tipped backwards off of the bed. She’s lost, but no more than usual, in fact she might have re-discovered the concept of North, as an idea. A theory. A constant that exists separate from whatever direction she’s facing.

“I don’t get how someone could be there through…I mean, it used to feel like everything. Like life stopped at college graduation and everything since has been limbo, but anyway, I don’t get how someone could see what I was working towards every day for years and then suddenly, it was too much. I was too much.”

“You?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the bedframe with a snort, “never.”

“Apparently he just couldn’t take me ‘obsessing’ anymore. That was the word.” She hasn’t told anyone this. Not her mom, not Ruffnut. She’s held it close like an infection, fearing a diagnosis that would require an emotional surgery so invasive it would be more exorcism than excision.

“Obsessive,” he nods, “I’ve heard that one a few times too. Mostly from people who think I’m in the way or I will be soon.”

“The thing is, I was always like that. I was the twelve-year-old with a five-year plan, I was the eighteen-year-old with a plan for my second promotion at forty, it didn’t show up out of nowhere. You think he would have told me my ‘obsessiveness’ was a deal-breaker before he bought a ring.” She sighs, “like he never did anything else he was ‘supposed’ to, why did he suddenly start? And who told him that I thought he was supposed to propose?”

“No, I—the way I see it, people need to realize that refusing to make a decision is a kind of decision.” Hiccup’s fork clangs against his bowl as he drops it on his lap, freeing his hands up to talk, “people spend their entire lives either trying to avoid the flow or completely immersing themselves in the flow until they freak out at the lack of decision in their lives and it’s the same on both sides.” He gestures at one corner of the room, eyes bright, “you’re either thirty or forty or fifty, flitting between random part time jobs or you get a job straight out of college and then you have to get an apartment and you can’t lose the job because of the apartment, and then you have to keep houseplants alive to prove you’re an adult because the standard is impossible—”

“I don’t really know where you’re getting your standards—”

“And ‘obsessive’? As an insult, it’s—being a little obsessive is the only thing that cuts across it, so of course people hate it. Because it makes them realize that they’re either drifting down the lazy river of life, or they’re fighting the current just to brag about it. And that they’ve never actually thought about what they want, versus what they’re supposed to have by now, on some imaginary timeline.” He looks at her, cheeks red like he forgot he had an audience for his rant. “And really people are just jealous that they never thought of wanting something that hadn’t already been sold to them, so then it’s your fault for making them realize it.”

She doesn’t think that ended up where he wanted it to. She’s not sure it ended up at all, it just spiraled higher and wilder, but she liked it. The limitless-ness of it, the fact he found the energy for it.

“Wow.”

“Blacked out for a second there,” he tries to put the energy away but it crackles between them, “high on my own dulcet tones.”

“We should go like…write to our senators or something,” she laughs, punching him in his skinny arm.

“Right,” the cynical mask doesn’t fit under his bed-head and she nudges his shoulder with hers, taking another bite of stolen mac and cheese.

“No, you’re right, it’s…he couldn’t care about anything enough to decide on it. It’s not just me. He liked the concept but the reality of choosing what his forever looked like didn’t sit well.”

“I feel bad for him, honestly.” He laughs and she tries to resist the cold fingers that curl in her chest as she raises a judgmental eyebrow.

“What about this story makes him seem like the one who should be pitied?” Except she doesn’t want his pity either, but she knows she doesn’t need to tell him that from the way he smirks at her. With her. Conspiratorial, not confrontational.

“Because he’s so stupid and he doesn’t even know it.” He finishes his food and sets the bowl aside on the bedside table next to an empty condom wrapper that didn’t make it into the trash. Because this isn’t the environment for a heart to heart and he’s not the person she should want one from, but here she is, watching the snow fall outside the window over his shoulder. “He thinks you’re just one example of some milestone girl and when he thinks he’s ready, he’ll find another one, but that’s not—you’re not. You’re—of all the girls I could have met on that dating site--”

His face softens, and the hazy potential in his expression amplifies the energy that she doesn’t want to name. To name it is to acknowledge it, and to acknowledge it cements her place on top of the podium for ‘worst one-night-stand-haver’.

“What are those?” But she’s never been good at keeping quiet. And maybe sometimes, at the end of a long, winding losing streak, any win counts as a win.

“What are what?”

“Those mushy, lovey-dovey eyes you’re looking at me with right now.” She punches his arm again, lighter this time, then jokingly points her thumb over her shoulder. “Get those out of here.”

“It’s like three in the morning, my contacts are dry.” He’s not wearing contacts. She knows because she tore apart his bathroom looking for a plunger. She knows because he’s close, like he’s going to kiss her again, and she can see every fleck and striation in his eyes. “So, this is really your first one-night stand?”

“Yes, I told you that,” she tucks her hair behind her ear, “why would I lie?”

His shrug verges on an attempt at confidence as he leans to half-whisper in her ear, “they usually don’t last this long.”

“Well,” she bites her lip and lets it go slowly, glad there’s no one here to assess the optics of the move, “that’s too bad.”

“I’m going to go destroy the evidence of my…grocery run,” he takes her empty bowl and stands up.

“And deal with your contacts?” She just wouldn’t be herself if she let him have that inch, and she feels more like herself than she has in a while.

He blushes and rubs the back of his head with his free hand, “yeah, contacts, I don’t need reminding. Not with how…itchy they are right now.”

“Whatever,” she stands up to size up his closet, trying to determine where something warmer would be. Probably in the back, and he’s left-handed, “it is actually cold in here, so I’m going to grab a sweatshirt.” She opens the left door, “I promise I won’t steal it, I don’t need any souvenir aside from the psychological trauma of…Stockholm Syndrome.”

Her words trail off to nearly nothing. Words not worth saying, because they don’t apply anymore. None of this applies.

She’s staring at a closet full of women’s clothes. Young clothes. The kind of clothes she might wear if she wore more black and if she went anywhere. Aside from this apartment on a whim.

This one-bedroom apartment where a young woman clearly lives.

“Astrid,” Hiccup’s voice skips and she turns slowly to face him.

“Those aren’t your grandma’s coats.” She states. Accusing isn’t necessary. “You may have played me for a fool, but I’m not one.”

“I didn’t—” He practically drops the bowls onto a desk and gets between her and the closet, like if he’s in the way she won’t remember what she’s seeing, “look, Astrid, I can explain—”

“I don’t need to hear this side of the story!” She can’t look at him anymore, not with the stack of picture frames staring at her from the closet shelf. He covered his bases, hid anything suspicious. Made sure to offer his guest use of the back-stabbing knife. “I’m familiar enough with the other half, I’ve put this one together pretty well.”

“Astrid, please, it’s not like—”

“Who is she?” She hates that she just said that. She hates that she’s said that before, when she was crying more than yelling and watching her carefully registered future fall apart. “No, never mind, I don’t care. I just—thought I was better than getting roped into this, but I guess not.”

“Can you please just listen to me?” He follows too close as she retreats to her pile of clothes, hurling his shirt at his face as she gets dressed. “It’s—her name’s Heather. She’s a DJ. The storm cancelled her flight back—”

“Not my problem,” she sits on the edge of the bed, tugging her socks on and hating herself for wondering what Heather looks like. For knowing that Heather is going to spend hours thinking about the same thing. For how petty and small she is because even now, in the moment, she knows that this is better than being on the other side of this coin.

“Let me explain myself,” he fumbles through a dresser drawer. A dresser drawer full of bras and underwear, and if Astrid didn’t have a vendetta against that stupid toilet, she might throw up. “Here. Just—read this, please.”

He holds a letter out to her. Written in girly handwriting on college rule.

Her hand hovers above it for a second before curiosity wins over and she snatches it from him with a glare.

Hiccup,

Being direct in a letter feels ironic, I guess, but I don’t know how to say this any other way.

It’s not working out.

I know we just got the place, and I know that I met your Mom, and I love you but I just don’t see where this is going. I don’t know if it’s living together or if I’ve just been on tour too much, but the connection is I feel like I’m pretending when I’m with you.

I think we’re just growing apart. Or we already grew apart. I don’t know.

I’m on the lease, but maybe you can stay with my brother. You have a cousin in town, right? I should know that. We live together, I should have met your family. I’m not trying to get rid of you, I just need some space on my own right now. Have for a while.

Heather.

“See?” Hiccup asks, voice quiet and husky as she carefully folds the letter back along its worn seam.

“I—no, I don’t see, if she gave you this Dear John letter and asked you to leave, why are you still here?” She hates that she asks, that she’s still sitting on his bed, that she’s wondering how hard it would be to find Heather on social media.

Not hard, probably. But she doesn’t think the comparison would accomplish anything.

“She hasn’t given it to me yet. I don’t know when she wrote it.” He wrings his hands together, knuckles white, and he looks familiar in a way she shouldn’t have let happen.

“You snooped.” Another not-an-accusation.

“I didn’t—ok, it fell and I picked it up and saw my name but—”

“What does this have to do with me?” She asks even though she knows the answer. Which is ‘nothing’. This has nothing to do with her, and her involvement is her mistake even if it’s not explicitly her fault.

“I didn’t think it’d be you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—”

“I wanted…I wanted something to hold against her when she finally gave it to me. I wanted an a-ha, I thought—I didn’t think,” he looks at her, green eyes wet and pleading, “I went on a dating site to have something to throw in her face when she dumped me with a note after we’d moved in together—”

“And I fit the bill?”

“Yes.” He says it like he means it, reaching for her hand with both of his, and she jumps to her feet. She shouldn’t feel betrayed. She used him too. She used him first. Using him was her idea at every turn but the way he’s looking at her makes her feel like she clicked Accept before she read the Terms and Conditions.

“Well that’s—”

“Astrid,” he says like he hopes her name is a balm, but it doesn’t really work, and she hates that they’re out of sync even though he’s awful and she hates him. For real this time, on purpose. Not just an imagined, convenient hatred. He’s everything that hurt her and more. In fact, he put in the effort to make her believe he was different before he ripped the rug out from under her. “She’s right, ok, it hasn’t been working. It’s not—I thought I was getting some preemptive revenge but instead it’s you and—”

“So, I messed up your revenge for you?” She snorts, stalking out to the living room and grabbing her jacket. She checks for her phone, her keys, her purse, because no one could pay her enough to come back here. “Good, it’s what you deserve. I hope it’s…sweet,” she scrambles, “sweet and sour, actually.”

The opposite of bittersweet. Or maybe adjacent on the color wheel. He doesn’t get to feel bitter, either way, he gave that away.

“You—I don’t want her—”

“Clearly,” she glares at him and she wishes it worked, that he hadn’t seen how easily removable her outer layer is. Plate mail rather than greaves. Something that holds its shape no matter how long you leave it alone in the dark.

“I didn’t even know you existed, Astrid.” He says her name like it has value, like it’s a coin under his tongue that will curry favor in the afterlife and she wishes she couldn’t see his leg right now. She wishes that his vulnerability didn’t feel like trust, or that she didn’t want the trust. “If I had I would have ended it so long ago, before I got the note, before—I thought she was—we were—If I’d known about you—”

“You would have what?”

“I—you’re the one I want to be with.” He was probably high school class president. Or worse, runner up who bet on something lame like saving the world instead of getting everyone a new vending machine.

She would have voted for him.

The lump in her throat feels like it’s going to explode.

“Astrid, the last forty-eight hours—I,” he swallows hard, risking one hand against her jacketed arm as he steps between her and the alarmed front door. And she believes him. She’s seen him vulnerable enough to recognize his honest face. And it doesn’t matter, it can’t, because he lied. Systematically. While making it feel like he didn’t lie at all. “I—last night, tonight—sometimes I forgot that other people even existed.”

He reads her mind like a stolen book and she feels the loss of proceeds.

“I’m leaving.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge anything up—”

“You’re just some funny guy who knows how to write a dating profile,” she clears her throat and stands up straight, shoving his front door open with enough preparation that the alarm doesn’t make her blink, “I think I’ll live.”

“Astrid—”

She races down the stairs and to the door. Against who, she’s not quite sure. She doesn’t think he’d follow her in boxers at four in the morning and she wouldn’t let herself care if he did. Because emotions are that easy, right? When they’re big and confusing and stupid, you can just turn them off until you’re equipped to handle them.

You can just pause.

She’s so sick of being paused. She’d rather fast-forward at this point, through the tears and confusion and the listless hours of staring at the ceiling and trying to finagle herself into being blamed for other people’s shitty decisions.

But it doesn’t work that way.

She feels every shove of her shoulder against the door in real time. Feels the heavy snow shift inch by inch, tumbling onto the walk that someone managed to plow at some point in the last two days.

They were a pause, in a way, the long, lingering moment that stretches out before disaster.

The walk home is freezing. Her hands are numb as she fumbles with her key, opening the front door and barely noticing the scene on the couch.

“You’re home!” Ruffnut fumbles with a blanket, slapping at something suspiciously firm where the gap between her legs should be. “Ah! N—how was it?”

“Is that from my bed?” Astrid doesn’t wait for an answer before yanking the blanket and revealing Snotlout, scrambling to cover himself with a pillow that Ruffnut tosses him.

“You’re back!” He yells, like it’s normal for him to be naked on her couch, and she realizes all at once that it would be if she hadn’t camped out here for months, feeling sorry for herself.

Which she does. Still. Maybe more than ever, but admitting it is different than spending all of her energy trying to hide it.

“You two are impossible.”

“So are you!” Ruffnut calls after her, “it’s been two days, quite an extended sexcapade, I’m proud of you—”

She slams her bedroom door so that she doesn’t have to hear anything about pride from someone so happy and pulls out her phone before she can think twice about it, deleting her profile from that stupid dating site. She’s done waiting for her mistakes to blow over, at least this one is shallow enough to shower off and be done with it.

#two night stand au #httyd fic #modern au #hiccstrid fic #the big whiplash chapter #with the drama

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monst · 5 years

Note

Request: Toga x Fem!Reader; Fem!reader as a med school student/doctor and Toga running on a treadmill while connected to a heart monitor as part of a stress test, the stress proving too much for Toga's heart, resulting in a massive heart attack/cardiac arrest and fem!reader must revive her. Feel free to tweak this to your liking.

Flatline

Toga Himiko x Med. Student Reader

Warnings: Intense, Shitty medical Knowledge (Sorry majoring in business)

This dead took me a while and, I’m not even gonna front I got so emotional writing this. Well I hope you like it babe.

‘ogta Hokimi’

You couldn’t help but snort at the anagram of the name written on the document. You shook your head as you walked into the room where ‘Ogta’ was waiting.

“Is Miss Hokimi ready to go?” You asked the doctor.

Dr. Fushimi was leaning onto the counter as she scribbled illegible words on her clipboard. The patient sat atop the hospital cot her dangling legs swinging. You took the time to send her a smile prompting the doctor to ask another standard question.

“Miss Hokimi this is (Name) she is a medical student interning here and, we’d like to ask if it’s okay with you if she assists in the stress test today?” The medic asked.

“Sure!” She chirped her golden eyes curving into a smile. “There’s not problem with (Name)-chan being there.”

Dr. Fushimi laughed at her enthusiasm and motioned for both of you to follow. In front of your superior you kept a straight face but, internally you were rolling your eyes so hard they rammed into your brain. You had told her to act like you didn’t know each other. You maintained an air of professionalism as you felt ‘Ogta’ grip onto the sleeve of your medical scrub. You didn’t make a move to shrug her off but, you did look over at her.

‘What?’ You mouthed.

‘You look so cool in your medical clothes!’ She ‘replied’.

‘Whatever…’ You ‘said’ your face growing warm.

“And, here we are.” The doctor announced as she opened the door for you both. With your silent conversation cut off you walked over to Joe the technician that would be placing the electrodes on ‘Ogta’. The graying haired man gifted you a grin before introducing himself to the patient. You decided to take a seat as Joe attached the sticky pads to the blonde girl’s chest, arms and, legs.

“Okay sweetheart we’re just gonna connect you to this here do-hicky, this is what’s going to record the electrical signals that trigger your heartbeat.” He informed. “Oh and, this cuff is just going to check your blood pressure.”

“Are we using the tub for this test?” You asked from your place.

“No, not for this one.” Dr. Fushimi replied her eyes scanning over ‘Otga’s’ Information. “Right so as I mentioned I’m going to need you to run on the treadmill for-

You tuned out the practitioner and looked at ‘Miss Hokimi’. A frown was on your lips as you noticed her fidgeting. Her smile had long since vanished and, she had a very serious look on her face. For as long as you had known her, she wasn’t the type to be making such a face. Your friend was nervous. You figured that you might be the cause for her worry by making her this appointment but, you couldn’t help it.

You and ‘Miss Hokimi’ known to you as Toga Himiko (and at rare moments Toto-chan) go way back. You’d go as far as to say that you were best friends. The two of you had grown up together and, attended the same schools up until her drop out. In fact, you had kept contact with the infamous villain throughout all these years. Even as she joined the LoV and, PLF. You were one of the things to remain a constant in Himiko’s life just as she was constant in your life.

The crazy blonde chick was the reason you decided to pursue a career in the medical field. It was that eye opener when she injured Tomoki in sixth grade that did it; Your body had acted as if on auto pilot rushing to stop the bleeding and, call the ambulance. You knew that you should have cut ties with her after that but the way that she clung to your school uniform that day made your heart clench. She was just as injured as the boy in your arms you had thought. So, you came to see Himiko as your lifelong patient.

You weren’t a psychologist, but you understood that she needed someone and as a person with a disposition to help others you took on that role. You weren’t stupid you knew that she wasn’t ‘normal’, but you’d be damned if you ever betrayed her. Truth was you were just as dependent on her as she was of you.

You were always told that with a quirk like yours you could have become a hero but, your passion lied in medicine. Himiko was the only one who supported your passions back then you’d be a hypocrite to discriminate her passions no matter how unethical. Maybe you were just as unhinged as she was?

Regardless you knew her nervousness stemmed from her confession last Thursday. You and, Himiko met up every Thursday without fail to hangout. And, in one of these sessions the villain confessed to you her more physical illness. Over tea and, cute pastries in a café she had told you of her most recent encounters with an electric type hero. Mr. Zappy, she called him. You knew him as Ryota Fushimi Hero name Volts. Apparently, they had crossed paths and, the pro-hero gave her the ‘shock’ of her life.

‘My heart goes Doki-Doki suddenly after that?! Literally a week after it happened! I could be sitting in my room and, my heart is beating super-fast or on a mission and, it’s suddenly very slow. (Name)-chan is that a bad thing? Am I going to die!?’ Although she told you that in jest you couldn’t help but worry for her especially since her gold eyes held on to that same emotion despite her smile. You tried not to add onto her worries you really did but, you ended up telling her that you’d set her up an appointment.

Your mind was telling you that it was most likely Arrhythmia. She had confessed to heart palpitations that day alone you had to steady her countless times due to her random bouts of dizziness. To put icing on the cake she had also fainted on the uber ride back to your apartment. You only hoped that you were wrong but, that’s why you submitted her to a stress test. (Under a ridiculous pseudonym she was a wanted villain after all.)

“Alright your all set.” Joe said connecting the last wires to the electrocardiogram machine. He clapped his hands dramatically before bidding everyone in the room adieu effectively snapping you out of your memories.

“No need to be so stiff dear.” Dr. Fushimi chimed as Himiko stepped onto the treadmill.

You felt your heartbeat accelerate. The machine seemed to whirl on in slow motion Himiko’s footsteps sounding loud and, heavy in your head. With every step she took you felt your heart pulse in response. However, your heartrate soon settled when she was two minutes into the test and, nothing seemed amiss. That was until

-BANG-

“Doctor Fushimi! There’s been an accident! We need you immediately!” A nurse had barged into the room suddenly starling you all but, Dr. Fushimi kept her calm and, motioned for Himiko to continue.

“I’m in the middle-

“The Pro-hero Volts is in the E.R in critical condition with multiple rib fractures and, covered in third degree burns! We need your quirk to stabilize him or he’ll die!” She shouted.

Dr. Fushimi felt her body tremble at the news and, quickly looked over to you and, Himiko. “(Name) Please finish the test with Miss Hokimi.” She said before rushing out the room.

“Wha- What *pants* What was that all about?” Himiko panted on the treadmill.

“Y-you shouldn’t be talking. Focus on your test okay?” You said moving closer to observe her blood pressure and, the beeping machine. You couldn’t believe that she had just left you alone but, it couldn’t be helped not with who came in injured.

“S-She ran out really fast I wonder why?” Himiko laughed breathily her cheeks a rosy hue. Truth was Himiko was trying to divert your attention from her. She was beginning to fatigue more than usual. Black spots lined her vision and, she felt her heart flutter she was scared. But she didn’t want you to see her as weak, so she bit her lip and, sent you a grin.

“It’s because- Wait Toga!” You shouted getting a good look at the readings. They were erratic your eyes caught her golden gaze tears in clouding her vision.

“I-is this my karma (Name)-chan?” She huffed out before her eyes rolled back and, her body began to fall.

“TOGA!” You shrieked jumping behind the treadmill as her body was shoved off the rolling belt. Before her body could meet the cold tiles of the floor your arms embraced her.

You quickly put your fingers to her neck trying to find a pulse. You felt liquid dot your vision as you felt nothing.

“Fuck Oh shit Toga hold on! I fucking knew it was Arrythmia.” You let out a breath to calm yourself as you wracked your brain on what to do.

“Cardiac Arrest. CPR!” Just as quick as you thought it you began to administer the procedure. Pressing down on her chest and, letting it rise. “HELP!” You yelled in tune with your first aid.

You could feel yourself starting to shake as a minute had passed. You knew the rate of mortality rose with every minute her heart was stopped. Tears obstructed your vision as you continued the process your throat raw with how much you were screaming for aid.

Two minutes had passed and, there was still no sign of anyone. No hurried footsteps, no voices just the sound of the treadmill still running and, your sobs. You wracked your brain trying to think of something. You couldn’t just let your friend die here not after all the years you’ve been together, not after what you two have gone through and, especially not in your arms. You’d be damned if she Toga Himiko was to be your first deceased patient.

Three minutes with your nerves steeled you closed your eyes your hands never letting up on the CPR. You searched each room mentally. It truly felt like an eternity and, with every second passing Himiko’s chances of life diminished.

“Found it!” You wailed. Using your quirk like never before you mentally tore the defibrillator from the wall five rooms down. The case came crashing through the walls at incredible speeds only stopping once it hit your thigh. You hissed at the pain and, tore open the box to pull out the device. Pulling out the pads you removed the ones on her chest and, place down the defibrillator’s electrodes onto her. You turned on the device quickly and, continued your CPR over the voice instructions.

With bated breath you waited for the machine to signal a shock and, once it did you quickly moved back. You didn’t want to leave her side but decided that it would be best to signal the professionals. With that in mind you let the machine take over and, pressed the emergency button in the room and, immediately ran back to Himiko’s side.

Your tears finally over flowed and, you gave out a cry of relief once she gasped for breath after another shock. You refrained from embracing her, but your tears didn’t quell, and you could only cover your mouth as you vaguely made out her golden optics from her lidded eyes. Your legs turned to jelly as you fell on your rear immense relief filling your form.

“Oh my gosh!” The door was slammed opened by another Doctor and, you made out two nurses behind him. He rushed into the room and, sent one of the nurses to bring a gurney. He turned to you and, clasped your shoulder.

“You just saved her life. Ha you’re a hero.” He breathed.

When Himiko finally came to she noticed that her body felt sluggish and, that she wasn’t in (Kansas anymore) anywhere familiar. She did make out the tuffs of your hair from the bathroom mirror. Before she could motion for you, you turned and, caught her conscious gaze. With a relived cry you ran towards the hospital bed and, clasped the hand that didn’t have a needle in it to your chest.

“T-toto-chan.” You sobbed. “Oh, thank God that your okay. I don’t know what I would have done if... if.” The words proving to much for you to say you continued to bawl in front of her snot running down your nose. Himiko’s own eyes misted and, she found that the liquid seemed to slide down on its own.

“I-I was so scared (Name)-chan.” Her hoarse voice cried.

You only nodded embracing her form lightly as to not hurt her. “I was scared too. I couldn’t stop thinking- “

“Shh it’s okay (Name)-chan you saved me.” She gave you a teary-eyed smile and she whispered

“You’re my hero.”

#bnha imagines #bnha #mha #mha imagines #toga himiko #toga x reader #bnha insert #mha x reader #bnha himiko #himiko x reader #🥺#my heart 🥺#unofficial knife wife blog

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crazy-little-cool-cat · 5 years

Text

Hand in Glove - Chapter 26 | Ben Hardy x OFC

A/N: I am having a very, very hard time wrapping my head around the fact that there are only four (4) more chapters left for the story. It literally gives me anxiety.

Warnings: Smut ahead with a sprinkle of melodrama.

Word Count: ~2.9K. Not that bad, if I dare say so myself!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 , Chapter 15 , Chapter 16 , Chapter 17 , Chapter 18 , Chapter 19 , Chapter 20 , Chapter 21 , Chapter 22 , Chapter 23 , Chapter 24, Chapter 25

Ben opened the front door as quietly as he could, hoping to surprise Annie. The hall light was on for Frankie, but the rest of the house was pitch black. His shoulders slumped as he dropped his bag to the floor.

The noise woke Frankie up from her slumber, and she came bolting out the living room, barking bloody murder. Her barks quickly turned into happy whines and yelps when she saw Ben standing at the hall. She rolled over on her back, her whole body swinging from side to side as she wagged her tail while he kicked off his shoes.

“Oh, my baby!” Ben scratched her belly and dropped to sit on the floor next to her. “Daddy missed you!”

He heard Annie and Rory approach the door and turned to face it. He could hear Annie’s muffled voice coming up the walkway and up the stairs, a jingle of keys. Rory banging on the door. The scream that came out of Rory as soon as she saw her dad sitting on the floor was deafening. She writhed and wriggled, forcing Annie to put her on the floor.

Rory crawled at lightning speed towards Ben. He spread his arms and legs open, inviting her in for a cuddle. When she reached him, she braced her hands on his torso and pulled herself up to stand.

“Clever girl!!!” Ben’s smile could have lit up the entire neighbourhood. “What a clever girl you are!” He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Come on, up we go!” he said, standing up carefully.

Annie stood in the doorway still, looking rather sheepish. Ben walked over to her and gave her a lingering kiss, while Rory smacked his cheeks impatiently.

“When did you get home?” Annie asked as they broke the kiss off. “Could’ve picked you up!”

“I just got home a couple of minutes before you did, actually.” He bounced Rory on his hip. “Are you ready to take a bath and go to Auntie Clara’s?” Ben asked.

“Ben, she just got home!” Annie laughed and took off her shoes. “Leave her be.”

“I just missed your mum so bad!” Ben explained to Rory, moving his face out of her reach as she made grabby hands at his nose. “No, baby. That’s attached and you know it.”

###

“Another one?” Ben asked, referring to the show they were binge-watching on Netflix together. “Hey, hey. Stay with me here.”

Annie rubbed her cheek against Ben’s white t-shirt, listening to his heart beat. She moved her face to look at him, resting her chin on the back of her hands, right in the middle of his chest. She was so tired, and he felt so cozy, wrapped around her and keeping her warm and safe. It was just the two of them - Clara offered to take Frankie in for the night, as well.

“C’mere…” Ben grunted and pulled Annie up on his body so they could look at each other properly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the chicken pox crisis.”

“I’m sorry I called you a tosser.” Annie whispered back. She smiled when Ben took a lock of her hair and twirled it around his finger. Just like Rory did when she was tired or moody. “I’m just tired. Worn out. Alone.”

“You’re never alone.” Ben’s eyes locked on Annie’s. “Ever. You have me.”

“Not when you’re not here.”

“Annie, if I could quit working and never leave your side…”

“I’m not asking you to do that.” Annie bent her knees to get more comfortable. “I’m asking you to maybe take jobs that are closer to home?”

“I’ll try to stay closer next time.” Ben took Annie’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “Or… you could come with me. Bring Rory and Frankie…”

“Now you’re just nonsensical.” Annie rolled her eyes and entwined her fingers with his. “I still have Greensleeves.”

“When it ends, then.”

“Ben, really.”

“Just… just let me fantasise.” Ben bit his bottom lip.

“Is reality so horrible, Jones?” Annie sat up and felt a familiar bump under her. “When you said fantasise -”

“Not what I meant, but you’re not wearing any pants and I haven’t seen you in weeks.” His hands caressed their way over to her hips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you love me?” Ben asked.

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

“Of course I love you. Are you having a stroke?”

“Do you love me?”

“What, you mean am I in love with you?” Annie raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Are you seriously asking this?”

“Yeah.”

“Ben, what’s this -”

“Just answer the question. Are you in love with me?”

“Yes.” Annie breathed out. “Yes. Of course.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” Ben smiled, the tip of his tongue poking through his teeth. “Was afraid you might not be anymore. For leaving you.”

“Fiercely and forever, Jones.” Annie leaned forward to kiss him. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Fiercely and forever.”

###

“Ben, harder.”

“I’ll - ah, shit - I’ll break your pelvis if I go any harder!”

Skin slapping skin. Ben and Annie were drenched in sweat, their muscles were shaking, their bodies exerted. Ben shifted the angle a bit and started thrusting again. Annie turned to jello. Her body collapsed forward, her back arching like it never did before. Ben licked his lips and grabbed onto her hips, picking up pace.

“Yeah?” He asked, “like that?”

“Hm.”

“Yeah. That’s a good girl.” He slapped Annie’s bum. “Such a good fucking girl.”

“Ben, I -” Annie was panting, swivelling her hips and bucking back against Ben. She tried to brace herself up on her elbows.

“No, no, no.” He lunged forward, his chest pressed against her back. “You stay down. That’s a good girl. Right there. Go lower. That’s it.”

He was just about to lean up when Annie let out a muffled ‘no’. She needed him to crush her. She needed to feel him. Snaking an arm under her, he rolled them over on their sides, realigned their hips, and rolled them back the way they were.

“Spread your legs for me - hm!” Ben could feel the tingling sensations at the tips of his fingers and toes, indicating he was getting close. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I want you to cum on my cock.”

That’s all the encouragement Annie needed. Clenching around him, she let herself go, moaning.

“Fuck yeah.” Ben reached around. He rubbed her clit, making her legs shake under him. “Did you just cum? Did you just fucking cum on my cock?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck. Are you ready?” Ben’s voice was like a low growl in her ears. “Answer me.”

“Yes. Yes.” Annie nodded as best as she could, feeling another wave about to wash over her. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Ben’s low moans were like music to Annie’s ears, and then his body relaxed on top of hers, crushing her into the mattress. “I am so fucking in love with you. Fuck. What fucking time is it?”

“How would I know?” Annie mumbled.

“Christ.” Ben leaned up and looked at the clock on the nightstand next to Annie’s side of the bed. 11PM. “You hungry?”

“Crusty.” Annie said and started laughing. “So crusty.”

“Let’s go get cleaned up, then.”

###

“No more talkin’…” Annie mumbled, her lids heavy. “Need sleep.”

“Fuck that.” Ben kissed the top of her head. “I missed you too much to let you sleep.”

“Ben, please.”

“Tell me about your plans for the next week.”

“No!” Annie whined.

“Please?”

“Fine. Work Monday. Then OB-GYN check up Tuesday. Work the rest of the week.” Annie recited her weekly agenda monotonously. “Happy?”

“OB-GYN? Something the matter?” Ben’s nerves immediately kicked in.

“No, whacko.” Annie snuggled up to him. “Just a regular check up to see everything’s in place.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“What if we don’t want it to be in place anymore?”

“What?”

“Just take the damn thing out.”

“And then what? Go back to using condoms?”

“No.”

“That’s how babies happen…” Annie murmured and drifted off to sleep.

###

Annie woke up with a jolt. Ben wasn’t in bed with her. It was still dark outside, and Frankie was nowhere in sight. She thought she heard Ben say something just as she drifted off to sleep, but she wasn’t sure if she heard right. Once her tired mind caught up with Ben’s words and processed them, she was already away in Dreamland.

Until she wasn’t.

Reaching over to Ben’s side, she felt the sheets. Still warm. He hasn’t been gone very long. Chalking it up to jet lag, Annie sighed and grabbed his pillow, hugging it as she curled up on her side. Not long after, Ben came back, smelling like cigarettes.

“Where’d you go?” She asked, startling him.

“Jesus bloody Christ!” Ben turned around. “You’re awake?”

“Just woke up a few minutes ago.”

“Something wrong?”

“Did you really tell me to ask Dr. McCarthy to take the IUD out?” Annie sat up. “Or was that just my brain being weird?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“I did, yes.”

“Have you gone mad?” Annie’s voice was oddly calm. “Ben, if she takes it out -”

“We’ll have a baby.”

Annie blinked at her boyfriend as if he grew a tail out of his forehead.

“Am I asleep right now?” Annie finally asked.

“No.” Ben said as he rolled back into bed and curled up on his side, facing her.

“Did you just imply that you want another baby?”

“Don’t you?”

“Someday, maybe, I…” Annie rolled over onto her back. “Rory’s not even a year old yet.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You’re not even around -”

“I’ll be back, y’know.” Ben chuckled.

“Ben, I can hardly manage one by myself.”

“Just think about it.” He said, putting his hand on top of hers. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“I…” Annie clasped her fingers around his. “Ben, this is -”

“If you’re going to pull an Annie, at least tell me where you’re going.”

“Jamie’s.”

“Damn it. Fine.”

###

“Do you realise the time -” Jamie started bleating, but stopped when he saw the look on Annie’s face as she stood at his door. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jamie stepped aside, inviting Annie in. “Annie, what’s wrong?”

“Ben wants another baby.”

“I figured he would.” Jamie put his hands on his hips, his sweats hanging low on his hip bones, chest bare. “Why are you here?”

“I… don’t know.” Annie confessed. “I just needed to -”

“Pull an Annie?”

“He knows where I am, though.” She said, her face expressionless.

“Annie, you’re starting to scare me.” Jamie stepped closer to her. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you here?”

“I don’t know…”

“I’m this -” he held up his thumb and finger, millimetres apart from one another, “ -close to slapping you right now.”

“Jamie, I’m terrified.”

“Of what? Knowing what you want, finally?”

###

“You did not.” Clara’s blue eyes shot daggers at Ben. “You did not tell her that. No way.”

“I did, and she had that face again.” Ben nodded and bounced Rory on his hip. “Like the one she made when she found out she was pregnant.”

“Ben, did America turn you into an utter moron?” Clara sat down on her sofa, staring up at her best friend’s boyfriend and child. “What on earth possessed you to tell her you want another baby?!”

“Well, wanting another baby.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not that complicated, really.” Ben shrugged. “I love her. She loves me. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together -”

“Says who?” Clara scoffed. “Just because you made this one -”

“Says me.” Ben moved Rory over to his other hip. “I know we’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Not offence, Jones,” Clara’s awestruck expression remained, “but I think you might have ruined your chances there.”

“How would you know?”

“Where’s Annie?”

“At Jamie’s, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Ben.” Clara slapped both hands over her mouth. “Start praying.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For yourself. For your relationship.” Clara shook her head in disbelief. “What have you done?”

###

“Why are you so freaked out, again?” Jamie yawned.

“Because this isn’t me.” Annie sighed. “I’m not the kid-loving, mum-type. I’m not wife material. I’m hardly -”

“Right, listen to me very carefully.” Jamie sat up, propping his elbows on his thighs to lean closer to Annie, “you are definitely wife material. You’re an amazing mum.”

“That! Right there!” Annie almost whined. “That’s the part I’m freaked out about!”

“Explain.”

“When I found out I was pregnant with Rory,” Annie picked at a loose string on Jamie’s sofa, “I gave Ben a whole speech about not wanting to be the wife waiting at home and raising kids alone while he’s off and -”

“And you are.”

“Exactly!”

“You love him.” Jamie stated.

“I -” Annie opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. “Yes. Yes, and it’s terrifying, Jamie.”

“He clearly loves you.”

“He does.” Annie nodded.

“You’re just -” Jamie scoffed. “You’re such an idiot, Annie. You two were made for each other. What are you so scared of!?”

“What if this doesn’t work out?” Annie’s voice was almost a whisper. “What if it’s not meant to work out? What if I say no and it’ll break his heart and -”

“What if pigs could fly?” Jamie asked. “What if aliens exist? What if we’re all living in a simulator and there’s someone - something - controlling our every move?”

“What?” Annie’s face contorted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Annie, you need to talk to Ben about this. Not me.” Jamie shrugged. “I can’t help you.”

###

Ben was just walking down the stairs after putting Rory down for a nap when Annie opened the front door. He froze, foot still in the air, and held his breath. They locked eyes and just stood there, frozen in time. Each waiting for the other to make the first move. Say the first word.

Annie was the first one to snap back to reality. She closed the door behind her and placed the keys in the bowl by the door. Seeing her move seemed to defrost Ben. He stomped down the stairs and walked up to her. Almost in a daze, she walked towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him as tight as she could.

“You alright?” Ben asked after kissing the top of her head. He felt her shake her head against his chest. “Okay.”

They stood in the hall for nearly ten minutes, hugging quietly. Ben felt his shirt getting damp right where Annie’s face was, and tears started pricking his own eyes. He couldn’t stand it when she cried. It was even worse knowing he was the reason she’s crying. Clara’s words repeated in his head like a mantra. Start praying. For yourself. For your relationship.

“What have I done?” he thought out loud and felt Annie’s body shake as a muffled sob tore through her. “Annie, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. What have I done?”

Annie couldn’t speak. She didn’t trust her voice to work right. She could barely breathe.

“Please say something.” Ben sniffled. “Please. At least look at me.”

Annie’s tear-stained face looked up at him, her bottom lip quivering even more at the sight of Ben’s face.

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Ben whispered.

“Kill Jamie.” Annie’s voice was almost a croak. “Fuck Joe,” she continued, making Ben frown with confusion. “Marry Ben.”

“What?” Ben wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

“Fuck-Marry-Kill.” Annie licked her salty lips. “Kill Jamie, fuck Joe, marry Ben.”

“Annie, you’re not making any sense.” Ben searched Annie’s face for an explanation, a clarification. A sign that she hasn’t lost her marbles. “Kill Jamie, fuck Joe, marry me?”

“I’m not ready for another baby.” A fresh wave of tears came streaming down her face. “Not now…”

“That’s alright.” Ben’s thumbs were like windshield wipers. Wiping away Annie’s tears, unrelenting. “That’s alright.”

“I…” Annie started and stopped, trying to find the right words. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“You.” Annie’s voice broke again and she cleared her throat. “I just can’t -”

“No. No, no.” Ben’s knees buckled and he dropped to the floor, grasping Annie’s hands in his. “This isn’t happening.”

“I love you and -” Annie bit her bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling, “ -and I’m terrified. I never wanted to…”

“Annie, I’m begging you.” Ben tugged on her hands. “You have nothing to be scared of. I won’t hurt you. I’ll quit acting and stay home and do whatever you want.” His eyes seemed to stare into her soul. “Annie. Please.”

“Ben, I -” he looked down at the floor, feeling defeated. “ -Look at me. I need you to promise.”

“Anything.”

“Are we really fiercely and forever?” Annie asked. Ben nodded furiously. “Do you understand what I’m saying or are you forcing the words out of me even though you know how much I -”

Ben’s brows knotted as he processed what Annie said.

“Kill Jamie,” he parroted, “fuck Joe, marry me?”

“That’s what I said and you told me I make no -”

“Kill Jamie, fuck Joe,” Ben looked up at Annie, still kneeling on the floor, and a smile started to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Marry me.”

Annie nodded, tightening her grip on his hands.

“You’re not ending this.” Ben stated.

Annie shook her head.

“You’re not ending this…” Ben repeated. “You’re not ending this!”

Annie shook her head faster, a smile creeping up on her lips.

“One last time, to see if I got it right.” Ben bothered his bottom lip with his teeth as he inhaled deeply. “Kill Jamie. Fuck Joe.” Ben grinned as realisation dawned him. “Marry me?”

“Yeah.” Annie nodded and yelped when Ben pulled her down to the floor to sit in his lap. “Fiercely and forever, Jones.”

###

TAGLIST: @ramibaby @xgoingdownx @qweenly @violetpond @sweeterthancheese @drummerqueenrmt @westansstuff @justgivemethekeys @blondecarfucker @cheeseedreams47 @deacy-dearest @pinkmarvel @onceuponadetectivedemigod

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sheithfictioncatalogue · 5 years

Note

recent mod faves?

Kel:

Like They Do In Babylon - zjofierose @zjofierose

28k. (Teen).

It’s been nearly two years since Shiro’s life-changing accident, the one that knocked him out of the corps at Galaxy Dance and derailed his career and his dream. He’s been teaching ever since, and can feel himself stagnating. But what else is there for him? How can he find a way to love (dance) again?

Wild Card - arcadenemesis @copilotsheith

43k. (Mature).

Takashi Shirogane. Or, simply Shiro to fans and officials alike. World number number one 137 weeks and counting. Drop shot specialist and king of the ace. A living legend of the sport at just 24.

Keith is completely and utterly in love with him.

When Keith is awarded the US Open wild card, it sets his life on a collision course with the best in the game. But will theirs be a friendly rivalry, or will it fall victim to something far more bitter and hostile?

series: Equalize/Stabilize - stardropdream

2 works, 22k. (Teen).

Shiro watches as Keith (Keith, different, with long hair in a braid, broader shoulders, and older face) looks around the room wildly, trying to place where he is. Then he closes his eyes and laughs, a soft, disbelieving chuckle. Shiro watches the tension ease from Keith’s shoulders.

“Right,” Keith whispers. “I remember this now.”

Or: Keith from the future ends up in the present. Shiro copes the only way he knows how– by squashing all his feelings back down again.

Silence Lay Steadily - flailingthroughinsanity @spaceboykenny

54k. (Explicit). Contains: major character death, underage.

And, Keith thought, perhaps, all along, they’ve never really understood what they’ve lived through, or felt as if they’ve had enough time.

A contemplation of love, friendship, family and what it means to be alive.

(Mod note: you WILL cry reading this one!)

Madi:

your sharp and glorious thorn - arahir @arahir

38k. (Teen). Contains: graphic violence.

To end the war they inherited, Keith marries the King he lead an army against.

“You know, we met once,” the king continues, voice closer, and Keith almost turns. They met many times on the field—but then the king clarifies with a single word. “Before.”

Before he was a king. Maybe before he was a general. Keith has traced his rise like the growth of a seed he planted in clay and never expected to see again for how poorly he sowed it. None of this would have been possible without Keith—not the war, not a line soldier’s battlefield promotion, not the end of it all, tied up so neatly by all Keith’s best mistakes. Not the killing, either. The king is right about that much, at least.

Teach me how to love - captainhurricane

24k. (Explicit).

Love has never quite been on Keith’s radar. Too bad his new co-star, Shiro, veteran of the screen, didn’t get the memo.

Beam me up, Hottie - lasersheith @lasersheith

ongoing, 6/7 chapters, 29k. (Teen).

Shiro’s life is kind of a mess. His job sucks and his best friends are moving across the country back to their hometown. All he really has is Star Trek until the Big Bang pairs him with an artist that just might change everything.

“Do you remember that event I told you about?” His voice came out barely above a whisper.

Laughing again, Matt sat his sandwich down. “You mean your totally-not-porn writing competition?”

Shiro groaned. “It’s not porn,” he hissed out quietly, “and it’s not a competition, it’s just an event.” He said, looking up into Matt’s judgmental eyes. “Look, you own 6 replica anime swords. It’s literally illegal for you to judge me for anything, ” he pointed an accusing finger at Matt’s chest.

Matt held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ok, ok. So what about your event thing?”

Shiro looked back down at his phone with an awed smile. “I got paired with my favorite artist…” He answered wistfully.

Akira:

if you lie down with wolves - Neyasochi @neyasochi

13k. (Mature).

Shiro opens his eyes when the hard fall he’d braced for doesn’t come to pass. Above him looms the rustle of wet leaves and dripping rain and a pale, handsome face.

“You—” Shiro stops short, transfixed by a pair of dark but distinctly human eyes, their purple irises bordered by a faintly yellowed sclera. His gaze darts higher, to the pointed, fur-tufted ears jutting up from a mane of black hair. “You’re… it’s you. You’re the one who’s been following me.”

“Keith,” the man offers, voice burning low.

Shiro softens, sagging against the body that grips him. “Keith.”

give me to the waves - epiproctan @epiproctan

22k. (Explicit).

When Shiro moves to a lighthouse on the bay, he expects a quiet and secluded place to live out his remaining days away from the burdens of society. What he gets instead are rumors of something capable of wrecking ships living in the deeps, mysterious presents left on the rocks, and the feeling of constantly being watched.

And maybe even the absolute last thing he expected: to fall in love.

on your hand of gold - Neyasochi @neyasochi

20k. (Explicit). Contains: graphic violence.

After Shiro, an imprisoned gladiator-turned-soldier, uses the confusion of battle to slip away from his captors, he seeks shelter wherever he can find it. Unfortunately, the abandoned ruins he discovers aren’t as empty as they appear at first glance, and the fierce sphinx who guards them isn’t known for being welcoming of strangers.

Cas:

Hello, Daddy - GoldenTruth813

13k. (Teen).

Keith grudgingly attends his first Pride where he meets a Daddy. A dog daddy that is.

drunk on the idea of you, baby - corduroywords @beefy-keefy

3k. (Teen).

Shiro might grow just a bit attached to the trashed boy in the corner booth with pretty eyes that can’t eat a burger.Shiro watches in awe as he picks it up again, and slowly, carefully, begins to unhinge his jaw in a terrifying power move and moves the burger towards his open mouth. Years of flight and accuracy training has Shiro knowing right away it’s not going to make it. He keeps watching though, on the edge of his seat as the boy keeps moving it closer, closer, until it bumps into his cheek, a good five inches from his target.

in quiet proclamations - redluxite (wordstruck) @redluxite

1k. (Teen).

“Hercules.”“Hm hmm.”“Corona Australis.”“Mmmm.”“Takashi.”“Mm.”“I love you.”

Or, Keith’s a mechanical engineering student with a love for space, Shiro’s captain of the uni football team, and Mondays are warm.

Alex:

the last trial - favspacetwink

7k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content, dubious consent, afab language

“I still - I don't-” Shiro feels like his brain is broken. “I still don't get why this is necessary.”

“All aspects of physical stamina are tested during the trials,” Kolivan replies, standing next to him as both of them watch the screen. “Awakening the blade is only the first step. Your friend is an omega, and all omegas currently serving with the Blades have lasted an hour or more on this device. It is protocol.”

say you will - ailurea

9k. (Teen)

Keith is determined to be the most supportive best friend that Shiro’s ever had—even if that means helping Shiro plan his marriage proposal to someone else.

Easy To Love - Kika988

15k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content, childhood trauma

Keith’s face takes on an expression of genuine concern. "Shiro? What’s wrong?"

"...I think I just became a father."

There's a long pause as Keith goes very still. "I’ll be right there."

After the end of the war, Shiro learns he has one living relative: a five year old girl named Mika. He's nervous about taking her in, but can't bear the thought of leaving her alone. Keith is, as always, ready to support him in any way he can.

#Anonymous #sheith #voltron #sheithfanfic #modfaves #recs

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 4 years

Text

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND Chapter 13

ok, I didn’t mean to take...(doesn’t bother to look at how long since it’s been since I’ve posted anything for this story because the guilt will kill me) however long (feels longer than forever) to update this story. I literally had it all planned out in my head. And then when I went to write it my brain went “fuck you, I am on fumes, I need a break, I’m done.” and it didn’t matter how much I tried to restart or jump it- no go. So I moved on. I went back to school, I’m getting my licence to be a massage therapist, I’ll be doing that until July of next year which I’m currently on break with until Tuesday. But GOOD NEWS. I was going through my tumblr and I still find all these RaeLena pictures and when I went back to this- I found, lo and behold, FUEL. So I started this back up and this baby is running! Wooo! @the-immortal-marshal and @warnjai-17 hopefully you’re still here to enjoy this

AO3

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND

Chapter 13

The morning of Crowe’s wedding day was bright and brisk and the trees around the farm seemed to have come into spectacular color just for her. The sunrise was especially beatuiful and Prompto and the photographer got some outstanding pictures of it.

The horses had been washed the day before and kept in their squeaky clean stalls so they didn’t get dirty right before the ceremony. Crowe woke up feeling so happy and excited because today was the day her and her best friend were getting married and Chelsea had worked overtime in making sure every detail was perfect and to make sure Crowe only had decisions to make in a timely manner but no actual work to do through the whole process so it had been a breeze. The girls had all stayed at Sylva’s house and she had had another caterer come in and make everyone breakfast and a team of hair and makeup artists to make sure each girl shined like the jewel she was as Luca and Lilly and all the other little sisters of the those in the wedding party got to get glammed up too.

Meanwhile Libertus woke up with the worst hangover and felt like death warmed over. He had stayed up half the night, him and his friends around a campfire on Craig’s farm and drank and just talked, some of it was casual, most of it was deep though while Tredd did manage to keep his mouth shut about Ada being pregnant. But he sure did hint at it to Luche which Ravus and Nyx picked up on as Ravus was suspecting that the reason his mother favored Tredd as much as she did was because he had the gift too.

Craig Sr. and his wife Charla were already hard at work making a mountain of food for the boys and they chuckled to themselves as they watched all of them wake up to the smell of food and come in, each one’s hair crazier than the last as they all did the zombie shuffle to get the food before sitting down at the table as the guys downed pot after pot of coffee and ate in relative silence as bottles of Tylenol, Advil and Aleve were passed around.

“You boys alive over there?” Craig asked before there was a chorus of groans as an answer which cracked Craig Sr. and Charla up.

Meanwhile Hazel was sleeping blissfully away in Titus’ bed before the smell of her own breakfast woke her up only moments before Titus came in with their breakfast on a tray.

“Good morning Beautiful.” Titus cooed to her as her eyes fluttered open before she smiled adoringly at him as she stretched.

“Good morning, what do you got there?” She asked as she sat up, keeping the blankets up to cover her nakedness but moved the pillows to the headboard so she could sit up comfortably.

“Breakfast.” Titus beamed.

“Aww,” Hazel fawned as he gave her the tray and then got back into bed before they cuddled together with the extra large tray over Hazel’s lap.

“This is really sweet,” Hazel gushed as she started to dig in to the bowl of berries before she pulled the lid off of the plate to see an engagement ring sitting on top of some french toast and gasped as Titus’ heart beat so hard in his chest he thought it was going to break his ribs as his mouth felt like it was full of cotton all of a sudden.

“So, I was thinking, I know you really like your apartment and I really like the peace and quiet and space of the country, but I thought we could find a happy medium if we built a house together, Oak Creek Estates still has a bunch of lots available and if…” Titus was cut off by Hazel quickly attaching her mouth to his and kissing him as deeply as she could from her spot under his arm as his arm curled around her before his other hand went up to gently caress her gorgeous face, hoping she could understand what he was trying to say because words were failing him but actions never would.

“Yes, that’ll be perfect, a fresh new start for both of us.” Hazel beamed happily as she had already slipped the ring on before Titus moved the tray over to the floor before he really got to enjoy his fiance for breakfast which is what he really wanted.

As the clock ticked down Libertus went from hungover to happy to nervous and by a surprise, Luche was too.

“Cut it out, they’re all gonna think you’re playing with yourself.” Tredd teased as he sat down next to Luche after he came back into the house from helping the firework guys set up all the fireworks for the night before he sat down on the couch as Luche frowned over at him.

“Cut what out?” Luche tried to deflect.

“You keep fingering that engagement ring thing in your pocket, it looks like you’re trying to jack off.” Tredd chuckled as Luche frowned.

“How…” Luche began as Tredd gave him an unimpressed look.

“Really? You really wanna play dumb? Come on, let me seee.” Tredd questioned as Luche humphed before he pulled it out and handed it to Tredd.

“I do, I will marry you.” Tredd gushed in an overly feminine way.

“Oh my God, stop.” Luche rolled his eyes as Tredd opened the fancy slim ring box to see a paper flower fold out holding the ring.

“Aww, this was one of Victor’s rings for Ravus wasn’t it?” Tredd asked as Luche sighed deeply.

“Yes, I bought it off of him.” Luche admitted.

“Of course you did, you spent what? A whole dollar?” Tredd teased.

“Ravus gave me a price and I paid it, no negotiations needed.” Luche defended.

“A whole five dollars because you don’t cary singles anymore blue blood.” Tredd grinned triumphantly.

“I hate this about you.” Luche sarcastically quipped as he tried to take the ring back but Tredd pulled it out of his reach.

“Hey, hey, don’t get all huffy. I think it’s nice- a whole 20 carats just on the center diamond and that has to be...another 5 carats in the bezels and blue diamonds are coming back into fashion again, platinum?” Tredd appraised as Luche just frowned deeper and deeper.

“Since when do you know anything about jewelry?” Luche asked.

“Since mom adopted me too and has been taking me under her wing and teaching me the same shit she’s teaching you but I get the super fun hands on versions, and she is paying me in stock options now and recognizes that I have a good eye and can spot a fake a mile away.” Tredd answered casually as he gave it back.

“Wait paying you? Paying you for what?” Luche demanded.

“You didn’t think you were her only eyes and ears did you?” Tredd grinned smugly.

“How much is she paying you?” Luche pressed.

“Eh, it started off as 5k here, 10k there, now it’s stock options and percentages and 401ks and trust funds and all that which I find I like much better, especially since I’ve been reinvesting that money in said stocks. Project Recovery alone has quadrupled my money in just the last couple of months alone and Sylva says I have the same gift she has in that oracle shit. I see things with my special eyes that you don’t.” Tredd teased as he poked his finger near Luche’s ear as he batted his eyes suggestively at Luche.

“Stop,” Luche batted Tredd’s hand away. “What do you see that I don’t?” Luche questioned.

“I knew before anyone else did that Crowe was pregnant.” Tredd grinned.

“You got lucky.” Luche countered.

“Did I? Did I also get really super lucky when I knew Ada was pregnant over the summer on the cruises?” Tredd revealed.

“What?” Luche blinked.

“Yeah, I saw that before Sylva did, And that fifteen grand? That was to keep you two from fucking so you wouldn’t lose your mind when she lost that pregnancy. Which sucked by the way, but hopefully it doesn’t happen again.” Tredd revealed.

“You…” Luche didn’t know if he should laugh, cry or just go bang his head against a wall. “How? How did you know?” Luche demanded.

“There’s just a lot of subtle changes that most miss but to me they just all add up for some reason.” Tredd shrugged. “But looking back, aren’t you happy you didn’t fuck her senseless on the cruise?” Tredd asked.

“...yeah.” Luche ducked his head with a sigh.

“Well I knew the moment those two got together that it was gonna crash and burn in a matter of months. She’s always been your girl, she was just the last one to realize it.” Tredd offered which made Luche and Tredd both grin lopsidedly at each other.

“Thanks.” Luche thanked him.

“You’re welcome. By the way, I want to be a groomsman.” Tredd insisted which made Luche snicker a laugh.

“Oh do you?” Luche returned.

“Hell yeah, am I or am I not the Bro who was purposefully a douche to save you from that clusterfuck?” Tredd prodded.

“You are that douche.” Luche laughed.

“So I’m a groomsman?” Tredd prodded.

“You are the douchiest of my groomsman.” Luche chuckled.

“Good,” Tredd grinned victoriously as Ravus and Nyx came up.

“Oh is that Ada’s ring?” Nyx asked.

“Yeah, I was thinking I was gonna pull a Rae.” Luche admitted as he handed it to Nyx as Ravus smiled proudly. Happy that the ring was going to go to a “brother”. Besides that still left a few to save for his children to use when they would get engaged.

“Awesome,” Nyx smiled happily before he gave it back.

“Shower is clear.” Craig called out after he got out of his since every shower was being used on the property to get all the boys ready as Luche got the ring back as he got up and claimed the empty shower.

“So what else do you see with your special eyes?” Ravus asked Tredd once Luche was well out of earshot.

“Jesus, you have the ears of a rodent Beavus.” Tredd rolled his eyes.

“Ada’s pregnant again isn’t she?” Ravus grinned.

“Sssshhhh!” Tredd shushed him as he quickly looked around to see if anyone else had heard that.

“See? Told you.” Ravus put to Nyx who gave him an unimpressed look.

“Does he know?” Nyx gestured to where Luche went.

“No, absolutely not, and none of us can tell him either, we gotta let Ada find out on her own and have her be the one to tell him, we can’t spoil this for him. I mean you know me, I’m all for spoiling shit but that’s the special shit you don’t spoil.” Tredd urged them.

“So what do you think it’s gonna be?” Ravus put to Tredd curiously.

“Pppfff, boy.” Tredd snickered. “Watch they’ll name him something super British, like London or Oxford or something so English the Royal Family will be like ‘calm it down now’. “ Tredd predicted.

“London.” Nyx and Ravus grinned.

“Any other girl preggers?” Nyx asked Tredd.

“Right now? No. About to be? Oh yeah,” Tredd laughed.

“Who?” Ravus and Nyx asked as Tredd looked at them unimpressed before he looked over to Gladio pointedly before turning back to them.

“No way,” Nyx shook his head.

“A hundred bucks, they’re going to be expecting in the next say...four months?” Tredd offered as he offered his hand for a shake.

“Deal.” Nyx agreed as he shook Tredd’s hand as Ravus just shook his head, knowing Tredd was right and knew that Tredd had the same gift he had. Which instead of denying it or downplaying it or getting jealous, he felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t the only one with it.

Once all the girls arrived the boys got the horses saddled and ready to go as the guests started to arrive and take their seats. The weather couldn’t be more perfect, small, almost cartoonish puffy clouds rolling in the sky, it was warm enough to be comfortable but not chilled enough to be cold but that message didn’t seem to get to Libertus who was sweating buckets so much so that everyone thought he was going to lose 10lbs in sweat alone and Chelsea was grateful she had extra shirts for Libertus to change into and basically bathed him in deodorant and antiperspirant and loaded him up with anti-nausea meds as his own mother and Crowe’s mothers gave him the pep-talk of the century as Chelsea was copying that down for future use.

When it finally came time for the actual ceremony, the horses suddenly decided to shit where they stood at the back of the aisle before Chelsea and her team tried to hurriedly clean it up, the horses then tried munching on the flowers on the sides of the aisle, there was practically a whole hive of bees there to collect the nectar from all the flowers even though Sylva had a case of Epipens which thankfully didn’t need to get used but thankfully, at least- there were no mosquitoes and Libertus was thankfully laughing too hard at the horses being horses to cry too much because the sight of Crowe in a wedding dress coming down the aisle to him was overwhelming to him.

Because Crowe’s smile shamed the sun. She was radiant and beautiful and practically glowing and Libertus had never seen her look so beautiful in his life. It was perfect and after the vows, Libertus finally seemed to ease up and become himself again.

At the reception Sylva went ahead and practically glued herself to Linda, Luche’s mother as Luche was slow dancing with Ada because she had caught the bouquet in the bouquet toss, thanks to Sylva organizing her girls to guarantee it and thanks to Sylva also organizing her boys- Luche caught the garter belt and now they were dancing together, the rest of the world falling away.

“I really like the fairy lights.” Ada noted at all the twinkle lights around them.

“Would you want fairy lights at our wedding?” Luche asked and Ada didn’t give a second thought to his choice of words before she began telling him all about what she would want for their wedding.

Meanwhile on the sidelines-

“Linda, you better get used to the idea of them being together.” Sylva urged as Linda gave her a side eye.

“Look, it’s very simple, it’s either Ada or this cum guzzling gutter trash.” Sylva continued as she pulled up a video of Beth on a porn site that had Linda choking on her winecooler and looking particularly aghast. “That could have been your daughter in law who by the way flirted and eye fucked before she actually did fuck Chinese billionaires trying to get the best deal possible while Luche was sitting right next to her and would have been way more unfaithful to him than Ada ever will be again, Ada is allowed to sow a wild oat or two in her youth, and now that she’s done that and seen that the grass is indeed not anywhere near as green as it is with Luche and I can tell you that she won’t be making that mistake again.” Sylva assured Linda. “Now, count your blessings as you read this.” Sylva furthered before she pulled out a prenup and it had Linda grinning from ear to ear as she read it.

“You see the line we have to walk as mothers is to let our children enjoy life and live it how they want to, but that doesn’t mean we can’t put them in some safety gear, I’ll have Ada sign this before we go wedding dress shopping but here’s the deal-” Sylva lowered her voice. “You and Luke will be nothing but nice, happy and supportive of Luche and Ada from here on out. I have already talked with Luche and he’s ok with me paying for a bulk of the wedding expenses, all I’m asking you and Luke to pay for are the invitations and Ada’s parents will be buying Ada’s veil, fair enough?” Sylva put to her.

“That’s more than fair.” Linda nodded in agreement with a thankful smile to Sylva.

“Good, now, watch your son propose and be happy about it.” Sylva nodded to the dancefloor where Luche had gotten down on one knee and proposed to Ada as Sylva was smiling brightly while Linda plastered on a smile, happy that her son was at least protected and grateful that Sylva had adopted him and cared for him as her own because the Lord knew she wasn’t willing or ready to pay for much of anything else as Sylva offered her own winecooler over to Linda to clink with a knowing smile when Ada said yes.

After that, that’s when the party seemed to get into full gear, the moment the sun began to set they lit the fires in the fire pits inside the bale circles so people could sit on the bales and make smores since the wedding had been catered by a competition BBQ joint that had all the BBQ and steaks anyone could ask for. There was a mountain of throw blankets to keep the guests warm as they did this and then at the finale- that’s when Tredd- being a fireman and pyromaniac- set the fireworks off which everyone fully enjoyed before the party sent Crowe and Libertus off on their honeymoon which Sylva got them a cabin and a hunting excursion out in the northwest.

Luche and Ada barely made it home and in the door before they were on each other and removing the remainder of their clothes and made it to the bottom of the stairs before Luche had pinned her to the wall and started fucking her hard up against it, Ada’s engagement ring nearly getting snagged in his hair as Ada scratched his scalp roughly as the loudest and longest pleasured moan left her throat.

“Oh Luche!” Ada keened as the back of her head hit the wall behind her, knocking the picture of them hanging next to her head slightly askew as Luche’s hips pounded into hers.

Luche proposing to Ada after she caught the bouquet came as a surprise to Ada but not really to anyone else, but that was all that mattered to Luche. Ada was completely wrapped up in wedding fever and the joy and excitement of the moment to notice anyone outside of Luche. Their relationship was better than it had ever been since she came back to him and together they both worked exceptionally hard to make the other happy.

Ada was blown away by the drop dead gorgeous ring Luche proposed with.

Luche had wanted his proposal to be more eloquent but in the end, he just went for simple and straight to the point.

When Ada had said that she liked something about the decorations for the wedding, Luche found himself asking her what she would like for their wedding and Ada had answered it without a second thought and before Ada realized it she revealed what she had always wanted and fantasized about as a little girl and Luche was grinning ear to ear and when she was done Luche didn’t hesitate to just get down on one knee and offer to give her everything she had just said and pleaded for the chance to make all her dreams come true as everyone quickly gathered around them with eager eyes and ears to hear her answer and Ada didn’t even get to see the ring before she said yes and when she did see the ring, her eyes nearly popped out of her head and her jaw fell and rolled away on the floor. But she readily had him put it on her finger.

From there, it was like they were velcroed to each other and receiving all the congratulatory wishes before Chelsea made a point to make sure they had her business card and to give her a call when they wanted to set a date and get things in motion before Luche repeated, almost verbatim what Ada had just said to her as Chelsea quickly made notes, using up the last half of her notebook since the first half was already full of notes for Hazel and Titus’ wedding plans that she had gotten earlier before she left Luche and Ada to enjoy more congratulations since Ada was the last to be engaged and didn't notice how Chelsea had then gone to Sylva, Linda and Luke as well as Ada's parents who Sylva had gathered together to force a congratulatory toast between them all before Sylva informed them that she would be paying for the bulk of it if Luche's parents were willing to buy the invitations and if Ada's parents would pay for Ada's veil since wedding dresses could be so expensive, that she would take care of the rest since Luche was like another son to her and brother to Ravus which she received very little argument to.

Luche felt he smiled more that night than he had in the previous year combined. But he was so happy. Finally things were coming together. He had the dream job, had fantastic friends, supportive family and the girl of his dreams and everything was perfect and he couldn’t ask for more.

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ecfandom · 5 years

Text

Polis 433 Ch. 11 Sneak Peek

Hi babes, I’ve fallen a little behind on my new updating schedule, so I wanted to shoot you all a sneek peek to tide you over. The full chapter is almost done. I may be able to get it posted tomorrow if my day goes smoothly. Cheers!

“What the hell happened?” Elliot growled as she slid on her knees to Lexa’s side. Lexa was pale and deadly still. She patted Lexa’s cheek, then checked her pulse.

“I don’t know,” Erin said, a hint of panic in her voice. “She asked to go to the bathroom. I got pulled away with that code and when I came back...”

“Her pulse is thready. Get Taryn, I can’t lift her by myself. Bring a cart.” Erin nodded and ran out of the bathroom. Elliot turned back to Lexa, cradling her head in her hands. “Lexa, hey. Come on now. Hang on.”

She put her fingers back to her pulse, only to find it was gone. “No, no, don’t you do this,” she said, swinging her leg over Lexa’s hips and starting compressions. “I did not piece you back together in the middle of a desert for you to die on a bathroom floor, you asshole. Come on!”

Taryn burst through the door, followed by Erin and the crash cart. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Lexa. She’s arresting,” Elliot panted.

“How long?”

“Just happened.”

“I need one of epi,” Taryn said to Erin, calm, but urgent. As soon as the injector was in Taryn’s hand, she jammed it into Lexa’s upper arm, watching Elliot as she listened to Lexa’s chest with her stethoscope. A second passed, then another.

“Got her,” Elliot breathed, yanking her scope out. “Let’s get her on a bed. Page cardio.”

Within seconds, Lexa was on a bed in a trauma bay, covered in monitoring equipment as the ER staff worked to stabilize her stressed heart.

“Hey, what’ve you got?” Dr. Katherine Daniels, head of cardio, breezed through the doorway with a fourth-year resident on her heels. Where Taryn and Elliot were all hard, angular, and handsome lines, Katherine was the spitting image of Aphrodite— feminine, powerful, and drop-dead gorgeous. Her golden hair was half up, showing off her striking cheekbones and brilliant green eyes. Her long, chin-length bangs tucked behind her ears framed her face perfectly. As beautiful as she was, all of it paled in comparison to her brilliant mind and unparalleled skill.

“Lexa Woods, 29…” Elliot paused, doing the math in her head. “More like, 30 year old female. Sudden collapse, thready pulse, then arrest. Got her back with compressions and epi.”

“How long was she down?” Dr. Daniels stepped forward and listened to Lexa’s heart.

“Less than a minute.”

“So no brain damage.”

“Not unless I missed something.”

“I’ve got an EKG,” Taryn announced, detaching the paper report and studying it. “She’s tachy, but no sign of infarction.”

“Her pulse is still weak. Let’s get her some inotropic support,” Katie ordered. “Start a Dobutamine drip at 3 mics. Add norepinephrine for bp, and get a blood gas. Let’s get Respiratory down here, her lungs are a mess.”

“You call Respiratory,” Taryn said to one of her residents. “I’ll get the blood gas.”

“History of heart disease?” Katie asked Elliot, watching Lexa’s blood pressure even out as the meds entered her system.

“Myocardial infarction in 2007 caused by mass hemorrhaging from multiple GSWs.” Elliot answered.

Katie looked up at Elliot, surprised by the dramatic history. When she noticed the brewing storm in Elliot’s piercing, blue eyes, it made sense. “She’s a veteran,” she stated, rather than asked.

“Yeah.”

“You knew her?”

“Pieced her back together in Afghanistan myself,” Elliot said, looking down at Lexa with a hint of fondness. “She’s never had any issues. She’s a firefighter. She worked the factory fire today, so my guess is CO poisoning and hypoxia.”

“What the hell is she doing as a firefighter with a history of infarction? There’s no way that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, try telling that to Lexa.”

“Does she have a death wish?”

Elliot grinned. “Death is afraid of this one. Trust me.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Butches,” she said, shaking her head. “Alright, let’s get her admitted.”

***

It was a beautiful summer morning. So beautiful it was hard to imagine the factory fire the town had suffered just two nights prior. It was a paradoxical dichotomy that left Clarke feeling slightly unsettled and on edge, as if she were forgetting something. As she dug a hole in her flower beds and planted her Zinnias, she ran through her patient list, assured by the end of it that she’d checked everyone, and all were covered through her day off.

She sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her garden-gloved hand. All was well it seemed, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She looked over at the other side of her garden bed and watched Ellie and Raven planting side-by-side, a smile crossing her face at the sight of her dirty baby.

“You’re going to need a bath later, Ms. Bean,” she called out, laughing when Ellie turned to her with a giant smile and face full of soil.

“I’m going to run her inside real quick for some water,” Raven said, hoisting the two-year-old onto her hip. “Want anything?”

“Water would be good, thanks.”

Raven watched her for a moment, her eyes narrow against the slanted morning sun. “You okay? You’re awfully quiet this morning.”

Clarke nodded and began digging another hole. “Fine. Just tired.”

Raven watched her for a moment longer, not buying it. But if Clarke was one thing, it was stubborn. “Okay, well. Let me know.”

Clarke looked up once again and smiled, both appreciative and unnerved by how well her best friend read her. “I’m good.”

Raven nodded and walked inside, leaving Clarke alone with whatever it was plaguing her thoughts. “What should we drink, Elle? Water? Milk?”

“Juice!” Ellie squealed, leaning towards her high-chair in the eat-in kitchen dining space.

“Of course. How silly of me to think anything different.” Raven settled her into the chair and crossed to the fridge, swinging it open with a sigh. “You mom’s fridge looks like an actual adult human being lives here. My fridge has exactly one string-cheese, old milk and a six pack of beer in it.” She leaned back and peered around the door at the toddler. “This is why I’m single, isn’t it?”

Ellie paid her no mind. Her curiosity was fixed on the security panel by the back door that sat inches from her highchair. Her stubby arm reached out for it, fingers tracing the colorful buttons.

“Don’t play with that, Ellie,” Raven called, then dipped her head back into the fridge.

“It’s toy,” Ellie called to her.

“No, not a toy. It looks like one of your toys, though doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Colors!”

“Yep, lots of colors.” Raven poured Ellie a glass of apple juice, then two glasses of water for she and Clarke. She walked the apple juice over to Ellie and leaned back against the kitchen table. It was early, but the day was already warm, and she drank greedily from her glass as Ellie did the same from her snippy cup. Ellie looked at her, puzzled for a moment, her little face frowning in consternation.

“Wexa?” She asked, handing Raven her empty juice cup. Raven looked at it, confused.

“That’s a cup,” she corrected. “Sippy cup.”

“Wexa!” Ellie shrieked.

“I don’t know what that means, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

“She’s looking for Lexa,” Clarke said, coming down the hall. She stripped her hands free of her gardening gloves, and kicked off her shoes and socks until she was barefoot. She took the cup from Ellie and filled it with water, handing it back to her. She ignored the pout Ellie threw her way at the discovery that there was no juice inside.

“That’s...interesting,” Raven said, cautiously.

“Don’t read into it. She’d get attached to a shoebox if you let her.”

“That’s no way to talk about my very intelligent goddaughter with better taste than you.”

“Let’s not start with this again, pease?”

Raven considered letting it go, given how tired Clarke sounded, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Start what again? Your attraction to the insanely hot fire fighter that literally no one on earth would blame you for because she is the sexiest thing alive? The same chick your daughter likes so much she’s asking for her by name? Or was there something else you were referring to.”

“Raven.”

“I heard she saved twelve people herself in the factory fire. That’s hot, dude.”

“That’s reckless,” Clarke snapped, that pestering nag from before fraying her nerves and sparking into anger. “She’s reckless and irresponsible. I don’t care how hot she is, that’s what matters. Behavior matters.”

Raven sat quietly for a moment, recalibrating. Something had obviously touched a nerve in Clarke, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Talking about behavior, specifically recklessness, could be about her father. It could be about Jack. It was hard to say with Clarke, her sweet, but excruciatingly private friend. “She’s a first responder, Clarke,” she said gently, careful to tread lightly. “What we do is inherently risky. I don’t think Lexa takes any unnecessary risks.”

“She has a hero complex,” Clarke retorted, leaning back against the counter while she pressed the cold glass of ice water to her cheek.

“Are you sure she’s not just a hero?”

“Are you sure you’re not the one attracted to her?”

“Oh, I am attracted to her. Who isn’t? But that’s not the point.”

“Then hurry up and make it, please.”

“I just think maybe you’re a little hard on her, given the things you’ve been through,” Raven said, dipping a toe into the uncharted waters of Clarke’s psyche. When Clarke said nothing, Raven smiled sympathetically at her. “No one would blame you for being cautious. I’m just saying, maybe don’t knock it til you try it. I think you’d be surprised at how great Lexa is.”

“No, I wouldn’t be,” Clarke said, the frustration apparent in her voice. “I know how great she is. Outside of her work, she is the most kind, gentle and stunningly attractive woman I have ever met. But she’s also careless, and I have a small child with a big heart to consider.”

“And your own heart to consider, right?” Raven asked quietly, cocking her head to the side in an attempt to find Clarke’s lowered gaze. When Clarke looked up and scowled at her, Raven smiled. “I don’t think doing her job makes her careless,” she said, coming to stand next to her. She hopped up onto the counter and nudged Clarke’s arm with her knee. “The opposite, in fact. I think she cares deeply about what she does.”

Clarke shook her head. “ Doing her job is pulling those people out of the fire. Being careless is not getting checked out by a doctor after working a chemical fire. She was breathing in CO2 and who knows what else. That’s going to strain her heart. Hell, it could even kill her. She knows all that, as a paramedic, and still, she didn’t want to be admitted because she had paperwork to do? She has a hero complex, and she’s reckless, Raven. I don’t doubt that she cares very much about her job, but when it comes to herself, she’s careless and irresponsible. I’m sorry, but I just don’t have room for it in my life. I can’t care about someone like that.” She pushed off of the counter and crossed to Ellie, lifting her out of the highchair and onto her hip.

“Did you text her?” Raven asked after a moment, both sad for her friend’s guarded heart, and amused at Clarke’s inability to see how much she already cared.

“Yes,” Clarke said, quietly as if ashamed to admit it. “Twice the night of the fire and a few times after that, but I’ve been stuck in the NICU for the past two days.”

“If you’re worried about her, I can ask Anya.”

“Who’s Anya?”

“Lexa’s sister. The one we met at the parade.”

“Oh, that’s right. I remember her. Amazing cheekbones,” she said, recalling the way Raven had blushed around the tall, striking woman.

“We’ve sort of been...hanging out. I haven’t seen her for a bit because of work, but I could ask her about Lexa if you want me to.”

Clarke whipped around, a grin already on her face as she eyed Raven’s closely. “Oh my god. You slept with her already, didn’t you?”

Raven laughed and shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “One or twice.”

“Holy shit. Well?”

“She’s fucking amazing.”

“Oh god, no. Nevermind. I don’t want to hear that.”

Raven laughed again. “She’s amazing in bed and in general.”

Clarke frowned. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Is she going to break your heart?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you have feelings for her, and I know you. You told her it was just sex, didn’t you.”

Raven shrugged, not quite making eye contact. “It is. For now.”

“Uh huh.” Clarke wanted to say more, but before she could, she noticed the faint siren sound she had barely registered before growing louder. Too loud. She looked to Raven, then to the security panel on the wall where she noticed the black, digital words scrolling across the screen. “Jesus Christ, again?”

She walked over to it and punched in the code, ending the alarm. “Can you hold her?” She asked, handing Ellie to her without waiting for an answer, and turned towards the hallway leading to the front door. Ellie shrieked and pushed against Raven’s chest, desperately trying to get down. She was screaming to be let down, seconds away from a full on temper tantrum, when Clarke gave up, jogged back down the hall and took her into her arms.

“We are not playing with Lexa today, but you can say hello,” she told her toddler sternly as she opened the door. She was frustrated and annoyed, and if anyone asked, she would say she hated having to do this again. Yet, when her eyes scanned over the truck and the men filing out, the fluttering excitement in her chest disappeared. Lexa was nowhere to be found.

***

“She’s okay,” Taryn said, walking up to stand next to Elliot in Lexa’s patient room doorway.

“I know she is.”

“That’s why you’ve been standing here for the past ten minutes?”

Elliot shot Taryn a wry grin, but move from the doorframe. She had no other place to be right now. Might as well be here. “You know, when I got to her in Afghanistan, for the first time in my career, I didn’t know where to start. They teach us the ABCs--airway, breathing, circulation.” Elliot chuckled. “She had issues with all three. Had I been here, with an entire ER staff and trauma team, we all would have had our jobs. You could have handled her burnt airway. I would have started in on her three gunshot wounds. Cardio would have kept her heart beating, while Plastics handled the third degree burns all over her body. There’d be nurses and residents to pump meds, get her stable enough for surgery.” Elliot folded her arms and studied Lexa, but her eyes weren’t seeing. Her mind was elsewhere, remembering. “But in Afghanistan, at the end of the day, it was just me. And I was terrified I’d lose her. Something about her...I just knew I couldn’t handle losing this one.”

#polis 433 #clexa #clexa fanfic #ffau

133 notes · View notes

yukiwrites · 5 years

Text

Love Masked as Devotion

Thank you for the support, @pronislav! I had a blast writing this, I hope you like it! ^v^)b

Summary: Gilbert had pledged his allegiance to Byleth atop the Goddess Tower, three years ago. Over the course of the years, the seasoned knight watched over his new liege with a warmth in his smile that he hadn’t felt in over twenty years... but he wasn’t allowed to feel such happiness for he was an undeserving man. Or was he?

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

During the first few years of his self-imposed exile, then-Gilbert refused to allow himself the simple pleasure of smiling. He had abandoned his allegiance, family and name -- he wasn't worthy of forgetting the suffering he inflicted on those he had left behind nor those he had failed to protect.

Smiling would mean that he was forgetting, that he was putting it all behind him to start anew. And he could never forget.

How could he, when the dead has smiled their last before his own failure as a knight? How could he, when the living he left behind truly smiled their last during the time they called themselves a true family?

No, there was too much at stake: too many regrets, too many ties wrapped around his wrists, little by little pulling him down to a murky darkness -- to a place he could never truly return from. Not as himself.

A self-imposed prison he would never set foot out of, the guilt so overpowering he couldn't even bring himself to say his own name without wanting to disappear in shame. Gustave had failed. He had let his King and fellow knights die -- he had scarred the Prince in a way that would never truly heal.

The disgrace of his true name followed him closely, heavier as the years passed, pulling him down. Pulling, strangling, drowning... Sometimes even his own voice failed, the deep, viscous darkness preventing him to even utter apologies to the ones he had left behind.

Other times, apologies were the only words he had left.

Four years he had ran. Ashamed, he had turned to faith to pray for salvation -- not his, mind, but for those he had failed to protect. If only they could be at peace, perhaps he, too, one day...

Five years more he had ran, the sin of losing his King's son adding to the burden he could never lift from his shoulders.

For nine long years Gilbert had prayed, dumping his worries unto the goddess in a vain attempt to lighten the burden -- if all of them were at least safe in the afterlife, perhaps he, too, one day...

"Praying won't help you atone." Byleth's words had felt like a slap on his face, said during such an otherwise uneventful night the now Archbishop had most likely forgotten it by now. "It's OK to hold on to the ghosts of your past, they are part of who you are. But you can't let them hold on to you and deprive you of your own life."

That right then, those wise words imparted from someone so young yet so burdened by the throes of duty... Gilbert quite literally and most certainly felt his whole world change. He could feel as though a strong gust of air had disheveled his air, the magnanimous force of nature imbuing his sight with the light he had lost almost a decade previous.

Had breathing always been that easy? He could feel the air fill his lungs vigorously, a new life -- or perhaps the acceptance of his old one -- running through his veins.

To allow yesterday to be done, and focus on tomorrow.

To learn from his mistakes and not let them drag him down -- to accept the importance of those he had lost to be able to focus on those he was afraid to lose. On those whose smiles he had robbed with his shameful departure.

On those whose smile he swore to protect.

His eyes fond, Gustave softly shook his head to dispel the thoughts of the past that crept inside his mind the moment he set foot inside the Archbishop's study.

The comforting yet worrying scene the knight witnessed might have been the reason to set his old brain off to nostalgia island: Byleth slept peacefully, a satisfied smile on his face, over a mountain of papers he was yet to sign.

Gustave worried for his new liege -- mostly about the terrible neck pain he was sure to have should he remain sleeping in that position -- though he couldn't help but want to watch the scene for a moment longer.

Byleth had always been someone any person could depend on. He would offer sound, thoughtful counsel as was also willing to lend an ear for his brothers-in-arms, his expression often serious or attentive.

Honestly, Gustave thought that the younger man tried a bit too hard to match those of... higher years than himself. Yet, Gustave himself had been on the receiving end of Byleth's kind, warm heart, so he hadn't the right to tell the Archbishop how he should or should not behave amongst his peers.

What he could do as his knight was give him a stern scolding for overworking himself, neglecting a proper, restful sleep and advise him to make more use of his own services. Gustave would happily burn the midnight oil alongside Byleth, for as long as these old bones of his allowed him to.

Still, Gustave's body betrayed the scolding his mind had prepared by simply procuring a blanket to place over Byleth's shoulder, not wanting him to catch a chill during the night.

"Mhm," Byleth groaned in his sleep, suddenly much more comfortable than before, his body sinking even deeper into the papers -- a perpetual ink stain attaching itself over his left cheek.

"Hah," Gustave chuckled lowly, daring to take a tuft of hair from Byleth's eyes, placing it behind his warm ear. "Let's get you away from there, shall we... Byleth?" He murmured as though he was saying something forbidden, the name of his new liege something he dared say very little lest he became much too used to the way it rolled around his tongue.

Carefully, the man bent down to pick the Archbishop up in his arms, making sure to put Byleth's head on his own shoulder so as not to wake him up. He weighed so little for a man who held the burden of the entire church on his shoulders! A slender, fragile-looking frame that hid such a bottomless strength of heart, soul and body.

Deep in his sleep, Byleth snuggled himself in the warmth of Gustave's chest, his serene smile growing as he mumbled incomprehensible sleep talk. Not to mention the smudged ink obviously marking his cheek.

Clearing his throat, Gustave tore his eyes away from the adorable sight, adjusting the younger man over his arms one last time before making his way to the Archbishop's chambers.

"May your sleep always be this peaceful, Byleth. I shall do everything in my power to protect this serenity." Gustave's low voice rumbled in his chest, making Byleth groggily nod at it.

Reaching the nearby chambers, Gustave struggled to open the door for a good five minutes, not wanting to move Byleth too much to open it with one of his hands but unable to muster the flexibility to do it with one foot.

After a while, the knight gave up, quietly pressing his shoulder -- protecting Byleth's body with his arm -- on the door so as to use one hand to turn the handle. It did so with a loud bang, slipping from his fingers since his grasp on it was weak.

Panicking, the knight flinched, quickly checking the status of Byleth's sleep.

"Mhm..." The Archbishop slightly moved in Gustave's arm, snuggling deeper into the older man's chest.

"Hahhh..." Gustave sighed in relief, now worried that his thunderous heartbeat could aid in waking Byleth up. "Being this clumsy at my age; what a disgrace," he snorted in spite of himself, making large, silent strides towards the bed.

He softly placed the Archbishop atop the mattress, careful and masterfully stripping him of his coat and boots before finally laying him down fully, finally covering him with the thick blanket.

Puffing his chest for a job well done, Gustave once again smiled at the sight of the vulnerable side of Byleth's only him could see. "Good night, my liege." He whispered before turning on his heel to leave, this time soundlessly closing the door behind him. "Sweet dreams, Byleth." He said to the dark wood, placing his forehead on its cool surface.

From inside the room, over the bed and under the blanket, Byleth covered his face with both hands, his face burning so much he teared up. "G-good night, Gustave."

The following morning, Byleth was unable to meet his knight's sight for more than ten seconds, quickly averting his gaze while blurtering this or that excuse.

"Have I done something to offend you, my liege?" Gustave approached the matter as Byleth knew he would, no later than early afternoon as they walked through the corridors towards the mess hall.

Flinching, Byleth cleared his throat. "I, uh, had a- a dream, yes. I had a dream last night." He mentally patted himself on the back for the smooth save, but somehow felt as though he could hear Sothis groaning in disgust at the back of his mind. Strange feeling, though, since he hadn't heard of her since she imparted her power on him, six years ago.

"A dream, Archbishop?" Gustave tilted his head downwards, his long braid dangling right into Byleth's point of view. "Is that related to me in any way? I have noticed you've yet to meet my gaze today..."

Byleth's eyes trailed away from Gustave, towards the opposing wall of the corridor. "Will you not call me by my name?" He said in a squeak so low it made Gustave squint as though he could understand by heightening his vision.

"Pardon?"

"I-" Byleth breathed deeply, trying to bring his usual inner peace. "I heard you call my name in my dream." He blurted out, proud that he managed to sound much more composed than he actually was.

"Oh." Gustave straightened his back, clearing his throat. "Did you now?"

"Strange, though," the Archbishop scratched his head, trying to play coy. "I never actually heard you call me by my name, but in my dream... it was so real."

"Must I have a talk with the Gustave of your dreams, my liege? To address someone of your stature with such familiarity is unthinkable."

Byleth mentally choked, his face exploding in embarrassment. He was glad he kept it away from the knight the entire time. "The 'Gustave of my dreams', huh?" he cleared his throat.

The realization of how suggestive that sounded made even the seasoned knight feel the heat rising to his cheeks, quickly dispelling it with a cough. "Why, was he not? If I never called you by your name, the only one who could have had done so was he."

"Silly," Byleth mumbled, hiding a tiny smile behind his hand. "Even though the Gustave of my dreams is right here."

"I wouldn't advise mumbling while looking away from someone, my liege. It shows a true lack of respect-"

Byleth turned to the corridor in front of them in a sudden, flashy movement, stealing the words from Gustave's lips. "I was saying that I simply wanted to hear the real Gustave, the one in front of me, to say my name, since the one in my dreams made me curious about it." He almost pouted, making the knight feel a twinge inside his chest.

"That I cannot do, my liege."

The reply was so readily given it made Byleth's heart fall faster than he was prepared to. "Because I am the Archbishop and you're a knight, so it would be disrespectful to?"

"Indeed." He nodded solemnly, his steps heavy beside Byleth's light ones.

Sighing, Byleth's shoulders hung slightly. "And if I weren't Archbishop? Before I even had any influence you still only called me 'Professor' even though you weren't my student."

Gustave hesitated for a beat. He knew the answer to that; of course he did.

But it wasn't one that he could give. It wasn't one he was allowed to give, not while he was still so unworthy of thinking about a happy future as he was.

Of course, it was because of Byleth that Gustave could even start thinking about the future without letting the past take the best of him, but... A decade of guilt wasn't so easily washed away. He wasn't going to be okay after only three years under Byleth's service; under his constant light and serenity.

He wasn't going to think himself worthy of being happy, not while he still hadn't repaid for the grief he had caused to the ones he loved -- to the ones he had left behind.

"I am simply giving respect where it is due, Archbishop." He replied after only taking a short breath, the torrent of thoughts, regrets and phantom feelings washing him over despite the lack of expression he showed.

"..." Byleth kept silent, the small slouch showing that he still wore a slight pout over his lips; not that Gustave could see them for he always walked a step behind his liege. To keep himself in his own place.

They reached the mess hall in silence, retiring to their usual spot at a corner. Byleth sat down as Gustave took it upon himself -- as always -- to go fetch their provisions.

Eating at the mess hall amongst all other residents of Garreg Mach monastery had always been one of the few pleasures Byleth managed to keep after becoming Archbishop. Well, it was under no shortage of grumbling from his knight, sure, but it was a hard fought win for the former professor, so he always held those precious moments close to his heart.

Even at that moment, his head down and his gaze unwilling to meet Gustave's, he still cherished watching his knight's impeccable table manners from under his bangs.

It was foolish of him, perhaps even childish, to get his hopes up after a simple name-sharing, bed-placing sluggish night -- Gustave might as well have been treating him like he did Annette for all Byleth knew. Calling a younger person, although of higher bearing, by their name during a time they could not hear just to show how apart they were in maturity.

Or something.

Byleth groaned, resting his pounding forehead on the back of his hand which still held the fork. He knew Gustave. He wasn't like that. He wouldn't admonish someone because of their age!

But then, what did last night mean, if not a wish for something more to happen?

Was that all wishful thinking from Byleth's part? If he looked at the scene from a bystander's eyes, would he only see a proper knight caring for his liege? Byleth had had his share of knight-watching from his time as a teacher at the academy, and even more so during the war.

He had seen Dedue do almost the same thing with Dimitri -- trying and failing to carry him as he slept, making him food as he woke up, being always there for whichever need the Prince could have... Byleth had witnessed such undying display of loyalty many, many times.

Was it what that was? Loyalty? Duty?

Byleth wanted to paint the picture in a rosy hue, but even Gustave himself had so earnestly denied the matter mere moments ago. He shouldn't think too much into it. He shouldn't hope. His heart should not flutter like this with the memory of how good it felt to hear his name in Gustave's voice.

How warm and strong the knight's arms were, and how easily he was carried through the corridors. How caring Gustave had been during it all, even embarrassing himself in being uncharacteristically clumsy.

There was no way Byleth could forget, neither brush it off as simple loyalty! And yet... Gustave's readied denial made the Archbishop's heart fall every time his brain replayed the scene.

A warm hand over his own made Byleth pull away in panic, quickly lifting his head. "Hu-weh?" He blurted out, his face devoid of color.

Gustave immediately retracted his touch, fearing he had disgusted the poor Archbishop with his vain attempt of carefully calling for his attention.

"Forgive me for my rudeness, my liege." He bowed slightly, hand over his own chest. "But you've barely touched your food. Is there truly nothing more worrying you?"

Huffing, Byleth felt his vision split from how fast his heart was beating. For a moment he thought Gustave had seen through his deepest desires and accepted him. Or rejected him.

Byleth didn't know what would be worse for his heart.

"I'm... fine." He said after a while, twirling the fork between his fingers before holding it properly so as to finally eat. "But I have something to say once we go back to my office."

"I will listen to any of your commands, my liege." Gustave concurred gracefully, his expression stern as usual, though only a trained eye could notice how his brow flickered slightly at the mention of the talk.

They once again walked in silence through the halls as they headed back to Byleth's study.

"I believe there was something you wished to tell me?" Gustave crossed his arms behind his back, his posture erect and impeccable.

In contrast to Byleth's slight slouch. "I have, yes." He said as he entered the door Gustave promptly opened for him. "You should visit your family." He said after taking three steps inside, not bothering to look back.

Which had been a mistake on his part, for he missed the look of utter shock and loneliness that ran so quick across Gustave face it was as though it had never been there. "My liege...? Have I displeased you so deeply that you would send me away?"

"Oh, come now." Byleth forced a smile as he circled his desk so as to sit behind it. "You haven't gone in a while, right? Actually, I think you only went two or three times after you started serving me here, three years and a half ago, I believe? They must miss you so very dearly."

Gustave felt as though Byleth's words were shoving him back into his place; back into where he belonged. Where he should have put himself at with more energy.

Of course, thoughts of his family never left his mind. Why, just earlier today he remembered how much Annette and Allinda enjoyed a good cup of tea with honey before a meal to 'open up' their appetites, as they liked to say... But those were far-away thoughts, memories he could barely grasp with the tip of fingers.

They were always at the back of his mind, yes.

But Byleth had always been at the front, especially lately.

Hearing Byleth himself mention his family made Gustave feel as though he had been betraying someone, though he wasn't certain whom. Himself? Byleth? His wife, Allinda? Annette? King Lambert?

The list of people Gustave had to live for to repay his sins was as long as the years it would take him to do so, which made him only wish to be able to live that long to see it all done.

From a parent and estranged husband's standpoint, there was absolutely no reason to refuse Byleth's order. Why, he would be able to go back to see how much his homeland had changed under King Dimitri's rule and spend time with his family.

Yet, his heart refused, bickering within his chest as though it were a crying child wanting to be tended to. Gustave opened and closed his mouth, a bitter taste preventing him to speak for a moment of two, but quickly regaining his composure. "As I do them, Archbishop." He said in a clear voice, piercing Byleth's heart. "However, I cannot simply go and leave you unattended-"

"My duties will keep me here at the monastery for a good part of the semester, as you know." Byleth interrupted, wanting to hide from Gustave's sight lest he started wailing and begging for him to stay instead. "I promise I'll summon you once I'm in need of your services -- at the upcoming summit with the western church."

That meeting was scheduled to happen in five months! Byleth was truly sending Gustave away like that-

"We can meet in Fhirdiad, halfway to the Western-" the Archbishop continued, not giving the knight the luxury of even think straight.

"I must refuse." Gustave said immediately, finally remembering he could walk towards Byleth's desk.

"Gustave?" The Archbishop looked up to the approaching man, his heart racing. Why was he so intent on staying? He should be happy to see his family-

"I refuse meeting halfway, my liege. I will not allow you to leave Garreg Mach without my personal escort. It was because I agreed to meet King Lambert in Duscur that the tragedy happened. I will not allow it to happen again; not while I still draw enough breath to protect you."

Blinking, Byleth felt elated and disappointed at the same time -- happy to be held in such high regard by Gustave, but sad that the other man wasn't saying he would rather not leave altogether.

"... Very well," he looked down to the papers on his desk, already neatly organized after this morning's meetings. "Then I shall grant you leave to be with your family, but I want you to return fifteen days prior to my departure to the Western Church. That should be enough time to let you in on all formations and details. Is that acceptable?"

Gustave bowed deeply, one hand over his chest. "It is, my liege. It's most magnanimous of you to take my family in consideration during such a turbulent time of your new post." He straightened his back swiftly, his serious gaze almost piercing through Byleth's regretful one. "Then I shall take my leave to prepare for the trip. I shall send a letter to precede my arrival, as well."

Byleth simply nodded, lowering his head so he wouldn't see the knight leaving. His heart was heavy enough with only listening to the strong steps becoming more and more distant, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Gustave left the room with a renewed sense of guilt -- how dare he get complacent in his thoughts of atonement! How dare he start to enjoy his time at the monastery while there were people he had hurt waiting for his return so he could pay for his sins?

How... how dare he.

His jaw was numb so hard did he grit his teeth, his fists clenched with such strength they trembled. How dare he.

The day Gustave departed, Byleth didn't go see him at the gate. Instead, he watched from atop the Goddess Tower as the knight left with an uncharacteristic hunch on his back, mounted on his horse towards the frigid Fhirdiad.

It hurt to see him go.

It hurt to have him close.

It hurt, hurt, hurt... "Oh, Father..." Byleth choked a tearless sob, holding the ring Jeralt had given him a lifetime ago. "Forgive me... I don't think I'll be able to pass on this ring after all." He clutched it close to his chest, looking at the same spot Gustave had pledged allegiance to him over three years ago.

Byleth could feel the warmth of that same sun, the dazzling sunset painting Gustave's hair in a purple light engraving itself into his own heart, never to leave. He would never forget that day, for as long as he lived. He had known, ever since the day he started carrying the ring to present it to his love, that he would never be able to do it to anyone but Gustave.

A man plagued by a life of dragging guilt.

A man whose smile came easily whenever he saw a child having fun. A man who was stern regarding meals, but lenient when it came to letting Byleth indulge into a snack or two.

He was stern most of the time, his hardened expression already dug into his face from wearing it daily over the years -- but whenever it all broke down to show his smile it only made Byleth feel his knees grow weak and his throat want to cry out.

Warm tears rolled from Byleth's cheeks; tears his skin hadn't felt in a long, long time. "It hurts so much, Father... Tell me what I should do!" his knees gave out in front of the balcony, the memory of a dusk-painted Gustave flooding his mind. He had suppressed these feelings for so, so very long.

So long did he try to wear the mask of a mature man; to be seen as an equal by Gustave. To be acknowledged. To... to be loved.

Loved by the man he oh so desperately wanted, but was the last man on the land he could ever hope to have. So cruel was the fate of a man who wanted nothing more than to share in the warmth of the one he oh so cherished...

He cried four years' worth of tears, his fingers cramping with the strength he used to hold onto the small ring. Day turned to afternoon, the Archbishop unmoving from his spot, a faraway thought at the back of his mind telling him that people would be freaking out looking for him at that moment. His eyes red from crying for so long, Byleth slowly directed his gaze to his closed hands, struggling to pry them open from their cramping position.

Once again he looked at the ring he was never going to share with his love, watching how it stared back at him.

In the six months that followed, Gustave devoted himself to doing whatever his family desired, as though they were his new lieges instead of his own flesh and blood.

Annette complained a lot at first, forcefully trying to make him act more natural around them, but it turned out to be rather difficult. Gustave wasn't the same man he was in the past. It was as though he had truly turned into Gilbert -- a hardened man that hadn't seen his family in so long he forgot how to interact with them without apologizing for every misstep; or indulging their every wish.

Being once again reunited with Allinda made Gustave's heart sink, but don't get him wrong. He loved and thought the world of her. She was a bright woman who managed to raise their child alongside his brother, despite holding onto the hope that her husband would come back after so long. He held her dearly close into his heart, their bonds of friendship certainly ones that would never break.

Hence the guilt in Gustave's heart. He loved Allinda as his dear friend. He wasn't supposed to feel that way towards the woman whose life he most certainly ruined. He had to love her and make up to all of the years he made her wait and suffer for him.

Yet, he could only softly hold her hand and kiss her forehead whenever they met, his heart wanting her near, but not too close.

Gustave started noticing his own shift of behavior towards his wife only after Byleth forcefully sent him there -- for the past four years he had been visiting, never did he think something was wrong.

But it was.

Allinda and Annette both realized it, but it was as though they wanted him to realize it himself instead.

The way he always looked out of the window whenever he came home, waiting for the courier to bring the message that it was time to return to the monastery.

The way he cared for them from a safe distance, as though there were an invisible barrier around his heart that neither of them could get too close to.

The way his smile would wear a bright glint whenever he spoke of his time at the monastery.

They both knew it, but they wanted him to figure it out by himself.

This time they spent together was precious, don't get them wrong. It was a time they were making up for the decade they lost -- and although the exact same atmosphere couldn't be brought out, they could still get along as a family with a bond just as strong yet inherently different.

The day the message finally came for Gustave to return to the monastery, the knight unconsciously wore the brightest smile Allinda had seen him bear in over twenty years -- perhaps ever since Annette had been born, really.

It was the smile of a man going back to where he belonged -- to be alongside the one he had placed his heart with.

She patted his shoulder. "You don't need to hold yourself back for me, you know."

The letter fell flat on the floor, such was Gustave's surprise. "Allinda-"

"I'm glad you finally noticed, too, good grief." She crossed her arms playfully. "Even Annette was getting tired of waiting."

Gustave held both of Allinda's hands. "I cannot- Allinda, the pain I've caused you-"

"Honestly, the way you are now is only going to bring me MORE pain. I'd rather see you smiling truthfully during your time here than only when it's time for you to go. And if you can only smile when you talk about the Archbishop, then so be it." She rubbed her thumbs over his hands, glad to be able to have this conversation with a level head. If she had tried to say these same words seven years ago, she would be throwing a fit.

But now she was okay.

They were okay.

Gustave's head drooped in shame, his face contorting into an expression he couldn't quite explain. "Allinda-"

"Shh, save your tears for your man." She dried an odd tear or two from his cheeks, squeezing his hand with her other one. "I'm not saying you shouldn't come back -- I still hold you dear into my heart and wouldn't want to lose a friend -- I just don't want you to feel obligated to be with me because of the past. It's fine already."

His chin trembling, Gustave dared wrap his arms around Allinda, softly sobbing by her shoulder. He hadn't the words to thank nor apologize, the burden of the overpowering guilt he felt slowly, ever so slowly dissipating from his back.

During the journey back, Gustave procured an item that he would most certainly need once he returned to the monastery. One that he should have given Byleth four years ago, but was much of a coward to do so then.

Yet, Byleth wasn't there to welcome him once he came back.

But it didn't matter.

He felt a youthful spring in his step as he climbed the Goddess Tower, the deepest, most romantic part of his heart telling him that Byleth would be there waiting for him, much like before.

His lungs burning from the strenuous climb, Gustave wheezed once he reached the top, the afternoon light coloring Byleth's hair in a dazzling purple. An intricate ring hung by the Archbishop's neck as a makeshift necklace, making the knight's gaze turn to it momentarily.

"G-Gustave! How did you know I-" Byleth stuttered, quickly hiding the ring from his sight.

Panting, slowly regaining his breath, Gustave tried to straighten his back to no avail. "I have come... to renew my vow to you... Byleth."

Looking away from the knight, it took more than a minute for Gustave's words to ring into Byleth's heart. "Your knightly vows, I'm presuming?"

"No." Gustave smiled, his eyebrows deep with worry and regret. The Archbishop didn't even flinch with the mention of his name, after all that scene from half a year ago...

"Then...?"

Gustave took out the small box which contained the ring he had bought for his beloved, solemnly presenting it to him. "Forgive me for not kneeling, my lie- no, my beloved, for I think that if I were to do it now after running all these stairs I would not be able to get up."

Byleth's hands fell limp on either side of his body, the ring dangling by his necklace. "This- I- Gustave- Your family-"

"Alas," the knight smiled, taking a step towards his liege and love. He relished on seeing how Byleth didn't move and simply raised his chin so their eye contact wouldn't break. "It was my ex-wife who had to give me the push I needed to do this, I am ashamed to admit."

Surely thinking he was dreaming, Byleth placed both hands over Gustave's chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat, their eyes never leaving one another. "To do 'this' what? Gustave, you need to say everything or else I'll keep believing you'll swear to be my knight again, but now with rings!"

"Hah!" The knight threw his head back. "I may have traumatized you, have I not, my love? Forgive me for being such a stubborn old man for so long... Allow me to say it fully: I love you, Byleth, and have been in love with you for quite some time now. Forgive me for denying these feelings for so long; but I will be yours right at this moment if you'll be mine for as long as this lifespan of mine allows."

Byleth slammed his head into Gustave's chest, making the older man let out a strangled 'oof!'. "You're so slow! By the goddess, it took you long enough!" He sniffled, gripping at the ring by his neck. "I love you so much I still think this is a dream."

"Allow me to disperse such thoughts, then?" Gustave said, slowly lifting Byleth's chin with his index, intertwining their breaths as their lips brushed against one another.

Byleth felt his tears itching down his cheeks, his legs trembling so much he felt faint. But once he closed his eyes to finally enjoy the rough, delicate kiss of his beloved Gustave, everything felt right again.

They would exchange rings and finally accept each other's feelings... But for now, they would enjoy that overly due, much needed, sweet kiss. The first one that would mark the beginning of the love of their lives.

#gilbert fire emblem #gilbert x m!byleth #byleth #fire emblem three houses #fe 3h #spoilers #fe 3h spoilers #my writings #yuki's commissions

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emikvs · 5 years

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SIDE EFFECTS MAY VARY. PLEASE CONSULT A DOCTOR BEFORE TAKING ANY MEDICATION....

september 14th, 2018 10:55 p.m. los angeles, california ocean view recovery center

journal entry #1. apparently i have to write these everyday, can you believe that? literally who am i talking to. dear therapist reading this, i think you’re stinky and a nosy piece of shit. ok that was mean. not a piece of shit, but the tie you wear kinda makes you look like an asshole. you kinda look like the old dudes that hang around my dad at political fundraisers. guess that’s why he picked this place, huh? but for real, i hope you don’t wear that tie again. it upsets me. you guys are supposed to care about that stuff right? if i’m upset? well i have some more to complain about. dinner today was okay. i give it a 6/10 stars. okay, maybe it would have gotten a 7 if you didn’t give me green jello. not even red jello.....but green. i can’t even begin to describe how much that upsets me. even the hospitals know better. fuck. i really wish i was high.

october 29th, 2018 10:13 a.m. los angeles, california ocean view recovery center

journal entry #45. some of the people here are really weird. i can’t tell if they’re celebrities or not when everyone starts whispering around them, or if they’re just really fucking weird and that’s why everyone is whispering. i will get to the bottom of this. also, i just want to say i think it’s very unfair you keep asking me about my dad when i know he did some not so legal stuff to get me here and out of school without penalty. doesn’t that make this center an accomplice? i’m not sure how it works, but what i’m trying to say is it seems a bit unfair on my end for you to be trying to act all professional and stuff when i know you aren’t. ask me about anything else. maybe drugs? isn’t that why i’m in rehab? whatever. there were oranges at breakfast today. i liked that.

december 25th, 2018 8:05 p.m. los angeles, california ocean view recovery center

journal entry #102. merry christmas! i think i’m finally remembering just how miserable it is to be sober. i know, not what you wanna hear, but for the sake of honesty i’ll go on. it’s not that i miss the drugs, exactly. i just miss being happy. that warm fuzzy kind of happy where i can’t feel anything. my brain doesn’t know how to do that without drugs. i don’t think it ever did. wanna know a fun fact? i never liked christmas very much as a kid. i though santa was a real asshole. all my life my parents would warn us about bad men that break into homes and how they were dirty criminals, but this red suit motherfucker gets a free pass because he leaves us presents? i didn’t get it. i thought santa was a bad guy. so one christmas, i think i was six, i stayed up. i waited for my sister to go to sleep and then i snuck out of our room to use the phone in the kitchen and i called 911. i told them someone was breaking into my house. naturally the cops showed up. i mean, you get a 911 call from a kid i guess you assume their parents are being held at gunpoint or something, i don’t know. but they took it seriously because they showed up to our house even though it was christmas and it was snowing. and i remember being so furious that santa hadn’t shown up. i was throwing a fit, crying and stuff. and my mom must have thought i was sad because there were no presents under the tree because all of a sudden she’s telling me that santa isn’t real, that daddy is the one who leaves the presents under the tree. that was my moment, the one people always talk about, when you figure out your parents are just people. that they kinda suck just like everybody else. i wish it was snowing here. i like the snow. it makes things quiet.

may 7th, 2019 2:34 p.m. los angeles, california ocean view recovery center

goodbye journal. goodbye ocean view. goodbye nosy (not a piece of shit) therapist. don’t hate me, but i bought you a tie. it’s got cats on it. nobody will mistake you for an asshole ever again if you’ve got cats on your tie. you can thank me the next time i overdose and have to check back in. (i’m kidding)

CAUTION. SIDE EFFECTS MAY INCLUDE...

september 9th, 2019 2:33 a.m. charlottesville , virginia university of virginia

dizzy ––––– she’s dizzy and she wishes she could blame it on the molly she’d stolen from cynthia, the molly she’d swallowed dry when she’d slipped out of sage’s apartment while everyone had been too distracted to notice, but she figures it’s all the other shit that’s got her legs literally shaking. plus it’s been a couple of hours now, and emiko really doesn’t think she’s high anymore. there’s too much noise inside her head. too many thoughts. she’s sweating despite the chill in the air, fall kissing summer as it says goodbye, the breeze blowing strands of dark hair into her face as she walks across a mostly empty campus. for a moment she’s tempted to take her shoes off. not for any particular reason, except maybe the hope that the action of curling her toes into solid ground might be enough to remind her that she was attached to her body still, her mind playing tricks. shadows dancing at the corners of her vision, the wind rustling through the trees sounding like voices ––––– she considers whether or not she’s going crazy before remembering the insane don’t ask those kinds of questions. the realization was more of a disappointment than a sigh relief. perhaps if she was out of her mind, truly out of it, then nothing would matter. every event that had transpired would be nothing but a string of meaningless moments. memories that held no substance, events that carried no weight or power. she’d be free. it’s in that moment that she starts to cry, her tears warm as they slide down her cheeks, the saltiness gathering onto the curve of her lip so she can taste it in her mouth. and then she laughs. if someone saw her now, alone and teary eyed, nails bitten down to bloody stubs, what would they think ? she’d like to imagine whatever narrative an onlooker might place her in, it would be kinder than the one she’s currently living. fuck did she need to be high right now.

there was a biology major that owed her a favor. and while neither of them remembered how exactly this debt had been acquired, he’d opened the door when she’d knocked, the scent of marijuana wafting the way someone’s perfume might if you stand too close. “ ––––– emi ? jesus christ, you look like shit. ” she didn’t doubt the truth in his statement, because she felt like shit, like every breath she took was filling her lungs with more air than she could handle and she was one second away from choking on it. still, he’d let her in, not asking any questions besides if she wanted water and if she wanted to do a line of coke with his girlfriend and roommate. she’d said yes to the coke. sitting at the edge of the couch after losing count of how much she’d snorted, emi had been counting the tiles on the ceiling before she’d spoken what would be her first sentence in over an hour. “ have you ever almost died before ? ” and she’s not talking to any one of them, really, their faces like little paint smudges on a much larger canvas. she can’t even tell if she’d received an answer, the sound of her own voice deafening. “ there’s nothing there. no light, like in the movies. it’s just fucking empty. ” she lost track of time after that. at some point she’d ended up in the bathroom, the coldness of the tiled floor a blessing to her fever hot skin. when she gets up, she’s met with her own reflection for the first time all night. her eyes are bloodshot, dark circles beneath them prominent enough to make someone think maybe it’s mascara that’s smudged under there. her bangs were matted into a sweaty mess, slick against her forehead. she smiles, just to see if her reflection does the same. the image didn’t feel real. that’s when she sees the pill bottle next to the sink.

impaired judgement. emi had always found it funny how that was listed as a side effect for intoxication, as if the judgement of a sober person was automatically assumed to be logical and clear. but that couldn’t be the case. no, impaired judgement was a side effect of being human, of being an imperfect creature with a tendency to self destruct. the pills she’d stolen rattle inside the pocket of her hoodie. emi feels them like a weight, as if every round capsule were made of lead and they were heavy enough to break through the lining and spill across the floor, exposing her for the thief she was. she wouldn’t have taken them if it had been any other normal night. she’d been desperate before but never like this, the urge to keep numbing herself until she slipped into the dreamy confines of unconsciousness stronger than she’s ever felt before. and that image ––––– the knife plunging into ashley, over and over. she wanted so bad to be rid of that. above all else, that was fucking with her head the most, like a movie she couldn’t figure out how to pause before it had learned to loop. her place is empty when she arrives. she hadn’t been checking her phone all night, but she figures maybe everyone is still at sage’s place. or maybe everyone had parted. or maybe they’d all disappeared like mina had, there one moment, gone the next. mina. the thought squeezes her throat shut, her chest tight with....grief ? or maybe it was panic. fear. hopelessness. she was too high to think about it too hard, to decipher just about anything that had happened since she’d slipped away from the rest of her friends. she takes the pills out of her pocket when she gets to her room, cross-legged on the bed as she realizes she’d swiped somebody’s anxiety medication. xanax. i’m a shit person, emi thinks, fingers going white as she grips the bottle tighter. she’s never missed rehab before, but in that moment she does, misses the way she had someone to talk to when the thought of doing something really fucking stupid crossed her mind.

ANY ABUSE OF MEDICATION CAN LEAD TO DEATH. PLEASE CONTACT POISON CONTROL IF NECESSARY...

one pill. then another. then another. emiko doesn’t remember much about when she’d overdosed, only how she had felt a little bit before it happened. she’d felt as if she was going to die. and it hadn’t been scary, not really, because she couldn’t feel much at that point. it was like pins and needles all across her body, only her body wasn’t her body, and her head was floating so far up into space she’d imagined saying hi to every single one of jupiter’s moons as she drifted past them. and then she’d woken up in a hospital room. that was the part she didn’t like to think about much. the look on her father’s face. the beeping of machines. the scratchy hospital sheets. one pill. then another. then another. if she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was in space, her vision going black. emi had never asked her parents what exactly it was that they’d told her siblings while she was in rehab. maybe they’d also been fed the study abroad excuse, the poolside pictures she’d posted from the ocean view recovery center enough to fool them the way they’d fooled her friends. all she knew was that they didn’t visit her the seven months she was there. on her worst nights alone in california, emi wondered if maybe they did know the truth. if maybe her father had told the rest of the family, but none of them had cared enough to visit her, so disenchanted with the reckless actions of their youngest sibling. but she knew that probably wasn’t true. her father’s political career depended on her secret being kept. family was no exception. one pill. two pills. she looks down at her hands. half the bottle was missing, her heart skipping a beat at the realization of exactly what she’d just done. fifteen seconds ––––– for a good fifteen seconds, emi considers closing her eyes again and leaning back. she’d never believed old people could really die painlessly in their sleep because of natural causes. maybe this was the next best thing. but then she’s up and on her feet, quick to kneel down in front of her toilet and shove her fingers down her throat until she’s retching, emptying her stomach, the burning sensation almost unbearable. when she’s done, she presses her face against the base of her bathtub, her body sinking down to the floor. she lets her eyes unfocus for a moment, everything blurry and white before she shuts them. snow. it looked like snow.

#╰ ♡ . 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 ── exploration ! ┘#drug tw #overdose tw #IDK WHAT ELSE TO TW THIS UHH #suicide tw #kinda ???#just to be safe <3 #me: hmm kinda wanna write a lil something aha #me: doesnt stop

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jonathankatwhatever · 3 years

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One of the strangest dream experiences I’ve ever had. Half the setting was one I’ve been in many times, a very unusually constructed home essentially built on a platform so there was space all the way under it (though the land under did not, to me, obviously tilt, which isn’t entirely logical because the insides would be tilted), with a giant shaded space underneath, and then up into an ‘office’ space which actually would tip to the ground. But it began inside somewhere and switched back to inside.

Oddity one. You were there. And I interacted with you, though you never seemed to look at me or talk to me. I handed you something and added something to whatever you were saying to someone else. You then walked off while oddity two happened, which is there were people outside and they talked to me. I had actual conversations with adults and children. They all knew who I was, but some said things like you’re the one we never talk about. And one asked me what we were doing (and I told him we were building a mind bomb, one that goes off in your head, where the cool thing is you only have to hear it and you can’t stop it). Someone was actually flipping through my notebooks. I had a wonderful conversation with the cutest little boy (or girl - it was a boy, but it shifts because the boy starts to look like me because of the shape of his face and the way he actually banged off the furniture like I would to get right to the spot where I would give him full attention, and the way he accepted me checking him long enough (by saying you’re okay, right) so I could focus on him. There was a familiarity about him, so he attaches to other images and might even be a projection of myself over the actual child.

Very odd thing: Peggy eyes reappeared and told me she’d read an early version of my math, and didn’t much like it. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. They grow large inside and disappear. She literally seemed to blink out of the dream. Same haircut, darker hair. Peggy was what we now call autistic. She couldn’t focus because she could not contain herself inside herself. Same eyes disappearing. Can’t forget that. We saw into each other in 2nd grade in the back row of Miss Doughty’s class. Miss Doughty was a classic, now obvious lesbian in maybe her 40’s or 50’s. It’s hard to tell because she was what they called well preserved and she was strict but with a warm inside. The school asked me to sit with a new girl who they said was very smart but very strange. They actually gave me a real description in real words. So I sat with her in the back, then they asked me what I thought, which was the above with examples. Never saw Peggy again, but I know those eyes. I know because when I connected to her, she could feel it. She resisted the connection and reacted after that by refusing to listen to me at all. She even wrote all 9’s down on a paper directly refusing me until I gave up. That’s why I recognize the eyes. You don’t see into another complexity like that and not remember how it looks inside.

In the middle of that, I was looking at a program for what seemed to be a holiday choral show. This became a you’re going to the show in disguise and you appeared dressed very young with a group of young people, except as I watched your clothes essentially disappeared and you were all but naked as you left with these other high school aged. It was you as an adult looking like a late teen, not as you actually looked but as you would look if you were a teen with your adult body. My reactions went from great disguise to she can’t be wearing that dress to she’s naked to stuck in my brain forever wow.

That’s how I woke up.

I only recently started to see my dreams again.

I remember I’ve had that conversation about the mind bomb before. I remember having this dream before. Rather than fading from memory as a dream usually does, this one is strengthening. It looks a lot like you’re doing some event and people come up to chat with me. I say that because it has to be something trivial or apparently trivial for it to be able to rise to the gs surface. If it were not a ‘trivial gs’, it would be too heavy with personal meaning, as opposed to generality. That is, I have to be free of worries, and what I see has to be super important but not important at all. That is, the trivial gs space is a complexity in which importance bips perpendicular to me. Cross the Bhyp importance runs from the tips of xK and yK across szK, so it generalizes ordinally across an LC. I typed IC and changed it because generality is IC but the event or space is define generally out of larger generality, meaning it’s an enclosure in which all those experiences above happen, not any enclosure, not any experiences, but the container of those. That means it is defined externally by all that went into making that enclosure, that moment, that event, that experience. This is a new way of defining LC. Desperately needed. (But I have to tell you the images of your dress disappearing are flashing in my brain as I struggled through those thoughts. My visual buffer was over-loading, which made that both difficult and possible.)

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bowtomycoolclocks · 7 years

Text

Just Let Go Part 2

Pairing: Archie Andrews x Reader

Summary: The core five have just met you, the new bad-ass of Riverdale. However, when you first meet them it doesn’t go as smooth as some predicted until you met Archie Andrews. Will you level with the core four or lose Archie in the process?

Warnings: Slight cussing, fluff, insults to a cute ginger boy (sorry!).

A/N: Hey guys! New post for the second part of this series. Let’s just say, there are going to be some real plot twists :). I am reallllyy proud of this part, and I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it! Plus this is a pretty lengthy part so I also accomplished something! Yay! Anyways, stay tuned for next week! I hope you guys enjoy once again. Don’t forget that requests and tags are still open.

Archie’s POV

It was the morning after of me speaking to Y/N. When I had first met her, I thought she was mean for no reason. Until yesterday, she proved me wrong. I enjoyed talking to her, even if she was “different” from the rest of our school. I was taking my morning jog around Riverdale when I came up to an oddly familiar car. I stopped and looked at the tail of the car. It was Y/N’s! I wondered if she lived around here. I looked around and I forgot that this isn’t a neighborhood, it’s the side of a road. Why is her car parked here if she lives in a neighborhood? I walked to the car and saw a figure through the tinted windows. I inched closer to the window and squinted my eyes. The figure had was asleep in the back, a blanket wrapped around its body. Then I looked upwards, I saw the features of this figure. The sweet, innocent eyes closed, the plump lips pursed, the eyebrows relaxed. It was her, I could recognize it then.

“Y/N?” I questioned aloud. She didn’t reply, her features perfectly still and peaceful. I banged against the window and called her name once more. She groaned as she sat up. She wiped her eyes with her palm and finally looked at me.

“Pretty boy?” She asked startled, then she opened the car door across from where I was standing.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Um, my parents were being assholes, so I decided to sleep here. I did not want to be in their presence.” She looked away, guilt in her eyes.

“Can I come in?” Y/N slid her body to the other side of the car. I sat two seats away from her and closed the door. I moved my body toward her.

“Now can you tell me the real reason why you’re sleeping in your car.”

“Listen, Jim Halpert, I already told you-”

“But people could listen then, please whatever it is, I won’t judge you.” She squinted at me. Probably wondering if she should tell me, she took a long deep breath in.

“I live in here.”

“You’re homeless?!?!”

“Yeah what’s so wrong with that!” She crossed her arms.

“There’s nothing wrong with that! I’m just surprised.”

“Listen, not everyone has a perfect family like yours.”

“My family is by all means, not perfect. But did you run away because of your family?”

“Not yet abs-for-brains, not yet.” I sighed and lifted my hands in defeat.

“Wait! What day is it?!?!” Y/N started to freak out, she was searching for something, most likely her phone.

“It’s Saturday.” She relaxed back into the seat.

“Thanks. Since I’m up, I guess I should change, so could you make like an Autobot and roll out.” Y/N demanded, crossing her arms.

“That was pretty clever. Fine but I’m hanging out with you today.”

“Really? To be honest I’ve had enough of stereotypical teen football star for a while.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes, smiling.

“Well I haven’t had enough of the teenage dirtbag, so we’re hanging out again.” She smirked.

“Fine. Get me my clothes from the trunk.” I glared at her and crossed my arms.

“Please.” She begged while she pouted. I groaned and opened the car door. Then I walked to the back of the car and banged on it.

“Hey, my baby was expensive, you dent it, I dent your face!” I laughed and the trunk popped open. The trunk had a bunch of things other than clothes hidden inside. There were packs of cigarettes, blankets, pillows, tooth paste, a tooth brush, a hair brush, a razor, a bottle of soap, shampoo, and conditioner, lastly, there was a journal. My fingers gravitated towards it, but I retracted. If I had invaded her privacy, she would trust me even less. I got a random shirt and pants and brung it to where she was. I handed her the shirt and pants, and she peered out the door frame.

“If you peek, just once. I’m going to go rip out your balls and attach them to your face.” Then she entered back in and closed the door. I placed my back against the door, to make sure no one would peak on this side. However, I am a boy with hormones. I started to heat up, and I was blushing thinking about what she was doing right behind my back. I shook my head, trying to let those perverted thoughts leave me.

Then there was a knock on the door, and I turned around. She looked changed and ready to go, so I pushed off the car and opened the door for Y/N.

“Well aren’t you just charming.” She stated sarcastically getting out of the car.

“I know, that’s what makes me so likable.” I replied staring at her. She rolled her eyes, “Anndd you just turned back to a jerk.”

“Was I ever a jerk though.” I winked at her.

“Not until now.” Then she winked at me and walked to the driver’s seat. My heart fluttered and my cheeks got rosy. I then walked to the passenger’s seat and got inside the car.

“Let’s go to ‘Pops’.” I suggested.

“Why should I let you tell me what to do?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows at me.

“You always tell everyone else what to do, I think it’s only fair.” I smirked.

“Damn, you got me there,” She started the engine, “Nice comeback by the way.” Then she zoomed into the direction of “Pops”.

When we reached “Pops”, Y/N and I exited the car and walked to the front door. She held it for me.

“Ladies first.” She spoke smiling, I couldn’t help, but return the smile and I entered the restaurant.

Pops walked up the counter.

“Hey Pops, we’re going to get take out.” I said to him. Y/N then turned to me, a confused look on her face.

“Sure Archie, whatcha want?”

“Six burgers, two fries, two root beer floats, and some of your delicious apple pie.” I smiled at him.

“Okay son, I’ll be out as soon as the orders finished.” Then Pop entered the kitchen.

“I have a question, why are we ordering out?” Then I turned to Y/N.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“Oh, whatever. Just so you know, I hate surprises.”

“Who woulda thunk it?” I quipped sarcastically.

“You know, you’re starting to become a lot more me. I like it.” She smirked at me.

Then soon after Pops brought out bags and bags of our food. I beamed at him and took out a 20 dollar bill and a 10 dollar bill, and handed it to him.

“Keep the change,” I told him and waved goodbye to him, walking out of the diner. We walked up to the car.

“I have to tell you something.” I spoke up and turned around with some bags of food in my hand.

“What is it?” Y/N looked concerned which warmed my heart.

“I have to drive your car to get to the place we’re going.” I confessed.

“Ohhh no, no, no, this baby is my home, literally, and if you scratch it by driving I will destroy you.”

“I’m a good driver!” I exclaimed.

“You could tell me where to go and it could drive there! Also, do you even know how to drive?” She asked, putting her hand on her waist.

“It would ruin the surprise! Besides, I have my learners permit.”

“Are you kidding me! Hell no!”

“What about you?! You’re the same age as me, where’s your license?” I interjected.

“I have one!”

“Then show me it.” I demanded. She groaned and searched her pocket. Y/N took out her license and held it out to me.

“Y/N L/N, age 19, Riverdale.” I read.

“This is fake!”

“Hey, could you be any louder?” She hushed me and looked side to side.

“Fine, it’s fake, but who cares! I am an amazing driver!”

“If I say you’re an amazing driver can I please drive the car.” I pleaded.

“I want you to beg.” Y/N pointed to the ground, and I squatted down, my knees rested on the gravel.

“Please Y/N! Let me drive your beautiful car. I know you’re the best driver around here and I know I am not worthy but I have to please! I need to. Please!” I begged, holding my arms out in front of me. Y/N started to laugh, then she started to laugh harder, tears prickled down her face. She whipped the tears and sighed.

“That was the best thing I have ever seen in my life, ever. I also didn’t imply for you to go that far, but you still did and it was incredible. Even the compliment towards me and my baby was unnecessary but sooo worth it.” My mouth dropped open, I stood up and dusted the gravel off my knees.

“You got what you wanted, can I drive the car now.”

“Fine let’s go.” Then we both walked to the car and got inside.

“I am being serious though, don’t scratch her.”

“I promise.”

We got to Sweetwater River, where Jason Blossom was murdered. I know, very creepy, but before his passing, it was a place of relaxation and serenity. Who knows maybe that feeling will come back.

“Where are we?” Y/n asked, looking at the river, still sitting in the car.

“Sweetwater River.”

“I’ve heard of this place. This is where that kid Jason Blossom mysteriously died.” Y/N stated, and got out of the car.

“Uh yeah, this is the place.” I said, getting out of the car as well.

“Sooo why are we here exactly? As much as I am obsessed with death, this is kinda creepy.” Y/n announced, wrapping her arms around her chest.

“I thought you were brave, fearless. Where is that girl right now?”

“For god sakes, we are near the crime scene of a death, much less a murder! I am allowed to feel a little creeped!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Calm down…”

“Oh don’t you tell me to calm down! I have been putting up with you for two days straight! Don’t even get me started on your friends and their crazy obsession trying to ‘befriend’ me! And if you think I’m-!”

“Just shut up!” I yelled. Then she stopped talking and looked at me, silent.

“I’m sorry I yelled. But before this massacre ever happened Sweetwater was a place to go when you wanted silence and peace. I know it doesn’t seem like it anymore, but this place was amazing. I wanted to have a picnic with you and try to bring back those emotions.”

“Oh.”

“So can you try to eat here? If it’s too weird, we can go. But just try.” Y/N’s look softened and she nodded her head. Then I took out the bags of food from the car and placed them on the ground. I took off my letterman and placed that on the ground as well.

“I’m not going to sit on your jacket.” Y/N started.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s yours, I have blankets in the car, I don’t want to ruin it for no reason.”

“I know you have blankets but it’s okay.“

"Stop being such a pain in the ass and let me get us a blanket.” Y/N said pointing to the trunk. I put my jacket back on.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” She breathed out and then walked to the car. She opened the trunk and got out a big quilt. Then she placed it on a spot where we could see the river and the trees behind us. This reminded me of the date I had with Miss. Grundy. Now I felt bad, my eyes looked down. This was the place I took Geraldine for our first date, if you could call it that. I know this isn’t a date with Y/N-although I’d like for it to be- I couldn’t help but feel a tinge amount of guilt.

“Hey Marty McFly, are you okay?” Y/N asked, making me look up at her. The blanket was set up and the food containers were opened.

“You did that very quickly.” I chuckled.

“Nooo, you were just in la la land for quite some time.” She smirked. I then sat down on the blanket and patted the plush material so Y/N would sit next to me. She followed in pursuit. We sat there for a while, and watched the river rip through the rocks.

“You see this isn’t so bad.” I spoke up.

“If I hear one thing that isn’t coming from over here, I’m zooming.” I laughed and continued to stare at the forest.

“As much as I would love to watch the waves, I’m starving.” Y/N added. She then took out a burger and her teeth clamped around the bun. She chewed for a moment then swallowed her food.

“I gotta tell ya’, Pops burger’s might be the best I’ve ever had. If I had known that Riverdale held the best burgers in the world, I would have been here sooner.” Y/N laughed taking another bite of a new burger.

“Where did you live before Riverdale?” I asked tilting my head at Y/N.

“About two county’s away from here. I had heard about Riverdale from the Jason Blossom thing on the news one day.”

“The Jason Blossom thing?” I questioned raising my eyebrow at her.

“You know what I mean. I don’t want to say the word. Who knows, he could be here right now.” Y/N wiggles her eyebrows at me and she finished her last burger.

“Were you friends with him?” She inquired as I took a bite out of my burger.

“With who? Jason?” I replied, my mouth stuffed with the delicious goodness of the burger.

“Yes with Jason.” She remarked laughing.

“I mean I’d seen him around the school, but I never talked to him, he was really popular and at the time Betty and Jughead were my only friends.” Y/N frowned at me.

“That can’t be possible.”

“But you stand, or better, sit, corrected. I really didn’t have many friends. When I joined the football team as varsity captain I suppose I got ‘popular’, even though I really just hang out with the core five.”

“The core five?” Y/N looked sideways, an incredulous look on her face.

“Yeah, Veronica, Betty, Jughead, Kevin and I, we are the core five.”

Y/N scoffed, “That’s ridiculous.”

“You know, you could join us.”

“Sorry Ron Weasley, I’m a lone wolf.” Y/N commented shooting her hand into the breeze.

“You don’t have to be! I know you and Ronnie aren’t on good terms, but what about Jughead?!?! It’s evident Betty looked wants to get to know you better. I’m not too sure about Kevin. But I think you’re really cool, if that matters.” I looked down pink tinting my face. Y/N gave me a light shove with her arm.

“You know out of all the people I’ve met in Riverdale, I hate you the least.”

“That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She started to laugh.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“So what do you say?”

“About what?”

“You know joining the core five!”

“Nah, I think I’ll pass.”

“Aww come on.”

“No!” She giggled, wait did she just giggle?

“Pleeeaaaaseee.” I pouted.

“You can’t break me, kid, I’m tough as nails.”

“You can be the tough one in our group!” I exclaimed.

“Uh huh.”

“Just think about it?”

“Fine.” I then looked at her eyes wide.

“What?” She questioned, I shook my head.

“Nothing.”

“Let’s change the subject. Hmm,” She turned to the sky, a thinking look on her face, “Since you’re the 'All American Boy’, how many girls have you slept with this year.” Not pink, but red spread all over my face.

“Wh-what?” I stuttered, scratching the back of my head.

“I mean, you’re captain of the football team, you’re innocent, you’re weirdly sweet, you have the boyish charm, you’re attractive, and albeit you have a what? Six pack? Girls and guys are into that. So, how many girls OR guys have you slept with this year?” Did Y/N in a strange way compliment me?

“I thought I wasn’t your type, why are you complimenting me?” Y/N looked down at the blanket, what was that on her face? Was she blushing?

“I’m stating the facts. But, a long time ago, you would have been like my dream guy.” My face light up.

“Really?”

“Yep, I would have probably fallen for you, hard.”

“But not anymore.” Y/N added.

“I learned my lesson liking guys like you.” She looked up, staring at me.

“What do you mean?”

“Guys like you from the outside perspective, you are perfect. I thought so too, but I had fallen for your type. I’d try going up to him, but he was cruel and mean. He’d always pick on me and tried to make me feel lesser. And I felt bad for him! Then one day, something just hit me. I knew that what he was doing was terrible, so I vowed to never like guys like him.”

“I’m not like him though.”

“How do I know that?”

“I’ll prove it to you.”

“Sureee you can, as you may tell, I’m pretty stubborn for my views to be changed.” Y/N said gesturing to her body.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Anyways you didn’t answer my question.” Y/N stated, trying to go off topic. However, I won’t pry her for more information, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

“Okay, well I haven’t 'done it’ with any of the kids out our school.” That’s the truth, Miss. Grundy was definitely not a kid. Stop it, Archie!

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“I tell the truth.” Kinda.

“Well, it doesn’t matter 'cause you haven’t tried fries with the vanilla and chocolate milkshake.” I said.

“For some reason that sounds like something a cult would do. It’s a little weird.”

“Trust me, when you try it, you’ll be a changed woman.” She smirked at me, and I got the shakes and fries ready. I demonstrated to her what to do, although it was common sense. She then followed, and when she bit into the fries, her eyes lit up.

“Oh my gosh!!!” She gushed taking in a handful of fries.

“Told you.” I stuffed my face with fries and milkshakes.

“You have to taste the apple pie next!” I exclaimed.

It was night time, Y/N and I stared at the stars.

“The stars are beautiful huh?” I breathed out.

“I guess so.”

“Do you not like stars?”

“I don’t think so. Stars are liars. You think that they are magical, that they have special powers or something,” She inhaled deeply, “But they’re just gas. They’re just made out of gas and they’re not special. They lie and I- we, believe that they mean something. But in a universe, a galaxy with infinite planets they are nothing but gas.” I turned my face and saw there was a tear down her face. I then sat up and Y/N did the same. I tucked in a piece of hair from her face.

“Stars give people hope to reach them.”

“Not the stars I’ve interacted with.” I hugged her, she was at first tense then she relaxed in my arms and returned my hug. I pulled away. The lights of the car were the only thing keeping us from the dark. She looked so beautiful, I couldn’t help but close my eyes and inch towards her. I could tell we were inches apart, then she coughed. I opened my eyes and saw that Y/N was farther away from me. She stood up and started taking the garbage.

“It’s late we should probably get going. Don’t want to see the monsters out here.” She gave me a tight lipped smile and walked to the back of the car and dumped the trash in. Then she walked to the driver’s seat and got in the car. I, however, was still on top of the blanket, staring straight ahead. What did I just do?

Tags:

@allison0609 @lupinlys @graysonmalfoy @rosaetum @parkcrspeter

#archie x reader #archie andrews #archie comics #riverdale x reader #riverdale #jughead #jughead x reader #jughead jones #veronica lodge #betty cooper #kevin keller #southside serpents #x reader

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smt-here · 7 years

Text

That I Had Hoped

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (female pronoun)

Genre : Angst, tiny bit of fluff

Warning : Major angst, I shed a tear while writing and also cursing

Word Count : 4884 words

A/N : This is the part 2 of ‘That I Have Regretted’, I was really hoping that the part 1 pulled your heartstrings to the point of almost snapping and judging by the comments some of you left me, I kinda did it??? loll anywho I’m also currently writing a romcom for Steve Rogers so make sure to look out for it! for those who wants to be on my taglist, dm me, I might accidentally skip it if you leave a comment on a story so just dm me and tell me that you want to be tagged for my upcoming stories. Btw I might make this into 3 or 4 parts ?? Let me know what you guys think about this story! Your input helps me write even better and if y’all hate looking at my face pls let me know so that I won’t make you guys feel uncomfortable while reading whatever it is I wrote and change my picture to a picture of someone or something else loll. - Nana 🌸

A/A/N : HIS EYES PIERCED THROUGH MY NONEXISTING SOUL I HATE HIM FOR DOING THIS TO ME

That I Have Regretted ( Part 1 of the series )

17 hours, 27 minutes and 48 seconds...

He waited that long for her.

He wouldn’t budge from his kneeling position he was in at the first 7 hours of the operation, no matter how his legs hurt from the awkward position and angle, no matter how his brain told him that he’s tired from all the fighting and that he needed rest, no matter how his stomach cried out for food and his throat croaked for water, he ignored it all so that he would be the first to know about (Y/N)’s condition.

It hurt him knowing that he may or may not be living the rest of his life in regret and all the waiting made his anxiety crawl into his brain and also that things were bad between him and her before the eternal slumber takes her away from him. He wanted to rewind, rewind to all those times he had made her worried, angry, tired, he wanted to change those moments to be filled with soft kisses, whispers of nothing, affectionate ‘I love you’s that would make both of their stomaches filled with butterflies. He wanted to turn back to all those times and fix things.

But he also wanted to turn back to their most happiest times; when the both of them accidentally blurted out that they love each other at the same time, when they snuck out of the tower at 3 am just to get midnight ice cream and ended up binge watching horror movies until 11 am, when she first calm him down during his first week of being with the Avengers, how her arms would wrap around her neck despite the punches he gave her due to his fear of hurting her if his episodes came back, not realizing he was already hurting her, but for some reason she stood by his side since day one.

Oh how stupid he was.

He didn’t know better.

Frustration had taken over him, making him forget the things she had done for him.

Now the only thing that is being repeated in his head is the moment he told her that they both needed a break, that she had taken him for granted, that they both needed time apart.

“I think we both should take a break”

“It’s clear that you and I have been together for too long, we forgot the value of our relationship and yo-we… misused each other’s company… so… let’s… find out what we need best for ourselves…”

Oh how dumb he had been.

In that moment he really wanted to punch himself, harm himself in some way to make it up to (Y/N)’s pain, (Y/N)’s current suffering, and (Y/N)’s current battle with death.

But knowing that he’ll heal in a couple of hours made him realized that it won’t be fair, that it won’t be the same. So living with no physical harm is the best option. Because God knows how mentally broken he is right now and he’d have to live with that.

Steve had managed to drag him away from his kneeling position after the first 7 hours, saying that he’ll burn the floor soon enough and that he’ll leave a mark on the floor. Steve also managed to feed Bucky, though all that he would eat was just a couple of sandwiches-that Wanda specially made to help the poor soldier in his toughest time-and a bottle of water.

After Doctor Cho fixed (Y/N) up temporary and informed him that the operation was a success, he rushed to her side in mere seconds only to break down again at the sight of her; oxygen mask covering her mouth, her parted lips puffing small puffs of air, eyes closed tightly like as if she was sleeping, and what broke him the most is the sight of a tube attached to her chest, her holed chest where a grappling hook once settled in is on just a hollow hole that’s covered by a tube and a machine that will keep her alive for God knows how long.

Bucky cried, he screamed, and bang on the floor, cursing himself, blaming himself for what had happened.

(Y/N) risked her life for him and what did he repaid her with? A fucking break to their long relationship.

He repaid the only woman who would ever accept him as he is with cold, painful venom injected straight to her heart, only thinking about himself and not about how she also feel about his decision.

“Hey popsicle”

Bucky’s body froze when he heard someone spoke from behind him. Never in his life had he let anyone see him in his most vulnerable state. Bucky had always believed that his most vulnerable state was when he cried, he’d only let those he trusted with all his life to see him in that state. Which obviously meant that he only had let Steve and (Y/N) see him cry; Steve saw him cry when he brought Bucky to his mother’s grave, Bucky cried waterfalls for 20 minutes straight, while (Y/N) saw him cry when he had his nightmares, his past came haunting him back, forcing him to believe that he couldn’t change.

“Go away Stark, I’m not in the mood” he choked out, trying his best to quickly wipe his tears.

Tony, obviously being the stubborn man he is, only rolled his eyes and walk closer towards the slumping man, “Oh save your words, Bucket, I don’t care whether you’re taking a shit or braiding your hair, if one of my team members are in jeopardy I’m willing to go through hell to help them... and I needed to have your-” Tony then paused his words to crouch down next to the man, “-approval for the arc reactor that are going to be put in (Y/N)’s holed chest” he continued.

Bucky snapped his head towards Tony when he mentioned the arc reactor.

“You’re gonna- what?”

“Put an arc reactor in (Y/N)’s chest” Tony completed his sentence.

At the sight of Bucky’s shocked and confused expression, Tony explained to him the reason as to why he had the idea in the first place, “You see, the impact from the grappling hook resulted some of her organs to shut down and her heart to slowly dying” at the mention of (Y/N)’s heart slowly dying, Bucky’s jaw and fists clenched, seeing that, Tony cleared his throat, indicating that he has good news despite the bad news that Bucky heard was severe enough to result in panic, “The arc reactor will support her like how a normal heart would, it will keep her blood pumping and I promise you that she will be living her life normally once the operation’s done”

It was kind of too much for Bucky to handle.

He had too many questions running in his head about her safety and the possibilities about the arc reactor being inside her.

But out of all question he could’ve spoke out, he decided to question his own significance in the decision making part, “Why are you asking me this?” he blurted out, “Well, obviously you’re the boyfriend, and I know that she trust you enough to let you make these kinds of decisions in her life” Tony shrugged.

Truth to be told, Tony had always treated (Y/N) as his own daughter, having Pepper leaving him for her business hurt him and even after being put in jail by Tony and siding with Captain himself, she took upon the role of someone responsible enough to stop Tony from doing shits to himself like back before the whole Afghanistan shit happened.

Of course Tony was more than grateful that (Y/N) pulled him from the abyss back to the land of the living once more. No one cared enough to give precaution for Tony but there (Y/N) was, both literally and figuratively slapping him back to reality.

Since then Tony swore to himself that he won’t let anything hurt her, including Bucky. Oh, how close he was to blowing the man’s head seconds after he knew what happened between him and (Y/N). Despite his temporary hatred towards the half metal man, he also knows how much (Y/N) loves him, how much she trusted her life in his hands and that Bucky is the only person she trusted to make one of the biggest decisions in her life for her.

Tony was more than willing to make the decisions himself knowing that-obviously-between all of them, him and Steve are more eligible than anyone else to make such decisions. But God knows how Bucky would’ve flipped even more if he wasn’t informed.

Silence enveloped them both, the only sound that could be heard was the slow beeps of the machines that’s keeping (Y/N) alive temporarily. The same atmosphere as the one he experienced the day he did the most regretful thing in his life clouded the room in mere seconds and to be honest, it’s bugging him more than ever considering the same atmosphere brought catastrophe in his life. How life just love to poke fun at him, he thought.

“Does she mean it?” Bucky blurted out, breaking the icy cold silence that was enveloping everything in the room.

“What?” Tony snapped out of his own trance and look at the man next to him, “That she trust me enough to let me make these decisions for her” he croaked out, tears once again threatening to spill from his icy blue orbs, drops of emotions that he kept to himself. To him, those tear drops represents every single mistakes that he had ever done and those tear drops are proof of how low he thought of himself, and each of those tear drops represents reasons as to why (Y/N) decided to stay with the now-warm-blooded soldier.

Reluctantly, Tony nodded to Bucky, “Yeah, she means it...” Tony was looking for words to prolong his answer, short answers made him feel like he’s defeated, at loss of words and even worse, clueless. But that’s just it, that’s the only words there is to answer Bucky and one of his insecurities.

Bucky knows. Bucky knows it too well that there’s not much time left until (Y/N) organs began shutting down one by one, trapping her inside her own body until someone decide to pull the plugs and let her have her early well deserved rest. For someone who has been alive for a hundred years, time seems to be insufficient.

Talk about irony.

“T-this arc reactor...” Bucky gulped a little before boring his eyes back to where (Y/N) laid, “It won’t do her any harm, right? She’d still be able to be a normal person after it being put in her?” he continued, thinking of different scenarios of the outcome the arc reactor might brought upon (Y/N).

Tony scoffed, “Now you’re just degrading me... Look at me, I don’t think I’ve ever been better! If it’s anything, the arc reactor actually made me better! Plus, Loki wouldn’t be able to make her one of his... Zombie slaves or whatever he made humans as with his sceptre”

Bucky nodded knowingly at Tony’s words.

“Anything... Would be better than her dying like this, right?” he muttered to himself before suddenly snapping his head towards Tony with a piercing yet determined gaze.

“How soon can you put this reactor in?”

3 days later

Bucky never left.

He never left the room even for just one bit.

Shower? He’d use the bathroom inside (Y/N)’s room.

Food? Steve would bring him food despite him saying that now is not the time to eat and Steve would go to a whole mother hen mode, scolding him and all.

Entertainment? He’s fucking worried, how is he supposed to be entertained?

But Sam and Steve would often go back and forth into (Y/N)’s room to talk to Bucky and check on (Y/N). Heck, even Peter Parker-the scrawny boy who was currently the new member of the Avengers and being close to (Y/N) came to drop small gifts for her later when she wakes up. Even the girls would come into the room, they’d assure Bucky that everything will be alright, nothing is going to be wrong, both Wanda and Natasha would also clean (Y/N) up since both of them are the most capable as in not going to break down crying if (Y/N) doesn’t respond to their touch. Read : Bucky.

“Bucky?”

Bucky looked to the door and saw Clint coming into the room, Lila and Cooper grinning on both of his sides, “If you wouldn’t mind, Lila and Cooper had been desperate to see their auntie (Y/N) again” Clint said sheepishly, he knew that Bucky doesn’t want to be disturbed but on the other hand he also knew that Bucky won’t deny children’s presence in the room.

When Bucky nodded with a small smile on his face, Lila and Cooper ran into the room and made their way to both of (Y/N)’s sides. Though (Y/N) wasn’t able to respond to them, they talked to her, telling her stories from their school, their daily life and their hopes and wishes for her.

“You look bad, Bucky” Clint said as he sat down next to the half metal man in the couch in (Y/N)’s room. Bucky glanced at the man, “It’s been a while since I’ve gone out...” Bucky muttered before letting his gaze move back to (Y/N) and the children on her sides.

Clint sighed loudly, he had his hand to his forehead, rubbing harshly, “You’re not the only one who’s taking (Y/N)’s situation hardly... (Y/N), she was-” Clint paused, taking a deep breath so that he was able to continue talking, “(Y/N) isn’t like any other recruits... She was so young when she joined the Avengers, she was about to graduate high school and God she was a blessing to us...” Clint chuckled at the thought. Bucky let out a small grin too, thinking about (Y/N) in her graduation outfit.

“You know, her parents... Were against her being with us, so she ran away from home, she cried on her first night here saying that she regretted leaving home, leaving her family and friends behind... She’d often go to Tony for comfort since Tony is surprisingly able to handle her state back then... But she know she have us, she have her new family with her and she regretted nothing...” Clint suddenly reached to his pocket and took his phone out, he scrolled through the pictures in his phone and stopped at a certain photo.

At first he only smiled to himself, making Bucky curious. But he soon moved his phone to Bucky, to show him the picture he found, “During her graduation, Tony and Natasha came as her parents and boy was everyone shocked, they thought that the great Tony Stark had a lovechild with his own teammate” Bucky laughed slightly when Clint said that, he imagined what it was like to be in Tony’s shoes back then.

As the chuckles subsided, silence began enveloping them again. The atmosphere had once again turned cold. Bucky began imagining what it would be like to reminisce about those moments he and the other Avengers had had with her if she won’t make it.

But Clint didn’t want him to be sad so he put an arm on bucky’s shoulder and looked straight at him with a firm smile, “I’ve seen her fight, I’ve seen her battle for survival many times...” he started, his grip grew firmer yet Bucky didn’t falter even once to the touch, “She’ll make it through this one” he then moved his gaze to the unconscious girl who is surrounded by his children and firmly nod at himself, “Yup, that girl is a survivor”

Somehow Clint’s words pierced Bucky’s heart.

Everyone seems to love her, especially him and she had done nothing but accept all his shits, his mess, his nightmares, and even her wrongdoings. Sure, sometimes (Y/N) has some flaws, everybody does. But to Bucky, she is nothing like that. To him, she was some sort of a saint, not that she is free from sin-hell, she have her own devils inside her-but still, she had managed to make an angel out of her devils. (Y/N) is without a doubt the most saint person out anyone that he had ever made.

But why did a tragedy had to happen first to make Bucky realized that? He felt like it was unfair, how (Y/N)’s life or death situation brought out the most sensitive topic to him and made him realize what she truly means to him and how much she love him with no exceptions. He is a man with many flaws which made Bucky wonder, how did she overlook them?

“Clint...” Bucky called, catching the man next to him out of guard, “Tell me the truth...” he started, eyes lowering down to his fingers on his lap, “About?” Clint asked, an eyebrow cocked up with interest.

Bucky heaved a loud sigh before continuing, “What was your first impression about me?”

Truth is, Bucky had never been curious about what other people’s first impression about him because he know that the answer would either be scary or murderous and God forbid him killing someone right after they said that to him which is why he’d rather not ask in the first place.

Bucky had never even asked (Y/N) that question. He felt like it’s not even that important and (Y/N) knows her boundaries, she doesn’t want to pry too deep into Bucky’s life because though they are-were dating both still needs their own privacies despite what people said.

It took Clint a minute to answer Bucky’s question, “Broken...”

Now that shocked Bucky.

“What?”

“Broken, the first time I saw you, when Cap brought you during the whole him and Tony fiasco, I could see from your eyes that you’re broken, you’re strong and that was because someone broke you to pieces and never bothered to glue you back together”

At first, Bucky was surprised when Clint answered his question but now that he heard the reason behind his answer, he was rather ticked off, almost to the point of him being furious. He’s in the spot between serenity and blowing up at Clint.

“I am not broken... No one broke me and no one needs glue me back together-”

“And that’s why you glue yourself back together” Clint interrupts, shutting Bucky off completely with utter shock, “You can’t glue yourself back completely so there were some cracks left, there were cracks that not even you realise existed and when (Y/N) came into your life she offered to fill in those cracks with herself” By then Clint had somehow manage to made himself almost to the point of being angry and Bucky almost in the verge of tearing up at the mention of his state, “Why? What could possibly made you so reluctant to the thought of someone helping you-”

“I DON’T WANT TO CORRUPT THEM!”

Bucky’s sudden burst made everyone in the room halt into a nerve wrecking silence. Lila and Cooper doesn’t have the slightest tinge of fear on their faces, but they just look utterly confused, the fact that they’re raised by a hero dad who has hero friends make them seeing their father’s friends bursting out or fought each other inevitable.

Clint looked at both of his kids and nod towards (Y/N), telling them to go back to what they were previously doing silently.

“What do you mean corrupt?” Clint asked, now looking to Bucky’s face that he tried to cover with his large hands, “I don’t want to corrupt them... You... Everyone that I care... (Y/N)...” Bucky then paused after saying his girlfriend’s name, softening up a little as he look down onto his hands and lifted his head slightly a little more, “Especially (Y/N)... Oh, she’s all the pureness that exists in this world and I don’t want to ruin that... No... She’s... Too good...” by the end of the sentence, Bucky’s eyebrows creased together in a slight frustration, he laced his fingers together and squeeze his hands until it turned white.

The man next to Bucky nodded slowly, processing what his friend told him, trying to form words in his brain for his mouth to let out and to comfort his nerved friend.

But nothing came out.

How could it come out easily?

Clint had never felt what Bucky felt.

True, that people feels pain differently and what one might say is deadly painful may not be as painful to another. But Clint knows, Bucky’s pain is at its highest level.

Bucky had once been on top of his game, being the nation’s hero with his childhood friend, people cheering his name from every corner of America, girls ogling him with dreamy eyes and hope to be able to even talk to the soldier.

But it all vanishes the moment HYDRA had its eyes on Bucky.

He became the nation’s most wanted man despite the government not acknowledging his existence, his childhood friend had once became his enemy, his mission, people screaming in fear when they saw him, girls looking at him weirdly and scared because of his metal arm and worse of all, he became a weapon, an assassin that was forced to do something that he don’t want to, he got his emotions erased, heart broken and left alone at the deepest, darkest corner of his brain, and he lost his whole world and its trust on him.

“Sometimes, you just gotta let people into your life... Whether you like it or not, someone would eventually do and that person is better to be someone you know, someone you trust, someone you love... You either learn this the easy way or the hard way, and from my experience, I’d have it the easy way any day” Clint was shocked at first, he was shocked that he actually could say something like that to a man like Bucky, “Time is an enemy, Buck... it will try to stop you every single day of your life and when it does, you’d want to be someone who have someone that he loves in his life, a man who is a better man than he was before, and it won’t happen if you don’t let yourself open to everyone around you...” Bucky had a solemn look on his face, he knew that Clint’s right, he does need to man up and open up to people, “Start with something small buddy, someone close, someone that is closer than you think” Both of their eyes trailed slowly to (Y/N)’s resting body on the bed.

Bucky was so focused at looking at his lover, he didn’t realized that Clint had said his goodbyes and took Lila and Cooper with him home, leaving Bucky and the unconscious girl alone, silence enveloping them but yet everything seems to be so loud to Bucky.

Weird.

Without him realizing, he was on his feet.

His feet slowly brought him closer to (Y/N), allowing him to see more of her as he walk towards the bed. He could see all of (Y/N)’s perfections that she had once claimed as her imperfections. Oh, how he loved everything about her.

Bucky slowly sat down on the chair that Cooper had pulled before.

He sat there silently with his hands clasped together and his eyes not leaving (Y/N)’s face, not even for a second.

Slowly, his eyes drifted off to (Y/N)’s chest, where the arc reactor that Tony built specially for (Y/N) is resting in the middle of her chest. It looks weird on her. Considering that she had just had the arc reactor attached to her body recently made it seems comprisable that no one is used to the sight yet.

Bucky held one of (Y/N)’s hand in his securely but not too tight, he doesn’t want to hurt her anymore than he already does. But with the loving look he gave to (Y/N) at the moment, who would’ve guessed that Bucky is the cruel man he claimed to be?

His eyes began to trail off down towards her hand, how soft it felt against his harsh, calloused ones. How it’s smaller than his big, enveloping ones. How it reminds him of all the happy times they have spent together. But he also felt how cold it was against his warmer ones, even his metal hand felt slightly warmer than her hand.

“I promise you, (Y/N)... No more... No more pain for the both of us, no more sadness, no more tears... Just you and me, baby... but you gotta bear with me, okay?” he chuckle slowly, he looked up to her eyes as a tear slipped from his eye, “Like I’ve told you before, I’m a broken man... I’ve lived a broken life without you before and God, I just realized how fucked up it was...” his breathing became shaky, he can’t control his emotions at the moment but he tried his best to not rampage the whole room just because of his mixed emotions.

Bucky took a sharp intake of breath before continuing, “That’s why... I was so happy that you came into my life... That you were selflessly willing to throw all the normalities in your life to be with someone as abnormal as me... I mean, look at me! Tony was right, I am a walking trash can... At least he got both of the trash and the can right” he chuckled once more but this time no tear fell down, only a soft smile that lingered on his lips. He pressed his lips onto the back of (Y/N)’s hand that he was holding onto for the longest time, hoping that he wouldn’t have to ever let go, “So please... Stay with me, stay for me... I don’t know what I’ll do without you, doll... I’ll call you with more nicknames if you want, I’ll be there for you all the time, I’ll make sure to cut our working hours and amount of missions but if we can’t, I’ll make sure to be together with you through every single mission so please... If you let go of me now, I don’t know what I’ll become, I could go mad or I’d probably join you in death...”

Then he paused.

He began imagining what it would be like to join (Y/N) in death. Or what would it be like to miserably fail to join (Y/N) in death and ended up having to live the rest of his miserable life alone.

God had softened the man’s heart through a girl and now he had his eyes streaming tears down onto his cheeks, staining them with pain-filled tears as to show how unwilling he was to let go of the most important person in his life if it would happen and if it happened in a really unfair circumstance.

As his thoughts began trailing off, he was suddenly reminded at one particular memory he had with (Y/N), a memory that he had skipped accidentally and was he glad that it came back into his head at the moment.

“Sweetheart, do you remember that night we talked about our future? The night after your undercover mission to infiltrate a nuclear factory?” He smiled to himself as he reminisce the feeling of (Y/N) in his arms, laid flat chest to chest with her head in the nook of his neck and their breathing and heart beat in sync with one another, “I... Promise... I promise to make all of those promises come true... But you’d have to also be here because if I were to fulfil your wishes, who’d fulfil mine if it weren't you? No one can ever take your place, (Y/N)... No one... Not Natasha, not Wanda, definitely not Sam... And not even Steve... None of them are like you, none of them are willing to give everything that you were willing to give me with no expectation of being rewarded back”

Once again, Bucky inhaled deeply and let it out as shaky breaths. He tried to keep himself composed, he tried to kept his smile on his face to appear strong in front of the unconscious woman in front of him. Though all the facade he had, his tears were uncontainable still as it spilled even more onto the soft bedsheets, staining them and marking them, making it known to no one that he had been there with her, waiting and foolishly expecting what may have never came true.

“All of them... All that I had hoped... All that you had hoped... And all else that we had hoped... Is waiting for us in the future...”

He leaned forward and kissed her lips through the oxygen mask she’s wearing, exactly where her lips would hold if the plastic helper wasn’t there in the first place.

“I would never leave you again...”

He gave another soft peck on the same spot.

“So wake up soon... Hurry, and come back to me....”

Another peck as his tear dropped onto (Y/N)’s cheek.

“I miss you”

Bucky whispered, his hot breath fanned over (Y/N)’s face, making it a little bit warmer than before.

After Bucky said that he missed her, little did he know that her fingers twitch in response to him and his sincere confession.

I’m sorry, I just love angst - Nana 🌸

#marvel #bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel imagine #marvel scenario #angst #marvel angst #bucky imagine #bucky scenario #bucky angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes scenario #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier #that I have...

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theemmataylor · 7 years

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Austentacious || Emma and Deadpool

I will forever be in love with this regency storyline, and the stories we create together. Wade is the best. So is Marcus. And I’m excited for them to actually find some adventures together. This is likely part one of six-ish. -- @violent-nobility

"We're losing her!"

"Damn it, Doctor Pool!"

"But just look at all this--"

"There's no time for that!"

"Forceps!"

"What?"

"I don't know they just always say forceps in surgery things and--"

"Who are you?"

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER NOW! Hurry! Quick! She's... what the fuck?! What's that light? Is that -- is her brain -- is it GLOWING?! Jesus what the fuck is -- NO!!! OH GO!"

"What do we do, Doctor?!"

"Get back!! Everyone -- except me -- get baaaaaaaaaaaaack!"

In hindsight, maybe pretending to be a surgeon had been a bad idea. Of course, Wade had thought that he was going to be operating on a particular bag of dicks named Emmanuel Taylor, but apparently, would you believe it? The surgery schedule was a little more confusing to read than that. Mister Terrorist Pants was going to walk free, but the pretty girl with the apparently exploding brain was fucked.

Really. Fucked. Completely fucked. He knew that the second he saw her. Of course, it helped that Lady Death had been standing over his shoulder and was whispering things to him, like how the girl was already almost in her embrace, what he should do to make it quicker and ease the pain that she was feeling even while unconscious -- which was sort of creepy, really. Not the almost-dead girl, but Lady Death. Ever since they'd banged, she'd been spending a lot of time with him, and he didn't know how to tell her hey, babe, you were great but it was a one time thing, I'm not Thanos--

Who, speaking of Thanos, that douche just had to show up. Jealous ex. Ew. He'd apparently been Captain Invisible to everyone else, he'd reached out and put his hand on the girl's head, and he'd smiled one of his terrifying terror smiles while doing some kind of magical magic, her brain had started glowing, and Wade had gotten hooked on a feeling -- wait, no. He'd gotten the feeling that oops. Thanos was a dick.

Not that that would surprise anyone.

Petty piece of shit.

Petty purple piece of shit.

That could be a song.

No.

But there was light and brains and then a really weird feeling of falling and then -- bang, look, there they were. The room was beautiful, a kind of cheesy looking Victorian gig or whatever. Maybe earlier than Victorian. Maybe even Jane Austen times. Whenever those were. 1812? Nah that was a war. Austen was definitely 1050. Maybe. No. That. Whatever.

The bedroom was nice. The furniture was nice. The beautiful girl laying on the floor next to him was nice -- oh it was brain girl! But without the exploding head. She looked great, actually. Wow. Who knew she was a hottie? Fuck Emmanuel. She was wearing some kind of anachronistic costume, a dress like this was Pride & Prejudice & Zombies, and aw, look, boobies!

No.

No boobies. She was asleep, he shouldn't look at her boobies.

Ugh. His head ached. He sat up --

"Shit!" No costume! No costume, which meant icky gross skin all over the place, rotten ballsack sores out for the world to see. Wade sprang to his feet and ran to look in the mirror, but -- "What the shit? I'm hot? I'm hot. Oh, shit. I'm hot again. Damn. Nice. Okay. Yeah. Wait. Stop talking to yourself. What? Myself. Stop. Talking to myself. Focus."

He whirled around to look at the chick again and was pretty sure that this ridiculous suit he was wearing -- and damn these were some crazy boots -- probably would go for a small fortune if they could just get to a city full of Austen nerds.

"Hey, hey, hey." He crouched down next to her. The house was buzzing with noise, people talking about some sort of ball, apparently some noble or whatever had moved into the beautiful estate next door -- however far away that was -- and that meant someone might come in here and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck Thanos anyway.

"Hey, hot stuff?" Wade shook her gently. "We gotta go. Come on. Get up. Thanos sent us here, which means bad, which means -- god you look nice in that dress. Uh, we gotta. Can you hear me? They're talking about balls out there."

The last complete memory she had was sitting in a car with Cecelia, waiting outside her brother's apartment, preparing herself to suck it up and talk to him about all the crap that had gone down between them. She didn't want to die alone. And it wasn't fair that he was asking her to.

He'd exited, looked across the road, noticed the familiar car and locked eyes with Emma. Then...

She noticed the ringing in her ears before the literal blinding pain had begun. Her ears had been the first thing to start bleeding. Before her nose, even, and Cecelia had wasted no time in taking off in the direction of the hospital.

Everything else had been a series of flashes of faces she didn't recognize, half of them not even looking at her, and pain. She felt pain even when the faces stopped.

When she started hearing voices, Emma relaxed into the knowledge that this was it. She would die alone, without her brother. Without a family. Just Cecelia. Which, in all honesty, was all she really needed. One best friend. She could die happy knowing she had at least that.

Emma could feel the lure of death -- the promise of no more pain, of any kind, and warmth, and all the Jane Austen she could stand.

It seemed perfect.

The background screaming and yelling she didn't really understand. Glowing brains? Who knew what the subconscious held on to. All she knew was she was ready for a time where the headaches ceased. Where the heartaches were no more.

She was ready for death.

And finally.

Silence.

When she came to, she was far more uncomfortable than she'd expected to be -- something was bound far too tightly around her rib cage.

And then. She heard his voice. Crazy and frantic and slightly insane. Emma opened her eyes, wincing, expecting the stream of sunlight to ignite a migraine. But it didn't. It warmed her.

She looked down at herself, dressed in full Austen-esque attire.

"So this is death," she replied up at the handsome man with the slightly troubled eyes. "But who are you?"

"Um, I don't think this is death, actually. I think we just got booted away from your death by this guy, this really awful guy, he's mad at me for banging Death, but heeeey. Wait. I mean, I'm Wade." He put on his best smile and hoped that it was comforting and good, then picked her up and set her on her feet.

"Your hair looks so much better when it's not shaved off. But listen, we should probably go and hide because there's this evil space alien who--" he made a face. "I don't know why I said space alien. Alien suffices. Wait, no, that sounds xenophobic, doesn't it? So there's an evil almost omnipotent space alien with a grudge and he is probably going to find us here and we really should just run, you know? Yeah. Running would be good. We've got to go find a car, and.."

That was when a knock came on the door and a maid entered. She smiled and bobbed a pretty curtsey. "Lady Taylor? Lord Wilson? A message just arrived from your parents, if you please." She handed them the card, which Wade took with a look of dismay. He opened it up -- and was devastated.

"They're staying in London, they don't care for the country weather, but they wish us luck? Why do our fake--- faaaa-- faaaaaantastic! Parents! Not want to be with us? That's -- you know what, beautiful maid girl? You should probably go -- um -- do -- things -- that would be helpful. Helpful things. We still need to talk." He tried not to shove her out the door, but basically shoved her out the door, then turned to Emma, held up the card, and both hands, took a moment to compose his thoughts into some sort of gentlemanly order, and said: "Shit. We're fucked."

Emma smiled. She'd didn't much care what the man said. This was death. Or at least, this was all she could hope for death to be. And maybe this guy wasn't the man of her dreams. But he was handsome enough. And he seemed... insane really, he seemed insane. But the fun kind of insane?

"I... would like to stay in the country, Lord Wilson," she said simply, moving over to a mirror attached to a vanity, sitting in a straight backed chair. "You may do as you wish. And despite what you've said... whether this is a dream while I'm in a coma, or death, or real life. This... is kind of... well, you'll think me weird, or a child, or whatever, but this is my perfect fantasy."

Emma's fingers carded through the ends of her hair. She could still hear the clippers from when they'd shaved her head. This was the dream. She knew that.

"You won't find a car. Perhaps a horse and carriage. But that's it. And besides. We're not making it to America any time soon. And if we do, chances are it'll be on the Titanic and I'll end up drowning in the Atlantic. Though, considering the time I think we are in, that won't be for another hundred or so years."

Finally, she looked again to Wade. "My name is Emma. And while I appreciate you being concerned about my well-being. I'm not leaving this place."

"Okay, Emma, but you're crazy, I mean, you're probably crazy. This place... you know it's not death, right? No, you don't know, whatever, I get that. I don't know what happened to you, maybe you got kicked in the head by a horse or whatever, but I know what dying feels like and I know that really..." Footsteps in the hall made him tense up and go quiet, but whoever it was kept on walking. "...uh, really trippy feeling of acceptance -- you know, that moment you realize this is it, and it's the worst thing but it's the best thing and it's not as bad as you thought it was going to be even though it hurts so much more and -- wait. Shit. Maybe we're both dead."

That made sense. No. It didn't. Because Francis. But....

Maybe.

"Okay. Whatever. We're siblings, I guess? And I'm not leaving you. Unless we're married. We're not married. Maybe you're married? I hope I'm not married. I'm not good at being married. Unless it's to Sebastian. Who you don't know. And technically I don't either, that didn't happen in this thread. But really, there are probably a bunch of monsters or -- something equally bad coming after us, and while I am all about fighting monsters, it's, I mean, it's sort of a kink, you don't seem too monster fighty? Also can I just..." He stepped over and started helping her with her hair. "I mean if we're gonna stick around, we should probably go help them play with their balls, maybe we'll find out who we're supposed to -- oh yeah, reading comprehension, here." He gave her the letter. "They think you're going to find a husband here. Balls. At the ball." The merc might have a mouth, but at least his hands were talented, and they certainly helped undo the damage that laying on the floor had done to her hair. "That's what the good luck is about. Apparently we need to get married. To other people. Which. I mean. You're plenty hot, and hello cute little tatas -- sorry, sibling line crossed -- but basically, you're way too chill."

Emma watched in silent. "But we have different names? And divorce isn't really a thing yet. So unless both our parents are..." She grew quiet. Even in this world, at least one of her parents were dead. And her real brother was still nowhere to be seen.

"I'm not your type. That's okay. Your handsome enough. But I still haven't decided whether you're crazy or not." The young woman closed her eyes as he fixed her hair and thought about all Wade's concerns.

"I don't want to get married. But I'd like to stay for a while, at least. This is a dream for me. And even if some monster comes, I'm pretty good at surviving, for the most part."

"Somebody's writing us a really sad story. Wow. It's probably Shiv. Fuck Shiv. But Emma, this isn't a -- okay. You know what? You like it here?" He finished fixing her hair, rested his hands on her shoulders, and met her eyes in the mirror. "I'll stay, too. If monsters come, I'll keep them off of you. If this is your dream come true, if this is what you want, then... embrace it and love it and I'll keep you safe. The way a brother should." He leaned down and kissed her cheek, trying to be calm, trying not to look too worried. "And how do you know you're not my type? Maybe I'm into angels."

"I'm assuming Sebastian is male? Not to say you can't be into both. But... I certainly don't think I'm a permanent type for you." She hadn't expected the sudden shift. The kindness and kiss. She lifted a hand to touch her cheek where the quick kiss had been left.

She'd expected to be abandoned. She always expected that.

"I... would like one day. One day to pretend that my life wasn't... so lonely. Then we can go do whatever it is you think we need to do. First thing in the morning tomorrow. We can go in search of whatever truth you believe is out there, if you'll let me live my truth tonight."

She wouldn't meet her Darcy, of course. But the dancing and elegance and romance of this time was enough. It was enough.

"Okay. So we go to the ball and live out the Regency -- it is Regency, right? -- fantasy. You dance and flirt and smile and meet all of the eyes with secrets that you may never know and they'll never know yours and -- he is male, he's perfect, he's so calm -- you live this dream til dawn. And maybe it ends then. Maybe it doesn't. I'll go and try to listen around, see what's happening, look for any signs that we're actually as fucked as my panicky nature made me think I thought we were, and... it'll be fun. Dancing. Pretty people with boobies and other pretty people with these nice tight pants." He patted his thigh, then stepped away. "Sound like a plan?"

"Will you dance with me tonight?" She asked suddenly. "Maybe that's too forward of me, considering the time we're in. And maybe it would seem strange if we dance as siblings. Unless... we're supposed to be cousins? In which case..." she blushed.

"In which case people here will half expect us to be courting."

"Cousins? Really? I mean yeah, of course I'll dance with you, hollaaaa, but -- wow. Huh. That's. Huh. But dance with other people too, okay? Don't hide from the dream that you've chosen, not now that it's here, okay?"

"Yeah. It's fairly common to marry ones cousin in these times." But she wasn't suggesting they marry. Or even kiss. But... he already felt familiar. She trusted him. And to dance her first dance with someone she knew in these strange circumstances felt the most reassuring.

"Do we... go downstairs? Or would you like to tell me more about PERFECT Sebastian?"

"I guess? Maybe?" He went and looked out the window -- and his eyes got huge. "Holy shit." The landscape was stunning. Nevermind that it was raining and cloudy, but the grass seemed to stretch on for miles, interrupted by the curving lines of a stream, the shadowy shapes of a hedge maze, a manicured garden. "Uh.. perfect.. Sebastian.... isn't... I think we're in England, this is seriously so English, like how I imagine it in romance novels, but... he's not here right now."

Turning around, he met her eyes, smiled, then went to grab the jacket that looked like it was definitely his. "He's a sniper. An assassin. He's chill and smart and you really can't shake him. I guess I look up to him." The jacket felt like it was tailor made. Weird. "And I mean, I guess there are worse people to look up to.

"So. Shall we go and see where the big ball is? Also, if you happen to snare a super hottie, share him, okay?"

"I should say the same to you," Emma stood, smiling, relaxing into this death. She moved across the room, standing near him at the window, looking at the landscape. It really was beautiful.

"I told you we wouldn't be getting to America any time soon." Emma stretched, her chest and stomach pressing against him so that she could return the kiss to his cheek.

"Let's get downstairs so that we can figure out the details of the balls of this place. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe your Sebastian is here somewhere. Maybe you are the one who is meant to find love in this world."

"Nah. I kinda sorta already had my chance. And I fucked it up. Big time." He shrugged and smiled, then went over to open the door for her, trying not to think about how sweet and soft she had felt when she kissed him. Nope. Definitely don't think about the maybe-cousin, maybe-sister.

"For the record," Emma said quietly back to him as the reached the top of the grand stairway. "I've never known of someone only giving one chance. If you show someone that you really want them, you'll have them."

Emma took Wade's arm and descended the stairs, leaning in to whisper where nobody would hear. "What I'm saying, is that I bet you didn't 'fuck it up' nearly as much as you suspect."

"You are the sweetest little bug," he whispered back -- but then the time for whispering was over as they walked into old fashioned costume porn. The clothes were amazing and the people were all over and there was music and a shit ton of lights and Wade kind of wanted to go find a closet to jerk off in just to prove that all of this was real, but they were supposed to dance together, so that would have to wait.

A couple of people smiled and greeted them, apparently familiar with them, and Wade felt a little rush of giddiness. This would be a fun guessing game! Maybe. Unless it wasn't.

The dancing had not yet begun, and people were still arriving -- including the extremely handsome young Duke of Devonshire, who made Deadpool quietly squeak into her ear. "He looks just like Henry Cavill! But more serious! Ooooh, I bet he's got buns, hun. Oooh, ooh, and look over there at that other guy, the one who looks like Oberyn Martel from Game of Thrones? You probably don't watch Game of Thrones. But heeee is from Spain, and that chick over there, I mean that lady, or not-lady, or whatever, the one in the pink, said to the one in the green that someone said he's a pirate who has some reaaaal shady dealings to be in the, um, piercage.

"Okay is it kosher for me to dance with guys? Cause daaaamn. Not that you're not amaing, I just wanna dance with everyone. Shit. Emma. Babe. You've got to go talk to someone. What about that kind of sad, Richard Armitage looking guy over there? He's probably the maybe-kind, maybe-creepy widower of the story, right? I mean, kinda old. But so's the pirate I guess. Nice legs though. Nice. Fucking. Legs. Oh, shit. I should whisper more quietly. What are you thinking? Wait, no, don't answer that, go flirt with someone."

She blushed, but seemed to retreat within herself. While Wade might be the type to approach people and flirt and openly... whatever, Emma wasn't. She kept quiet, eyes on the ground, figuring nobody would really notice her. That was okay, though. Really. Attention made her uncomfortable. Talking about herself was... torture. She appreciated all of Wade's efforts. But really, she didn't think she could do the whole over the top flirting thing.

Her expression turned into a coy smile, however, when she noticed someone across the room. "What about the Ryan Reynolds looking guy in the corner? The one in the uniform? The one who hasn't glanced at me since we walked in, but I don't think he's stopped looking at you." Her grin turned friendly and she encouraged him with a little nod of her head that he should go. Their dance could be saved for another time. Just being here was enough for her.

Meanwhile, she took into consideration the few that Wade had pointed out. The Duke was handsome enough. He looked huge, more muscular than she imagined men being in this time, but it didn't much matter, did it. The second... quickly had a woman flocking to each arm. Women she couldn't compete with. And the last? Well, Emma had enough of her own sadness, and couldn't really muster the energy to deal with a man's depression during her only night here.

Still, she couldn't make herself approach any of them. It was improper since she hadn't been presented, or at least, she didn't think she had been, though several of these people greeted her by name, smiled at her, offered her a glass of wine, which she declined. Wade could have the man who had been staring at him. She would sit and watch people dance. And she would be content in doing so.

Wade's heart nearly stopped and when he turned to look, he gasped and his jaw dropped. No. No way. It couldn't be... But was it? He had to know, he had to know, there was no way they could both be sexy at the same time, be dressed as sexy as they were, and not be meant for greater things -- like making out.

"Be still my heart. Emma, oh, Emma! Why, he's a man of wax - and I aim to melt him." He kissed her on the cheek "I'll be back for the dance, I promise. Okay? Have fun. Don't be shy. You're beautiful. And if we're dead, and this is an afterlife, then these people are here to love you, right?" He took a step away, then turned back, scooped her up, and hugged her a little too tightly before practically bounding over towards the hottie with the hopefully naughty body and the very familiar face.

His antics caught the Duke's eye, and he looked over with surprise before abruptly smiling, something that seemed to surprise the company he was with. When he met Emma's eyes, he lost the smile for the most part, although enough remained to show that it was still there, at least on the inside. He bowed his head to her in greeting -- which, again, caused a bit of stir. Marcus Hollin was known for being entirely antisocial and cold, and only ever attended any social event to escort his younger sister, who was currently chirping and squeaking with a group of her friends.

It looked like Devonshire was about to come over to meet Emma, but someone touched his arm and diverted his attention -- just as a young man with shaggy, dark-blond hair bumped into Emma. He looked down, apologetic, and shuffled a bit awkwardly, clearly not entirely comfortable being here. "Sorry," he said, and he looked at her with worry in his sweet chocolate eyes. "Name's Oscar. Not sure I'm supposed to be out here. Talking to people. I was asked to find the... the... Count of Ampurias? But I'm not sure where he is, miss. Got a letter for him, for the um, I'm not supposed to say pirate, but..."

#violentnobility #thread #austentacious #part one

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theliterateape · 5 years

Text

Getting Paid to Type as a Writer

By David Himmel

I woke up this morning, which means I have to sit down at this computer and type. This computer, the one with the screen that never seems to be without smudges and smears despite my strict adherence to never placing a finger or thumb upon it. Oh well. There’s no such thing as a perfect writing scenario. No amount of notebook, cup of tea, or neatly-sharpened pencils strategically organized next to this filthy computer screen and its attached keyboard will ever exist. There’s nothing cute or neat about having to go to work. Swiffer rag the dust off the desk is about the best it gets. I have a hard time trusting writers who make a thing about their writing workspace. Organization comes in the editing. And to get to the editing, one must first get past the writing.

Today, I’m at a loud coffee shop sucking back a dark double espresso. I don’t really need the caffeine right now but this place tends to frown on anyone who props open their laptop and attempts to drain the free wifi without making a purchase. I would have stayed at the home office but my wife is in there today and this is one of those days where our shared workspace feels a little crowded. Despite her headphones secure over her ears, the sound of my untrained clicking and clacking on the keyboard drives her nuts. So, too, does the sound of me chewing gum. And I need to chew gum. It helps keep me from biting my nails — a sound she loathes more than any other sound I have ever made.

The volume of the music in this coffee shop is so great that I could bang on these keys for hours like a coked-out pianist, smack my gum like an ’80s valley girl and bite my nails with moans of ecstasy and no one in here would be the wiser. And it only costs me a little over four bucks investment in a double espresso for this kind of freedom. But that four dollars and change spent means I need to type enough to earn that money back on top of the debts and fiscal needs I had fueling the burning fire in all four of my pockets before I stepped foot inside.

✶

It’d be nice if I could make a living as a writer by focusing on one kind of writing. Sit down, write a book. Sit down, write a script. Sit down, write some short fiction. Sit down, write a proposal. Sit down, write a social media campaign. Sit down, write a feature piece for some magazine. But this writer’s life and living comes from bouncing between all of the above and more. And that makes the day at work more strenuous that it would be if I had my druthers.

It’s like going to the gym and spending a minimum of eight hours there working legs, arms, back, chest, neck, knees, bones, delts, glutes, knuckles, etc. Moving the focus from machine to machine to get the best from each part puts you at risk of not giving your legs the best effort you’d like. You try to focus on the legs but you also have to keep an eye on the clock and the next opening on that machine that’ll make your arms look like Michelle Obama’s. It can be distracting. And sometimes, you have to make a sacrifice. Some weeks you end up putting most of the focus and effort on the arms and you end up looking like Mr. Incredible. Or Ronnie from The Jersey Shore.

It’s a good look and you’ll save the day, but it becomes a little more difficult to kick down the door of off-Hollywood with that script that desperately needs your attention because you know in your soul that the people need that script. You’re a genius and now you feel like you’re wasting your talent and you’re missing opportunity and oh, my god, what’s the point in all this!?

Is it time for a drink?

No. Drinking at the gym is frowned upon.

Besides, drinking while writing usually just puts me in a place of nostalgia, and I’m trying to write for the future, man. The past is prologue, but writing prologue doesn’t pay the bills.

Every day, I make a to-do list on a Post-it Note. Today’s list, in general detail:

• Literate Ape -LA Press --Finalize publication proposal -Edit -Write --Reconciling with an abuser -Catch up with contributors • Write live radio show script • Spoof Script -Write death scene -Write character descriptions • Product client -Research -Draft notes -Draft presentation script • New work -Follow up with forthcoming job -Follow up on invoices sent • That kids book about your dog -Synopsis -Pitch artist • Last DJ -Build marketing campaign -Organize campaign budget • Gilda’s Club meeting -6 p.m. • Holbox -Continue booking trip details • Spend time with wife • Make a dent in reading that big book • Open new IRA -Fund • Drink water, you chimphole

It’s not an unusually busy day. It’s just a day. And this is the life. And sometimes, it’s hard to keep it all straight. Sometimes, most things don’t get crossed off the list. Sometimes, they do. And then I don’t know what to do with myself other than to go back and edit or re-edit. Or zone out in front of the cable television fro which I’m paying way too much. Or have that drink. But with extra ice because I didn’t drink enough water.

A day with a handful of different mental demands is not unique to the typist — I say typist because a true writer often feels more like a keyboard jockey pecking away at the letters than they do a seasoned writer like E. L. James or Stephenie Meyers or that On The Road guy. I’m not complaining here. But I do routinely dream of a workday where I get up, shower, get dressed, feed the kid, walk the dog, kiss the wife, and head out to a job ideal for an autistic person. Plug and chug. Churn and burn. Follow the directions. Something that demands more of my whole body than just my brain having to construct something from nothing or from disjointed client thinking. I’d rather feel physically exhausted from the physical labor than just the mental labor that manages to make my feet ache even though I’ve been sitting on my ass all day. I suppose that’s the feeling of my body embracing atrophy.

So why haven’t I closed the laptop and secured a job as a waste management professional? Because the allure of self-imposed mental illness is too magnetic for me to pull away from. Because when I get it right, it’s worth it. I killed my ego a long time ago, but it’s nice to go to the graveyard and visit it.

✶

Not everything has to be gold. Not everything has to be a bestseller. Most things won’t be either. But it’s nice to work toward something like that. Spending your days trying to leave something that will survive you, something that will separate you from the herd, something that your wife and kid and parents and grandparents and friends can be proud of. Something you can be proud of. Something that means anything to anyone anywhere. Even for a moment. Because if you can do that, then you’ve got proof to show the gods you’ve done something of value while you were here breathing the free air. It wasn’t a life spent taking; it was one that gave back, too.

If I complete the list, or most of the list, will I have earned back the money spent on that espresso? Yes. Will I have earned much more? Potentially. It’s a long game. Although, today’s list includes a lot of spending money. But as they say, you gotta spend money to make it. And yes, I firmly believe that a trip to Holbox, Mexico is a wise investment into my career because it’s investing in myself. Because there’s nothing better than productive writing, and the best way for me to achieve productive writing is to bask in warm saltwater and nap in my SPF-protected skin.

And sometimes, the other best way to achieve productive writing is to write about the great and constant fear about not being productive. The fear is necessary. And it should not be dressed up with cute writing memes. All that shit is a distraction — like someone typing and chewing gum in your office.

#Writing #Writing for a Living

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