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halothenthehorns · 3 years

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TLTNL- EXCESS OF PHLEGM

"Remus, can I speak to you." James snapped before Harry could even think of passing the book along, his tone in no way implying that as a question.

Remus got to his feet slowly and dragged his feet to the hallway, he'd been expecting this, and was almost happy at the delay Lily caused.

"James, I can fight my own battles," she snapped at him, eyeing Remus with more worry than anything as he trudged off. Considering everything that had been going on, it hadn't even crossed her mind to hold any of his comments against him.

"I'm not daft enough to think otherwise," James agreed, flicking his eyes to her and smiling for a moment before going for the stairs himself. "I'd still like a word with him."

Sirius followed as well, and Lily and Harry exchanged wary looks before going into the kitchen and prepping an early lunch.

He may have been expecting it, but Remus was no more pleased to be hearing from these two than they clearly were trying to ask him what his problem was. He hadn't meant to make it so plain there at the end, and bitterly regretted he had such a hard time hiding his emotions around here.

The two exchanged a look before James launched off, "What has gotten into you lately? Picking fights with Lily? Snapping at everyone for the stupidest things? I'm sorry Dumbledore's been acting like a prat lately with everything going on in Harry's time, but you're driving me nuts Moony!"

Remus almost wanted to smile. Prongs had left him perfectly open to either vent about this lesser, though still pressing agitation on his life, or correct him. He considered the first for several moments before finally stating, "Acting a prat? James the man's gone off the world and left the lot of us to rot! The best part is, he's pretending like he hasn't!"

Sirius watched him steadily beat out his rant, and wished he could say more. He couldn't though. He knew Remus looked up to Dumbledore, his idol. To hear of all the things he'd done would be hardest of all on him, like Harry realizing the true nature of the Marauders last year. The difference was they couldn't Floo Dumbledore, ask him to make them feel better about ruining Harry's life, their life.

When Remus was finally done he slumped back against the wall, looking utterly exhausted, but finally one of the lines creasing his face faded away for getting it all out.

"I know Moony," was all Sirius could think to say.

"You should really chat with Harry," the look on James' face made it perfectly clear of the double in there. Of course he could just mean Remus could go to Harry and talk to him about Dumbledore, only those two had such a close connection to the Headmaster and could understand each other...or anything else, like they needed to.

Remus didn't disagree, but he was almost afraid to as well. Afraid that he'd say the wrong thing to him, again. Terrified Harry's promise was wrong, that he vanished from that teenager's life, or worse, that he stayed and only made things worse like he was now. He couldn't bring himself to say this to either of the people he most wanted to though, because they had more of a connection to Harry than he'd ever had a claim to. He wouldn't put anything more in between any of them, this was a problem he had to deal with on his own.

They came back in to find Harry and Lily having a lively discussion about Slughorn.

"I mean, who decides to turn down a job by faking being attacked?"

"Obviously Dumbledore wasn't there to take no for an answer, I can see Slughorn doing something so drastic," Lily said peaceably as she stirred a pan on the stove.

Harry was at the table cutting up some vegetables, by hand of all things, and didn't even seem to notice their entrance with his back to the hallway. He was just as busy keeping Hickory from stealing carrots from his pile as he was chatting with his mother.

"How did Dumbledore even know where Slughorn was, he was on the run and hiding from Death Eaters? And of all things, how did Dumbledore know he was a chair? And how did Dumbledore know he was faking all that? He never even told me why we were there at midnight, I wouldn't want someone popping in on me at that time either."

"I can't begin to imagine what goes through either of those men's minds," Lily sighed with exasperation, dumping the sauce into a pot and giving it a sharp crack with her wand, causing some red wine to start pouring into the mixture as well.

"The least surprising part was that he tore the house apart in less than two minutes, and how he was still trying to put details up as we were walking in-" Harry froze as he went to pass the vegetables to her and saw the others. He didn't even seem sure what expression to make, so settled for an uneasy smile, eyes still flickering to Remus and away just as much as the other two now, guilt heaviest of all he couldn't do anything right by anyone.

"You think he'll ever run out of questions?" Sirius asked as he plopped himself into the chair nearest Harry and kicked his feet back on the table, leaning the chair back.

Easily breaking all tension when Harry gave an already knowing smile, and didn't have to wait for the show his godfather had started.

Lily didn't even glance over her shoulder, merely sent a tripping hex instead and causing him to topple over.

Sirius made several colorful statements as he got himself back to his feet and then harangued Lily about her enforcing such archaic rules. The other three were too busy laughing at them all through the meal to even consider such things as awkwardness, especially as they all got so easily pulled into it themselves.

They went back to reading with the first bit of pleasantness they had all day, and Remus didn't even consider it as he took the book from Harry to begin. He knew he'd have to confront the larger problem, soon, but for now he'd take the blessing of his friend doing what he always did, giving him more time.

Harry and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Harry could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Harry saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.

Mrs. Weasley's voice could neverosly be heard telling them to declare themselves.

As soon as Dumbledore said who it was, the door opened to reveal her.

She greeted them with surprise, Dumbledore had warned they wouldn't be here until morning, but Dumbledore explained Slughorn had been more persuadable than expected.

"He didn't even want them there!" James balked. "What in the world was his plan involving till sunrise?"

"I'm, grateful, we didn't have to find out," Lily said slowly and not as if she really meant it, it certainly would have been fascinating to hear of more of his other plans that didn't involve Harry being such an enticing return.

Then he greeted Nymphadora.

"Tonks is back!" Sirius cheered at once.

"I can't wait to hear what she was up to," Remus agreed with a cheerful smirk, clearly not able to kick that good mood out now that Sirius had put it in here.

Harry looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands.

"What happened to her pink hair?" James pouted. "I liked that."

"Maybe she just got back from business and hasn't even realized she'd like to change it back," Lily shrugged.

Harry thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in her smile.

All of them frowned in concern for that. None of them even knew her that well, not even Harry really, but she'd been a little bright spot all of the last book and it was genuinely depressing to hear of even more sobering things going on in this future to someone they so normally would have called cheerful.

Certainly her appearance was less colorful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.

She quickly excused herself, thanking Molly for the tea and sympathy.

"Sympathy for what?" Lily muttered, catching on that word and wishing to pull the girl aside herself and have a friendly chat if she could.

Dumbledore asked her not to leave on his account, but she really insisted she couldn't stay,while not meeting his eyes.

"Oooh, what kind of tiff is going on there," Sirius demanded with a touch more interest than was called for. He'd really liked hearing of Tonks and if Dumbledore was yet another obstacle in another person's life, he'd really start struggling not to start acting like Moony earlier and gripe at this mans every doing.

Molly invited her to dinner this weekend, Mad-Eye and Remus would be there.

Sirius let out a righteous bark at once, before jabbing his finger into Moony's face, "aha! You are coming back around, so I don't want to hear another word out of you whining about this!"

"Is this only when I'm in the actual chapter, or just in general you don't want to hear me, because frankly I won't be accommodating either," Remus said with such a stupid smile in place it ruined his sarcasm. He'd honestly convinced himself so much that he'd fall back out of Harry's life without another mention, coming over for a dinner was the best news he'd yet heard.

Harry smiled along with the others for this, but he had a funny feeling in place as he kept that smile. He suddenly wondered if it wasn't Dumbledore, but someone else Tonks was trying to

avoid. Mad-Eye seemed the most likely of those two, being fellow Aurors...right? What could they be fighting about though? Then he pushed the whole thing off, telling himself to stop thinking about things so much, it was likely nothing at all Tonks couldn't work out for herself.

Insisting otherwise, Tonks hurried past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard; a few paces beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air.

"The apparition spot was out by the broom-shed?" Harry questioned.

"You can have it two separate places, the entrance and the departure," Lily explained.

Harry noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked troubled.

Dumbledore chose to leave as well, parting with Harry and telling Molly â€˜your servant,'* before following Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance.

Molly turned to Harry and first noted how much he'd already grown since she'd last seen him, then asked if he was hungry. Harry agreed he was starving.

Lily made a little tisking noise of disapproval, well remembering Harry saying how little he'd eaten before now and it was his own doing that time. At least he hadn't carried that in here.

As Harry sat down, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face lumped onto his knees and settled there, purring.

"Crookshanks is back!" Sirius cheered with just as much enthusiasm as he had for Tonks, at least a cat couldn't depress him!

"Are you going to do that for everyone who turns up at the Burrow?" James asked curiously.

"I might," Sirius sniffed.

Harry asked Hermione was here as well while happily tickling Crookshanks behind the ,ears.**

Mrs. Weasley agreed she'd arrived the day before yesterday, rapping a large iron pot with her wand.

"Err," Lily couldn't help but say with some general concern. "I know I brought this up your last Christmas, but does Hermione ever spend time with her parents?"

Harry merely shrugged. He'd just been happy to spend the majority of his holiday with both of his friends, he hadn't questioned it farther than that. Ron had sometimes to ask a question about Muggles in general, but Hermione never really spoke about her parents, well, anymore than he did the Dursleys.

It bounced onto the stove with a loud clang and began to bubble at once while she continued everyone else was in bed.

She tapped the pot again; it rose into the air, flew toward Harry, and tipped over; Mrs. Weasley slid a bowl nearly beneath it just in time to catch the stream of thick, steaming onion soup.

James couldn't help but make a little humming noise, that was one of his favorite dishes.

She waved her wand over her shoulder; a loaf of bread and a knife soared gracefully onto the table; as the loaf sliced itself and the soup pot dropped back onto the stove, Mrs.

Weasley sat down opposite him.

She asked him about Slughorn, but Harry had his mouth mostly full of soup and merely nodded. She went on to explain he'd taught her and Arthur,

"I didn't know that," Lily blinked in surprise.

"Kind of fascinating, when you realize how many life spans teachers influence," Remus muttered for himself.

and had been at Hogwarts at least as long as Dumbledore. How had Harry liked him?

Harry shrugged and gave a noncommittal jerk of the head.

She agreed she understood that, he could be charming, but wasn't to everyone's taste. He'd never even given Arthur the time of day, hadn't seen him as much of a highflier.

"Shows how good Slughorn's stupid talent really is," James scoffed.

Just went to show even Slughorn made mistakes. She didn't know if Ron had told him yet, but Arthur had been promoted!

James was the only one not immiedly happy at this, and that was just because he was still making a funny face at having said the same thing as Molly. This was genuinely wonderful news! The man had deserved it long before now!

It could not have been clearer that Mrs. Weasley had been bursting to say this.

"Well I can't really blame her," Lily agreed cheerfully, "I'd be just as bad if my husband even bothered to get a job." James widened his eyes with a look of pure innocence while the couple exchanged a loving smile knowing they would indeed be just as proud, James had certainly not shut up to the only three people who would listen any time she did...well anything.

Harry had at that moment swallowed a large amount of hot soup, searing the inside of his throat, which possibly lead Mrs. Weasley to think his tears of pain were for this.

Sirius did start snickering hysterically at this.

She went on to explain Scrimgeour had opened several new offices to help recent circumstances, and Arthur was now heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.

"Much more of a mouthful than his old title," James said in surprise.

"Sounds to me like he's dealing with all kinds of things now, not just Muggle Artifacts, so I'm sure he's more than pleased," Remus agreed.

It was a big job, he had ten people reporting to him now!

Sirius let out a low whistle in surprise, and further concurrence.

Harry asked what exactly that was, and she explained he helped manage artifacts that people kept trying to pass off as real items to protect, when in fact they were more often than not cursed things for a quick buck. He was more busy than ever, and it was silly to miss his Muggle rubbish.

Sirius had been reading with more interest than anything, up until the very end, where he couldn't help but snicker.

"Honestly, it's as if the man can't have a hobby," James agreed lightly.

Mrs. Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark plugs.

"You mean it's not?" Sirius demanded. "What on Earth has my life come to!"

"More spark plugs, apparently, and I can't disagree you need them to the head," Remus smirked.

"Thank you Moony," Sirius nodded along, "that's just what I wanted to hear."

Harry asked if he was still at work, and she uneasily agreed he was, and in fact running late.

She glanced to her clock, which showed all nine Weasleys on each hand, all of which were pointed to mortal peril.

James had to fight very hard against a surprised snort of laughter, and only just managed it from the fear stopping his breath short. What did that mean?! Was it because Harry was there? Surely not!

She noticed his staring and told it had been like that since You-Know-Who had been out in the open.

Lily tried to release a breath like that was somehow reliving news, but it wasn't all that convincing, they all had the same expression in place like they'd been thinking the same thing.

She couldn't check if it was only her family, she didn't know anyone else with a clock like it- She cut off in surprise as they watched Arthur's hand moved to traveling, and moments later, home.

She moved to the backdoor, but kept it shut to make sure it was him.

He agreed it was, but pointed out he'd say the same if he were a Death Eater. She still needed to ask the question.

"At least some families practice that," Remus gave a surprised laugh.

"Just because we don't do it at every door doesn't make us lax," Sirius rolled his eyes at him.

Remus failed to point out the Order seemed to disagree after losing another of its members.

After some exasperation she asked him what his dearest ambition was, and his response was to learn how airplanes stayed up.

Lily couldn't help a surprised giggle at that, finding more each passing time he spoke how much fun Arthur would likely have interrogating a Muggle if he had more of a chance.

She made to open the door for him, but apparently he was holding the other knob, as he refused to let it go until he asked what did she like to be called when they were alone?

All three boys made little ugh noises of entirely not wanting to know that, and Harry even almost went so far as to plug his ears before Sirius just got it done with.

Even by the dim light of the lantern Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley had turned bright red; he himself felt suddenly warm around the ears and neck, and hastily gulped soup, clattering his spoon as loudly as he could against the bowl. It did nothing to help him hear the answer.

Lily offered a reluctant smile amidst all of the boys muttering how much they hadn't wanted to know that, "well, I'll give the man credit, no Death Eater would likely think to ask such a thing."

"Doesn't mean we wanted to know," Harry stated, as red faced in here as he was then.

"They're not meant for you to know, Arthur doesn't know you're there yet," James reminded.

"Then I'll happily pretend like I never found out," Sirius grumbled before moving on loudly.

He finally allowed the door to be open, Mrs. Weasley saying in exasperation she didn't know why he insisted on going through that every time he came home. If he were a Death Eater, he would have just blown down the door, not bother impersonating anyone.

"The point of it is to think up questions and answers they wouldn't think to ask in that scenario," Lily wisely endowed to Harry's suddenly uneasy look.

He nodded, but the thought hadn't been what if Mr. Weasley was right, it was the act itself he couldn't shake off. He didn't want to imagine what he would have told someone to save the life of another being tortured, the idea was too horrible to consider even as he forced his mind to ignore the echoing screams from a memory he hoped he was misunderstanding.

Arthur reminded as a Ministry employe, he needed to set an example for their kids. Plus, what if he really had been a Death Eater.

"His kids are all apparently asleep, who's he setting an example for?" Sirius snorted.

"And Merlin help those two if Molly answers that around their kids too," James agreed.

He smelt the onion soup then and looked hopefully towards the table, where he finally spotted Harry.

The two greeted each other cheerfully before he went into some details about work, like someone selling Metamorph-Medals. A thousand disguises for ten Galleons!

"A shame we can't really have something like that," Harry muttered, it would make his Transfiguration classes a lot more smooth he was sure.

All that really happened when they were put on was turning orange and sprouting tentacles, as if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to be getting on with.

Lily scoffed in further disgust of people, depressed this was more news than something she'd had plenty of time fixing herself on her time off.

Mrs. Weasley hesitantly said that sounded like the kind of thing the twins would do.

"They would never," James defended at once. "Even in school they knew when not to mess around."

Lily just rolled her eyes at him. Molly was just being a concerned mother, and Lily could think of several instances where they'd been idiots, and practical idiots.

Arthur at once said they were doing no such thing, they knew better.

Molly caught Harry yawning then and sent him off to bed,

"Aww," Sirius muttered in genuine disappointment, he was rather enjoying hearing about Arthur's job.

he'd be staying in the twins room.

"Why?" Remus asked in concern at once.

Harry asked where they were.

"Oh, I meant what's wrong with Ron's room, but that works too," Remus muttered.

She told they were sleeping above their shop in Diagon Alley, they apparently needed to with how busy they were.

All of them beamed at the thought, though unsurprised. This was by far the best thing a Potter had ever invested in!

She really hadn't approved at first,

"Didn't approve," Sirius repeated with an eye roll, finding that far too low brow for her trashing their things and telling them at every opportunity what wasted potential they were.

but they did seem to have a flair for business.

Harry called a goodnight to Mr. Weasley as he followed Molly upstairs, glancing one more time at the clock, all nine hands now back to mortal peril.

Lily couldn't help nibbling at her lip again, glancing fearfully at Harry and away with more questions for this poor family that she knew he couldn't answer.

Fred and George's bedroom was on the second floor.

James couldn't help but to start bouncing eagerly in anticipation, he'd been wanting to hear details about the twins room since he'd first heard of Ron's!

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at a lamp on the bedside table and it ignited at once, bathing the room in a pleasant golden glow. Though a large vase of flowers had been placed on a desk in front of the small window, their perfume could not disguise the lingering smell of what Harry thought was gunpowder.

"A memorable entrance indeed," Sirius blinked in surprise before they all started snickering.

A considerable amount of floor space was devoted to a vast number of unmarked, sealed cardboard boxes, amongst which stood Harry's school trunk. The room looked as though it was being used as a temporary warehouse.

"It probably is," Remus agreed.

Hedwig hooted happily at Harry from her perch on top of a large wardrobe, then took off through the window; Harry knew she had been waiting to see him before going hunting.

"Aww," Lily cooed, smiling over at their own bright orange screech owl, Click, who more often than not chose to live off of the owl treats than hunt.

Harry bade Mrs. Weasley good night, put on pajamas, and got into one of the beds. There was something hard inside the pillowcase. He groped inside it and pulled out a sticky purple-and-orange sweet, which he recognized as a Puking Pastille.

"Hopefully not a sign of the rest of this book," James muttered, remembering several nauseating times already from Harry's past.

Smiling to himself, he rolled over and was instantly asleep.

Seconds later, or so it seemed to Harry, he was awakened by what sounded like cannon fire as the door burst open.

"I think Ginny realized he was there," Sirius couldn't help but tease, though the tiny little girl fawning over Harry had been replaced with the formidable fifteen year old telling his godson he wasn't leaving without her in that forest in his mind, so the joke held no weight.

"Be fair, Hermione's been known to attack hug him as well," James chuckled while Harry ignored them both.

Sitting bolt upright, he heard the rasp of the curtains being pulled back: The dazzling sunlight seemed to poke him hard in both eyes. Shielding them with one hand, he groped hopelessly for his glasses with the other.

He blurrily demanded what was going on, while a loud voice shouted they hadn't known he was here so early! Then Harry got a sharp blow to his head.

A girl reprimanded Ron not to hit him.

"Honestly, this really is a kind awakening, you don't want to know how these two have gotten me out of a bed," Remus rolled his eyes at Harry's face, a mix of pleased at his friends again and severe agitation with such an abrupt awakening.

Harry's hand found his glasses and he shoved them on, though the light was so bright he could hardly see anyway. A long, looming shadow quivered .in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus, grinning down at him.

They asked how he was, and Harry said never better while rubbing the top of his head.

"A much kinder response than I've ever given," Sirius chuckled.

Harry asked what time it was, and Ron said just past noon, their mum had only just told them he was here.

Hermione asked how it had been with the Muggles, had they treated him okay?

"Just brushing right past he's hardly gone to bed then," Lily shook her head, but found that a relevant enough question she didn't blame Hermione. They hadn't exactly been keeping better hours around here anyways.

Harry said same as usual, he hadn't really spent much time there thankfully.

Hermione, was scrutinizing Harry as though he was sickening for something. He thought he knew what was behind this, and as he had no wish to discuss Sirius's death or any other miserable subject at the moment,

"I can not blame you," Sirius said extra loudly to emphasize he wanted the same.

asked if he'd missed breakfast?

Ron promised a tray was coming up for him, then asked what he'd really been up to.

Harry didn't get it, and Ron told him to stop messing around, he'd been with Dumbledore!

"That always sounds far more exciting than it turns out to be," Lily shook her head.

Harry told that they'd only been getting a teacher out of retirement, and Ron looked disappointed as he began they'd thought- then Hermione gave him a warning look and he finished they'd thought it would be that.

"Well he's gotten much better at that picking up on things," James laughed.

"Getting a teacher out of retirement would be top of my list of things I thought you'd be doing too," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Why'd Hermione want him not to ask about that though?" Remus was surprised. "Harry's never not told them what he's been up to.

"Maybe Hermione thinks that's a sensitive topic too," Lily rolled her eyes.

It made sense they'd need a new Defense teacher, what had he been like?

"It's nice to have more foreknowledge than the teenagers for once," Sirius laughed hard at that one.

"Technically we only know they're wrong about their assumption, not who the new Defense teacher is," Remus pointed out.

"Must you ruin all my fun?" Sirius rolled his eyes.

Harry said he looked a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin.

"About sums him up as far as I'm concerned," James agreed.

Then he asked Hermione if something was wrong?

She was watching him as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.

"What is her problem this morning?" Sirius asked in exasperation.

"Harry's interrupting her and Ron's room the past three weeks?" Remus offered under his breath, causing Sirius to both snort and smile innocently, and Remus to hurry on before explaining the joke. Neither thought Harry would find it funny.

She said no of course not! Then quickly asked what kind of teacher he'd be?

Harry just said couldn't be worse than Umbridge.

"He's got me there," Sirius sighed, and there used to be a time Slughorn was his least favorite teacher, but Snape had already trumped that, now the man seemed like a blessing after that frosted catnip.

A voice from the doorway interrupted there was certainly someone worse than Umbridge.

"I find that hard to agree," Lily said at once with a disparaging look at her sons right hand.

Ron's younger sister slouched into the room, looking irritable, but still gave Harry a hi.

"That's certainly a contrast than glowing like the sun upon first meeting you," James smiled slightly, though it was just a bit saddening to hear of this girl's growing up more than he'd got to witness his own son doing so.

Ron asked what her problem was, and she shouted she was being driven mad!

Hermione sympathetically asked what had been done now?

Ginny returned she kept being spoken to like she was three!

Hermione agreed she was so full of herself.

"This is just rude, playing the pronoun game right in front of us," Sirius grumbled as this conversation just kept carrying on.

"I'm not sure who they could even be talking about," Remus agreed, "doesn't seem like Molly."

"Certainly not Tonks, who's the only other girl we've seen over there," James agreed, completely baffled.

"Maybe it's still someone new," Lily shrugged as she waved them on.

Harry was astonished to hear Hermione talking about Mrs. Weasley like this and could not blame Ron for saying angrily they needed to lay off for five seconds.

"Ron joining in on this just made it more interesting," Sirius didn't try very hard to fight off a smirk.

Ginny snapped of course he'd defend her, he couldn't get enough of her!

This seemed an odd comment to make about Ron's mother.

Harry scowled at their collective snorts and grumbled they all thought themselves so smart, he had just woken up!

He had just asked who they were speaking of when again someone came in the door.

Harry instinctively yanked the bedcovers up to his chin so hard that Hermione and Ginny slid off the bed onto the floor.

"They kind of deserved it after your morning," James chuckled.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she was carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray.

"Err," most of them muttered, as this cleared up nothing. Harry wasn't being of much help, still blinking spastically as if he had a bright light in his eyes. Sirius though well remembered a girl of this description, and the next line only magnified that expression.

A girl in a thick French accent greeted ˜Arry, it had been too long!

"Oh, it's Fleur!" Remus yelped.

James let out a surprised whistle as this registered, "wow, her and Bill must be getting on really well for her to already be hanging around his house this much."

Lily was still rolling her eyes at Sirius for not just telling them this when he'd realized it.

As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross. Pointing out there was no need for this, she was doing it herself.

Flure said it was no problem, she'd wanted to come see him! Gabrielle would be so delighted about this as well.

"Merlin, how many people do they have crammed into that house?" Lily asked with some concern for this declaration.

"Bill and her are likely just there visiting with her, I doubt they're staying there," James shrugged.

Harry asked she was here to.

Flure corrected next summer, when the- then she stopped in surprise he didn't know.

"How could he know, he's literally just awoken," Remus reminded, clearly still far more against this than anything.

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said they hadn't a chance to tell him yet.

"She doesn't seem particularly excited for it," Lily noticed, a few things popping to mind.

Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face.

"Endearing," Sirius snickered.

Announcing her and Bill were to be married!

"Ah, well I was right," James smirked.

"Wonder what's got Molly so wound up about it," Sirius shrugged without much concern.

"Her first baby's starting his own family, I'm sure she's going through all sorts of things," Lily told, eyeing Harry's ring with something very acute to how Molly would be feeling, while unable to stop a pleased little smile of her own for these circumstances.

Harry just said oh blankly. He could not help noticing how Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze.

Lily couldn't help but understand those girls, she hadn't thought much of Fleur either until Harry had gotten to know her a bit better.

He congratulated her, and she swooped down upon him and kissed him on each cheek while continuing Bill was very busy with his job for now so he invited her over here to get to know his family, though there wasn't much to do unless you liked cooking and chickens.

"Should I be worried she thinks things are going to be more exciting with him around?" Remus went wide eyed with some genuine concern for that.

"She met Harry when he entered the tournament he shouldn't, I can't blame her," Sirius reminded without any enthusiasm.

She waved him goodbye and bid him enjoy his breakfast before leaving.

Ginny whispered as soon as she left Mum hated her.

Molly snapped at once she did not, she just thought they were rushing into this engagement!

"Well I can't say a word," Lily muttered with a gleaming smile. She never would have thought herself the kind to marry right after school and have a family started, and Bill would be about that same age. She wouldn't change her life for anything though, and would of course caution her own child not to do the same.

Ron pointed out they knew each other for a year, still staring groggily at the door.

"I think someone's still got a Veela infatuation," Sirius said wisely.

Molly said that certainly wasn't long enough! People were doing this across the country, all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who! It was the same last time, people eloping left, right, and center.

"Yes. And?" James asked with an unconcerned smirk as he fought the compulsion to go over to his wife just to take her hand.

"Prongs, you are not the example to be setting for anyone," Remus scoffed.

"Oh, and you are?" Sirius challenged.

"You're all idiots, so I don't know what you're comparing," Lily reminded.

Ginny reminded as well as her own parents, and Molly went slightly red before pointing out they were made for each other.

"Right," James drew out the word defiantly, Molly had just turned herself into a bit of a hypocrite, again.

Whereas Bill and Fleur didn't have a thing in common. He was down to earth and hard working, where as she-

Was a cow, Ginny happily inserted. He loved adventure and glamour, probably why he fell for Phlegm.

They all snorted in surprise, that having been the last thing they'd expect Ginny to call anyone.

Mrs. Weasley snapped at her daughter not to call her that as Harry and Hermione laughed.

"I don't see where she gets off telling Ginny that," Harry said a bit defensively, "she was just bad mouthing Fleur as well."

"Do as I say, not as I do," Sirius shrugged.

She went back downstairs then, while Ron was still shaking his head like he was punch-drunk.

Harry asked didn't he get used to it with her over here so much?

Ron agreed mostly, but not when she just jumped out like that.

"It's the Yule Ball all over again," Remus snickered.

"I do hope Fleur's told Bill about that exciting tale," Sirius agreed.

Hermione furiously called him pathetic, striding away from Ron as far as she could go and turning to face him with her arms folded once she had reached the wall.

"Never mind, they're still squabbling, and ignoring the fun side of acting like a married couple," Remus muttered.

Ginny protested he couldn't want her around forever? Mum was going to find a way to stop it.

"Oh, she wouldn't go that far," Lily disagreed. "She may not approve, and I'm sure she's told Bill as much, but I can't imagine her standing in his way like that."

"I can," James scowled, well remembering her harshness of the twins, and his own best mate last time she'd been around.

Harry asked how she'd managed that, and Hermione explained she kept trying to have Tonks around, like she hoped Bill would fall for her instead.

Ginny agreed she'd much rather have her in the family.

"Yeah, I can see it," Sirius grinned.

Harry just laughed, having an odd feeling this was in fact the exact opposite of what was going on, but not quite far off either?

Ron didn't buy it, no bloke in his right mind would fancy Tonks when Fleur was around.

"Oh now that's not fair," Remus frowned for that. "I've much more enjoyed hearing about her than some pretty French girl."

"Got to agree with Moony on that one, she'd be much more fun to have around," Sirius nodded.

Tonks is okay-looking when she wasn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose,

"I thought that was when she was at her best," Remus snipped.

"Go for the girl with a sense of humor," James agreed, very purposely looking to his wife who was snickering along.

Hermione agreed Tonks was even more intelligent, being an Auror.

Harry contradicted Fleur had been in the Triwizard Tournament, that had to take some brains.

"Intelligence wasn't a factor for that Harry," Sirius snorted in surprise.

"Plus, she came in last," James agreed.

"Oh stop, the lot of you, we're not having a contest over this," Lily fought to straighten her face and scold.

Hermione snapped not him as well!

Ginny scornfully asked if he liked the way she said ˜Arry?

Harry, now regretting having spoken at all, tried to say Phlegm, err, Fleur-

"Apparently Ginny's nickname was catchier than I first thought," Sirius snickered.

but Ginny just interrupted she wanted Tonks in the family.

Ron pointed out she hadn't been much fun lately, acting more like Moaning Myrtle the past few times she'd been around.

"Do they know something about that?" Lily asked, her concern for this returning at once.

"Let's find out," Sirius agreed.

Hermione snapped that wasn't fair, she still hadn't gotten over it! He was her cousin!

Sirius blanched in surprised, that had not been the answer he'd been expecting!

"Nah, surely that's not it," James tried to say casually, though the hitch in his voice made that anything but. He couldn't even continue, but looked away from everyone, despising his mind for reliving those last few moments all over again.

Sirius muttered a bit at Hermione still managing to bring this up before pressing on for the fifth time already about this.

Harry's heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. He picked up a fork and began shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth, hoping to deflect any invitation to join in this part of the conversation.

"Food has been known to solve many a problem," Remus agreed while trying to examine his nails and ignoring the ringing in his ears.

Ron scoffed that was ridiculous, they'd barely known each other, he'd been in Azkaban half her life and their families never met.

"Close enough to the truth," Lily whispered, watching Sirius' face drain of all color for being further reminded of this. He'd probably spent more time laughing about Tonks in here than he ever had with her.

Hermione snapped that wasn't the point, she thought it was her own fault he'd died.

Harry asked how Tonks would work that out despite himself.

"Yeah, I thought I took the blame for everything," Sirius happily falsified his voice to mock Harry's when trying to say that. For some reason his godson didn't appreciate the attempt.

Hermione reminded she'd been the last one fighting Bellatrix before it happened.

Ron said that was stupid, but Hermione reminded it was survivors guilt. She'd heard Lupin had tired to talk her around,

Harry couldn't help making a funny noise at that, though he wasn't sure what it was. Not quite laughter for Hermione's assumption.

but she'd been really down, having trouble with her Metamorphosing!

"Her what?" They yelped in genuine concern.

She hadn't been changing her appearance at will, probably shock.

"Now I'm really convinced something's wrong, and it's not me," Sirius' frown turned heavier than ever for his poor little cousins health.

"I'm sure that's the first time you've ever said that," Remus tried to playfully snip, but it fell flat. If it wasn't having to hear about Sirius, it was some other travesty happening in this future, and Tonks really was a light they could have used right now.

Harry was surprised that could happen, but Hermione said she was sure it could if one was really depressed.

"I can see it," Lily murmured uneasily. "Magic can have an affect on your state of mind, so I suppose the physical aspects would also be a bit touched."

"Whatever it is, I hope someone's trying to help," Remus huffed, still more worried than anything he wasn't being of any good to the Order even if he was clearly still around in some way.

Molly popped back in to ask Ginny to come help her with lunch.

"No, the conversation can't go on without her!" James dramatically wailed, causing the others a fresh burst of laughter for theatrics at least.

Ginny protested she was talking! Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hear it and said now! Ginny huffed she just didn't want to be alone with Phlegm, then swung her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

"A sight to behold I'm sure," Sirius forced a chipper mood again as well to go along with Prongs while Harry genuinely gave an affectionate smile for the show.

Harry took advantage of the temporary silence to eat more breakfast.

"A worthy cause," Remus chucked.

Hermione was peering into Fred and George's boxes, though every now and then she cast sideways looks at Harry. Ron, who was now helping himself to Harry's toast, was still gazing dreamily at the door.

She pulled a small telescope out of one and asked what it was.

Ron cautioned to be careful, though he wasn't sure. If Fred and George had left it behind, probably meant it wasn't ready for the shop.

"We all know what their last tests were like," Lily agreed with a small smile.

Speaking of his brothers, Harry asked if Percy had come around yet?

Lily perked up the most for this answer, the others were clearly still far more disgusted he'd even done such a thing.

Ron said nope.

Harry was shocked, Voldemort was back in the open now, he had to admit his parents were right.

"Clearly that's not enough for him to admit he was wrong of all things!" Siris snapped.

Hermione said Dumbledore had offered something along the lines of it was easier to forgive others for being wrong than right.

Ron agreed that was the mental sort of thing he'd say.

Harry conversationally put in he'd be taking private lessons with him this year.

Ron choked on a bit of toast and Hermione gasped, both shocked he'd kept that quiet!

"When exactly was he supposed to insert that into the conversation? When he was getting socked in the head, or Ron was drooling over Fleur?" James chuckled, though he knew he would have been just as bad if that had been dropped at any time.

Ron at once wondered where he, his voice tailed away. Harry saw him and Hermione exchange looks.

"Well they've clearly been having conversations without you again," Sirius pouted.

"Been doing that last year as well, and I'd be happy for them, if it weren't about me," Harry sighed.

Harry laid down his knife and fork, his heart beating rather fast considering that all he was doing was sitting in bed. Dumbledore had said to do it. ... Why not now?

"Because it would have been nice to go a whole five minutes without thinking about it," James sighed unhappily, but didn't begrudge Harry getting this out of the way either rather than dwelling on it his own some more.

He fixed his eyes on his fork, which was gleaming in the sunlight streaming into his lap, and began explaining those lessons had something to do with that prophecy.

Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke. Harry had the impression that both had frozen. He continued, still speaking to his fork,

"It's only polite, you should involve the utensils for all they do," Sirius nodded along while Remus gave him a light smack before he continued him on.

they knew the one, from the Department of Mysteries.

"Not a lot of other prophecies you could be referring to," James muttered agreement.

Hermione whispered it had been smashed, while Ron tried to interrupt the Daily Prophet had said, but Hermione shushed him.

"Hermione's allowed to interrupt but he's not?" Lily gave a halfhearted giggle.

Harry agreed he'd read those articles, and the prophet had it right, then he quoted the last lines for them, neither could live while the other survived.

"Is that really the only part your grasped on?" Lily demanded, wringing her own hands in an effort not to hold her son closer. "You've had experience with at least one other, surely you know not to take them at such face value!"

Harry couldn't bring himself to look at her, fight back, or contradict at all. He wished there were some other interpretation he was missing, but it all felt so inevitable it merely ate away at him what they'd think of him when it came to pass.

The three of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment. Then there was a loud bang and Hermione vanished behind a puff of black smoke.

Sirius startled a bit, before he burst out laughing. "Well, I guess we know what that," he went back and checked what exactly it was Hermione was holding, "telescope did!"

"The opposite of helped you to see, I like it," James chuckled in agreement.

The boys rushed to her in surprise, but she was already stepping out of the smoke, waving a hand in front of her face now with a black eye, gasping it had punched her!

"Oh, even better!" Remus yelped in surprise, still snickering delightedly at the gag.

Sure enough, they now saw a tiny fist on a long spring protruding from the end of the telescope.

Ron, who was plainly trying not to laugh,

No one was bothering with that in here.

promised her his mum could fix that.

Hermione said not to worry about that now,

"Sure she wouldn't have said that under any other circumstances," Lily snorted.

while rushing to Harry's side. They'd wondered if it was something like this, after all Lucius had said,

"It's no wonder the Prophet put this together, apparently everyone just knew this was going to happen," Harry sighed.

"Not if you don't want it to!" James reminded so forcefully Harry had to remind himself not to jump. "You can make your future whatever you want it to be!"

Harry glanced at him then, at all of them, and it really hit him why they were all so against this prophecy. Not because of his destiny being entwined with Voldemort, but because they refused to believe it was so inevitable Harry would be the one to do it. They just wanted him to have his own future, not be forced into this like Voldemort had done to them so many years ago, or so soon from now. He held tight to that knowledge, actually smiling as he promised, "Well, I'm sure you'll see to it it never gets this far."

"Absolutely," Lily agreed with all the confidence in the world.

She whispered if he was scared?

He admitted he had been, but now it felt like he'd always known he was going to face him at the end.

Sirius had to bite hard at his tongue to convince himself not to tell Harry that didn't have to define him, least of all allow someone else to tell him so! If he chose never to face Voldemort again he'd tear away anyone who tried to stop him.

Ron eagerly jumped on the topic of Dumbledore's lessons, saying he wouldn't be doing that if he thought Harry didn't have a chance.

"As eloquent as ever that one," Remus frowned more for the way he phrased it than disagreeing.

Hermione agreed he was probably going to learn powerful countercurses and anti-jinxes.

"I wouldn't really think so," Lily tugged at her hair in thought. "Voldemort is one of the most knowledgeable wizards there is, it must be how he's gotten as far as he has in his conquest. Not just anyone can come back from what he did after all, so it should be something more along the lines of other ways to defeat him than outright spells."

"Your idea has merits, but teaching him how to turn those statues into impervious shields wouldn't go awry either," James decided.

Harry did not really listen. A warmth was spreading through him that had nothing to do with the sunlight; a tight obstruction in his chest seemed to be dissolving. He knew that Ron and Hermione were more shocked than they were letting on, but the mere fact that they were still there on either side of him, speaking bracing words of comfort, not shrinking from him as though he were contaminated or dangerous, was worth more than he could ever tell them.

Lily sighed lovingly for her son, still as oblivious as he was at eleven. No one had thought this for a second anymore than they'd believed Ron and Hermione would take his cloak back at Fluffy's door. The smile on his face still showed otherwise, if not double more so because of those around him now.

She finished a bit anxious at least he knew of one class he'd be taking this year, wondering aloud when their OWL results would show up.

Harry distractedly said some time today, and Hermione shrieked!

"I think Hermione actually just had kittens," Sirius chuckled at such a reaction.

"To be fair, this is the most important moment of her life," Remus lightly mocked.

She leapt to her feet and darted down the stairs at once. When Harry arrived ten minutes later, fully dressed and carrying his empty breakfast tray, it was to find Hermione sitting at the kitchen table in great agitation, while Mrs. Weasley tried to lessen her resemblance to half a panda.

"A memorable depiction I shall never forget," James snickered.

Muttering to herself as she examined a text how her bruise wouldn't budge, she'd never come across this before!

Ginny agreed it was probably part of the twins trick so it wouldn't come off.

"I'd trust her on that," Sirius said a little to knowingly, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know when his godfather had tired much the same thing on anyone else.

Hermione squeaked it had to! She couldn't look like this forever!

Mrs. Weasley soothed they'd figure out something, while Fleur inserted Bill had told her how amusing Fred and George were.

"I'm guessing Bill wasn't on the end of many of their pranks then," Lily smiled.

"Or he actually does find them funny and can laugh along," James pointed out.

Hermione snapped she could hardly breathe from laughing at it!

"Those twins really should consider themselves lucky they aren't there for this," Sirius said while still unable to wipe away a smile for this imagined carnage. "We'd have an epic war about the house, considering this is the first time she's fallen victim to them personally."

"It's a miracle it never happened in school," Remus agreed.

She jumped up and started walking round and round the kitchen, twisting her fingers together and pleading with Mrs. Weasley she was sure no owls had come this morning?

Molly promised she'd have noticed, while Hermione barely heard her, still muttering about how she knew she'd messed up Ancient Runes, she'd certainly made one serious mistranslation.

"I never had the class, so I don't know what she's on about," Sirius went wide eyed with innocent curiosity.

"Because I missed this," Lily told him blandly while he continued on, high on his own cleverness.

And her Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. She thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back-

"She O'd everything," James stated as if noticing the weather.

"She can't be entirely perfect, she might have gotten an E in Defense, especially if she's freezed again." Remus said fairly.

Ron barked at her to shut it, she'd be walking away with eleven Outstanding Owls.

Hermione wailed she had failed everything!

"Nah, then we'd know she got Malfoy's," Sirius said brightly.

Harry asked what happened if that were true, and Hermione told you were to have a meeting with Professor McGonagall, she'd asked at the end of last term.

"Whom I'm sure laughed hysterically first," Lily shook her head affectionately.

"Though I don't think any student has ever failed every single OWL," James properly explained. "You do need to revisit with your head of house to further discuss your career options though, if you've happened to not get a grade that didn't align with your path."

"Or you can have the option to retake it, and have to pay to do so, same as if you needed an OWL grade for a course you didn't take," Remus told.

Harry nodded, as he considered all of this, knowing no grade in the world would get him into a class with Snape again...but maybe Slughorn? He certainly didn't feel very worried about his future as an Auror still hanging.

Harry's stomach squirmed. He wished he had eaten less breakfast.

Fleur chose to explain that at Beauxbatons, they took those grades after six years, not five,

"I can see both sides to that," Lily said curiously. "If you wait until your sixth year, then you've an extra year to study for the classes you really want to excel in-"

"But there's no year in between taking two major exams for your life," James happily butted in with the other side.

"Well Fleur always thought her school was better, so I'm sure she'd be happy to rebuttal," Sirius shrugged, not wanting to hear either, just happy he'd never have to take another test again.

Fleur's words were drowned in a scream. Hermione was pointing through the kitchen window. Three black specks were clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

Harry was rubbing at his ear but looking a little grey, while the others all lit up with so much excitement to hear this they couldn't even laugh at Hermione's overreaction.

The three students huddled worriedly around the window as the birds descended, Mrs. Weasley having to squeeze past them to get the window open where they each landed in front of their carriers.

Harry moved forward. The letter addressed to him was tied to the leg of the owl in the middle. He untied it with fumbling fingers. To his left, Ron was trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione's hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble.

"I'm sure the poor birds have had worse done to them, like being vomited on," Sirius said slyly.

"I regret ever telling you that," Remus grumbled.

Nobody in the kitchen spoke. At last, Harry managed to detach the envelope. He slit it open quickly and unfolded the parchment inside.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

Sirius honestly skipped right past all of that nonsense, they already knew that.

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology E

History of Magic D

Potions E

Transfiguration E

"Congratulations!" James cheered while Lily did a little whoop of joy for him. Harry honestly found it hard to believe he'd done so well, much better than he ever would have given himself credit for in all the classes that mattered.

"Looks like McGonagall's Auror training is going to be completely unneeded, you managed all that yourself!" Sirius bounced happily in place.

"I'm still stunned stupid he got an E in Potions! It's hard to believe he learned anything in that class!" Remus looked struck dumb.

"Gee, thanks," Harry laughed lightly, though he didn't at all disagree.

Harry read the parchment through several times, his breathing becoming easier with each reading. It was all right: He had always known that he would fail Divination, and he had had no chance of passing History of Magic, given that he had collapsed halfway through the examination,

"Nobody cares about that class anyways," James waved off at once, fighting back the compulsion to scream some more at the mention of that particular exam.

but he had passed everything else! He ran his finger down the grades . . . he had passed well in Transfiguration and Herbology, he had even exceeded expectations at Potions! And best of all, he had achieved "Outstanding" at Defense Against the Dark Arts!

"No surprise there!" Sirius puffed up his chest. "He's been a natural at that from the start!"

"You did extremely well, you should hear that no matter how unsurprising it is," Lily told him gently as well as a rebuke to Sirius, who simply grinned in agreement rather than replying to her.

"Will you tell me what grades you got now?" James quickly asked her, batting his eyes pleadingly.

She just raised her brows at him in disbelief. "What makes you think I remember them all so many years later? I'm not as conceited as you lot, constantly lording over-"

"I'm guessing O in Potions, Herbology, and Charms, and at least an E in everything else," Sirius said loudly around her.

She blushed faintly, and had to take some niggling from Harry before finally admitting, " Well he wasn't wrong about the first three, but I got an A in my Ancient Runes and Transfiguration..."

"And," James happily prompted when it was clear she was refraining from saying something else.

She released a blistering noise before finishing, "and a T in my History of Magic. I was so busy studying for everything else, and it just sort of fell through the cracks there at the end-"

"Is that all?" Harry chuckled. "You did as well as I did Mum."

"Doesn't make it any more fun to remember," she huffed with a gleaming smile.

"Can't wait for your NEWT results now," Sirius said cheerfully before going on.

He looked around. Hermione had her back to him and her head bent, but Ron was looking delighted, noting he'd only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cared about those! They swapped papers, Harry glanced down Ron's grades: There were no "Outstandings" there. ***

"Really?" Sirius said in honest surprise. "You'd think he'd have aced some class, I know he'd gotten on just as well in Care of Magical Creatures as Harry, what with his dragon keeper of a brother giving him some extra knowledge."

"Ron never took his classes to heart though, I'm sure he didn't even try his hardest, like others," Remus said pointedly to Sirius' careless shrug.

Mrs. Weasley praised her youngest son when she saw his results, telling those seven owls was more than Fred and George had gotten together!

"Still on that eh?" Sirius rolled his eyes.

"I don't want to hear it from the lot of you who stopped to recount yours," Lily snipped, "and then demanded mine."

Ginny tentatively called for Hermione, who still hadn't moved.

"Maybe she actually didn't get an O in everything," James went wide eyed in concern.

"I think I'll faint from shock," Sirius began fanning himself for a moment.

Hermione said in a small voice she hadn't done bad.

"Or she's just embarrassed she made such a big deal out of it and actually doesn't want to show off," Remus shook his head.

Ron walked over and snatched her paper away, then laughed she was actually disappointed she'd only gotten an Exceeds Expectations in her Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL.

"Wow," James mouthed theatrically.

"She's actually disappointed in herself," Sirius scratched at his temple for this reaction.

"She did admit Harry's beat her out in previous DA exams, I'm not too surprised about this one," Remus shrugged with an extra, though still tentative, smile at Harry, who returned it at once.

He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. Then declared them all N.W.E.T students, and asked his mum for more sausages.

"The proper response!" Sirius burst out laughing.

Harry looked back down at his results. They were as good as he could have hoped for. He felt just one tiny twinge of regret. . . . This was the end of his ambition to become an Auror. He had not secured the required Potions grade. He had known all along that he wouldn't, but he still felt a sinking in his stomach as he looked again at that small black E.

"I wish Dumbledore had told you what position Slughorn was coming back for now," Lily clucked her tongue sadly for that frown he was easily hiding now at knowing better. "Would save you a summer of stressing over this."

"At least McGonagall will set him straight at the beginning of the year," James reminded cheerfully.

It was odd, really, seeing that it had been a Death Eater in disguise who had first told Harry he would make a good Auror,

"Yeah, the irony of that has crossed me several times," James gave a heavy sigh.

"Doesn't make it any less appropriate given how your life's gone," Sirius pointed out.

but somehow the idea had taken hold of him, and he couldn't really think of anything else he would like to be. Moreover, it had seemed the right destiny for him since he had heard the prophecy a few weeks ago. . . . Neither can live while the other survives. . . .Wouldn't he be living up to the prophecy, and giving himself the best chance of survival, if he joined those highly trained wizards whose job it was to find and kill Voldemort?

The four around him made faces at this again being brought up, but now that Harry felt he better understood where they were coming from, he easily brushed past their concern as he happily watched his mother grab the book to continue.

HPHPHPHP

*This was a really weird line to me when I first read it, and I had to google if that was an actual saying or I just got some odd copy. Turns out it's an older way to say goodbye, especially to a lady. The more you know.

**I'm really not sure why Hermione was here for this summer holiday. She could have met up with them in Diagon Alley if she really needed to, but even then she wasn't essential to what goes on there. Why not have her spend the majority of the summer with her parents like she'd done before? I'll go more into this in the next book with their last mention, but still.

***I am genuinely insulted by this, Ron couldn't get one Outstanding? In Care of Creatures or something? She did for the other two, Hermione was obvious but still, Ron could have outshone Harry in one class, or at least have it be mentioned he got a higher grade than him in something.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #HBP #The Life That Never Lived #Marauders #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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sunmoonandeddie · 5 years

Text

my sweet girl

pairing: 40s!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 13,561

summary: After WWII, James finds you and rescues you from the rest of the world.

prompt: ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’

warnings: swearing, violence, mental illness

a/n: This was written for @whiskey-cokenfanfic‘s 30th birthday writing challenge! Happy birthday and I hope you enjoy!

“What’s on your mind, sweet girl?”

I don’t move from my perch, my head leaning against the cool glass of the bay window. The one I always sit in while I wait for him to come home. The trees are fluttering in the late summer wind, and I can see hints of autumn starting to peek through.

Soon my garden would wither, and I’d have to wait until spring to tend to my beautiful flowers.

I can feel James’s stare from across the room as he sits in his chair. His throne in his little kingdom. If he’s the king in this place, then I suppose that would make me the queen. I have my own little throne in the bay window, with all its pillows. But when he’s home, I prefer to curl up with him in the chair, my legs thrown across his lap and my head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Sweet girl?”

I turn my head, a little surprised to find his eyes focused on me. “Yes?”

“You’re thinking awfully hard there,” he says, mirth coloring his words. He looks so regal in his suit, his hair nicely coiffed. It’s no wonder that he’s such an important man. “Talk to me.”

Shaking my head, I look back out the window. “Just lost in a daydream, I suppose.”

“Must be some daydream,” he says, the book closing with a resounding snap. His fingers run over his five o’clock shadow as he observes me.

Perhaps he’ll let you help him shave this time.

The brunet leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Now, let’s try this again. What’s on your mind, sweet girl?”

“I…” It’s the usage of his favorite pet name that gets me. Because I like being his sweet girl, and sweet girls are honest. But even so, I’m hesitant. “James, do think your friends would like me?”

“Why do you ask?”

I shrug, my hands twisting in the soft material of my dress. The soft cotton feels so nice. Maybe I’d ask him to pick up more fabric tomorrow. It’s been a few days since I’ve sewn anything and my hands were starting to get restless again. “I’m just curious.”

“Don’t you know the old saying?”

“What old saying?” I ask, brows furrowing as I sat up straight. My mind isn’t very sharp anymore and it’s a little frustrating to know that the old me would’ve known what he was talking about immediately.

He’d take the old you to meet his friends.

James rises to his full six feet and my breath catches. His oxfords are almost silent on the hardwood floor as he saunters over to me. The way he takes his sweet time is reminiscent of a jungle cat—a tiger, maybe—stalking his prey. My face always ends up ablaze whenever he does it, the warm spreading from my cheeks all the way down to my toes. “Curiosity killed the cat, kitten,” he says as he sinks down, one knee on the ground.

A light bulb flickers on in my head. “But satisfaction brought it right back,” I say, lips stretching into a bright smile. With my excitement, I momentarily forget about what I was asking. “James, did you hear that? I told you! I’m getting better every day!”

The smile he grants me sends my heart a flutter, because I know it’s the one he only gave to me. No other person in the entire universe gets to see that smile. “Yes, you are, sweet girl. Yes, you are.”

“But…” I trail off, getting quiet once again as I remember my question from before. I am rather surprised that I do. My mind tends to wander more often than not and I can be so forgetful. “Why can’t I meet your friends?” My hands find his, soft digits running over the calloused lines in his skin. When asking such questions, I’ve learned to be touching him in some way or another. It soothes him. “Are you ashamed of me?”

His eyes simmer as he squeezes my hands. “Of course not. How could you ever think that?”

“I… I watch you leave every day for work, and you always tell me all of your stories about your friends,” I say, eyes dropping once again. If I upset him, I don’t want to be looking into those deep blue eyes. Seeing him upset just makes me upset and that never goes over well. “And I just sit here at home. None of my stories are interesting, and—”

“I find your stories incredibly interesting,” James insists. The setting sun beaming in through the window sets his face ablaze. He’s still got his tan from all the time we’ve spent outside this past summer and I do hope that it’ll stay into the winter. “I always love listening to you, sweet girl.”

“But none of them are any good!” Despite the fact that I’m verging on whining, I can’t bring myself to care.

“What about the one about the bird that got into the house? And you had to chase it around with a broom?” He says, his thumbs gently massaging my hands as they rested in his. “And I love hearing about the books you read. Like The Little Prince and Gone With the Wind.”

I still find it hard to believe, though it’s becoming easier and easier. But then again, I’d believe anything he said as long as he keeps looking at me like that. Like I’m something precious. “Really?”

“You’re an excellent storyteller. Put all mine to shame,” he says, a soft grin spreading across his face. “My friends won’t ever be half as interesting as you.” He presses a gentle kiss to my nose, smirking as I dissolve into giggles. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“I love you more, James,” I say, as all my questions from beforehand are forgotten.

And to be quite frank, I can’t even remember why I asked in the first place.

“—just like this,” James said as he guided my hand. His chest is pressed against my back, his left fingers splayed against my stomach.

It felt good to be touched. I hadn’t been touched in a nice way in so long, and all of his touches were nice. Every time he reached out for me, I immediately leaned into it, whereas with anyone else I might’ve flinched away.

I stared at the royal blue stripe of paint that was now on the otherwise white wall of the master bedroom. “Are you sure you like this color?” I asked, my voice barely audible. I was still a little unsure of where I stood with him, what my role in this house was. “We can still pick another one if you don’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he guided my hand once again, painting another thick stripe of paint on the wall. “Sweet girl, I told you that I love this color.” His warm breath tickled my ear. “And this is your house just as much as it is mine. You get to decorate it however you want, remember?”

I nodded, a faint smile lifting my face. “Yes, James. I remember.”

“So tell me, Y/N. What does your dream bedroom look like?” He asked as his cheek pressed against mine. His two day stubble scratched against my soft skin.

Not that I minded.

Any touch from him felt so good.

“There’d be a four-poster bed with a canopy made of white silk. Like the ones I read about in books. And there’d be an ottoman at the end of it,” I said, my mind trailing off as I stared at the newly bought paintbrush in my hand. “All of the wood would be mahogany. And I’d have a vanity. There’d be a piano beside a window so I could play while looking out at whatever view there is. Though I’d prefer a forest.” I paused, my eyes hazy. “I always wanted to learn piano, but mama said it was too expensive.”

“What would you play if you had a piano?” James asked, gently bringing me back to reality as he swayed me like a flower in the wind.

“Everything.”

That night, after the room was completely painted and the walls were dry, the furniture back in place, I tossed and turned. Even with the pile of blankets that covered me, I felt so cold.

So alone.

It felt so strange, trying to fall asleep without being able to hear someone breathing close by. During the war and after, there’d always been at least several others sleeping in the same room as me.

And though I barely slept, I couldn’t tell James. He’d already done so much for me and I couldn’t bear to burden him even more with my sleeping troubles.

But I hadn’t slept in two days.

I’d gotten into the habit of just staying awake until I passed out from sheer exhaustion, and yet release wouldn’t come to me tonight.

I stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath before making up my mind. I couldn’t keep going on as I was. Dark circles were starting to form under my eyes and I could see the way James’s eyes would linger. He could read me like a book and I knew that he could tell something was wrong.

The floor is cold under my feet, sending a chill up my spine as I make my way across the room. The door opens with a soft creak, and I tiptoed down the hall towards the room James was sleeping in.

For the past two weeks, he’d slept in that room, away from me, and it felt wrong. It had been years since I’d slept with him close by, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his body heat.

But he was determined to make me both utterly giddy with happiness and miserable at the same time. He was such a gentleman, always being so proper. He didn’t do anything more than kiss my hand in the two weeks since I’d come.

It frustrated me to no end.

I hesitated when I raised my fist to knock on his door, suddenly losing my resolve. What if he was angry with me for waking him? What if he said no?

You shouldn’t worry him with your issues.

“But he said—”

You don’t want to be more of a burden than you already are.

I stood there for another long moment before turning to head back to my room. But I’m interrupted by the door swinging open, James’s voice calling out, “Y/N?”

I stopped in my tracks, my shoulders tensing.

“Sweet girl?” He murmured, stepping closer to me. His fingers gently wrapped around my wrist, turning me to face him. His hair is mussed, and his words are still slurred with sleep, but his eyes are alert, searching you for answers. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted, before shaking my head. “But it’s fine. I’ll be okay.”

But his grip on my wrist tightened, stopping me in my tracks. “Hey,” he said as he pulled me back to him. “Talk to me.” When I don’t reply, he adds, “I know you haven’t been sleeping since you got here.”

I just stared at the white tank top that covered his chest, mesmerized by the dusting of chest hair peeking over the neckline. Everyone I knew would be so scandalized if they knew that we were standing there in our pajamas. He wasn’t even in proper sleep clothes, as he lacked the usual button down that would match his silk pants. It was improper, immoral.

But it was thrilling.

He lit a fire in my heart that I hadn’t felt in such a long time. It absolutely terrified me.

“Do you want to sleep in my bed?” James asked slowly, trying to gauge my reaction. We weren’t married, and if being this close while in our pajamas was scandalous, sleeping in the same bed was surely a one-way ticket to Hell.

But I nodded.

A fond smile tugged at his lips as he led me into what was technically the guest room. It was just as bland as the master bedroom, though you knew it was because he’d been waiting to decorate the house until you were there.

I fell into the bed as an angel falls from heaven—knowing that the world would disapprove but not really caring anyway. I knew if my parents could see me at that moment, they’d disown me just for allowing the only man who could ever understand me to wrap me in his arms and lull me to sleep with sweet nothings whispered into my ear.

The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. Despair bloomed in my gut as my hand splayed against the cold spot that James had been in just the night before. The curtains were still mostly shut, though I could see that the sun was almost to it’s high point.

It was almost noon.

You never slept in that long. Hell, you hadn’t slept longer than four hours or so in years.

“—right there.”

I frowned as I heard voices coming from the hall. There were four or five from what I could tell, but I wouldn’t have any true idea until I poked my head out the door.

Taking care to be as quiet as possible, I padded over to the door and cracked it open. Down the hall, a group of men headed downstairs. Once I deemed it safe enough, I creeped down towards the stairwell, wondering if I’d be able to find out what exactly they were doing here.

And also—where James was.

I froze as a floorboard creaked under my weight, though I didn’t hear anyone coming in my direction. I’m almost to the stairs when I glance over at the master bedroom. Its walls are now the royal blue I spent the day before painting it, but that’s not what catches my attention.

It’s the furniture.

With a final glance towards the stairs, I abandoned my earlier quest and found myself standing in the doorway of my room, completely speechless. A long the left wall was a vanity. A mahogany four poster bed was in the center of the room, white silk canopy fluttering in the wind coming from the open window.

And on the right side was a piano.

My mouth fell open in gasp as I stared at the sleek black grand piano that was sitting there like a mirage. The white and black keys shone in the late morning light. It was… stunning.

Why would someone break into the house and leave a piano?

“Do you like it?”

I whirled around to find James standing against the doorway. His face was the picture of calm, but the way his jaw clenched revealed his anxiety. “You…” I swallowed as I glanced back at the piano, almost afraid that it would disappear. “You got me a piano? Why?”

“Because you wanted one,” he said, as though it were obvious.

Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of his words. “Because… What?”

He smiled as he gently guided me across the room, his hand falling to my lower back. The silk of my nightgown felt cool where his hand was. “I told you that whatever you want, it’s yours. Last night, you said that you always wanted a piano.”

“But this is too much. This must’ve cost you a fortune,” I said, but I didn’t fight him as he pulled the bench out for me to sit on.

“Nothing’s too much when it comes to you,” he said. “I have the rest of the furniture coming later today, and I’ll make sure to get you piano books next time I go into town.” His fingers carded through my hair, untangling it as he watched me run my hands over the keys. “Do you like it?”

“I do,” I said after a moment.

James raised his eyebrows, knowing that there was a question on my mind. “But?”

“Why are you doing all of this for me?”

“What do you mean?”

I turned to look at him fully, peering up at him. “You’re doing all these things for me. Why?”

He chuckled as if it were obvious, sinking down onto the bench beside you. “Don’t you see?” He asked, brushing my hair back from my face. “I’m in love with you.” His eyes flickered to my lips and back. “And I will spend the rest of my life taking care of you.”

My days are filled with gardening and books, exploring the estate even though I have found every possible nook and cranny, and playing piano. Lots of piano. But most days, I find myself baking. It’s an easy way to past the time and there’s so many recipes in the cookbooks that line the kitchen shelf that I wouldn’t be able to get through all of them in a decade even if I baked every day. James comes home often to find me covered in flour with lips tasting of sugar.

Singing softly, I make my way to the walk-in pantry. The walls are lined top-to-bottom with everything you could possibly want. Except—apparently—for peaches. “Oh, dear,” I whisper to myself, biting my nails as I search the shelves. I thought that James had grabbed some the last time he went to the grocer but perhaps not. He wouldn’t go again until next week unless I ask him, but I want to surprise him tonight.

Well… Town was only a short walk away. Perhaps…

“No.” My hands fist at my sides. “It’s not safe. Remember what James said.”

But James will be so happy when he comes home to a freshly baked peach cobbler.

“But he’d be upset that I left.”

Just be back before he comes home. Town is only a short walk away.

Huffing, I glare at a jar of olives on the shelf in front of me, growing increasingly frustrated with myself. Arguing with myself was horribly exhausting. I can be so horribly stubborn. James says it’s cute most of the time, but I know when I ask questions he can get so frustrated. “But—”

You’d be back in time for lunch. He won’t be home until this evening, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.

“Well,” I say, biting my lip as I glance around. I almost feel like the brunet is going to be around the corner, waiting to pop out and catch me in my act of disobedience. “He won’t ever know I’ve left.”

The air around me seems to shift at my decision. In James and I’s shared bedroom, I take care to open the bedside drawer without so much as a creak. After slipping a few coins in the pocket of my dress, I head downstairs. The front door looms in front of me. A beast waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

And even though I’ve walked through that door many a times, I know that today is different. Before, I was only going to the front lawn. I was lying in the cool grass while reading whatever books James picked up for me.

Now, you’re going to town.

“I’m going to town,” I say, butterflies coursing through my stomach. But with the elation, comes a twinge of fear.

You’ll be home before lunch.

I open the door and carefully step out, taking a deep breath as I look at the path in front of me. “Just follow the road, Y/N. Just follow the road.” With the door shut behind me, I take purposeful steps down the drive. My heels click steadily on the pavement and a grin takes over my face. “Follow the yellow brick road,” I sing softly, hands swinging by my side. “Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow, follow. Follow the yellow brick road.”

My voice joins with the birds’ as I make my way to town. If I close my eyes for just a second, I can imagine that I’m in a blue and white gingham dress with ruby red slippers, a tin man, lion, and scarecrow at my side.

“We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz.”

The walk to town only takes about thirty minutes or so, but my feet are already beginning to ache. I’m not used to walking in my heels on uneven ground.

The closer I get to where the forest ends, the more anxious I get. As the trees thin out, I find I’m no longer protected from the sun’s harsh rays. My dress is starting to stick to my skin and it’s not the most comfortable thing. Buildings are starting to peek through the trees. Cars are rumbling just up ahead, and it sounds like a monster waiting for me to get closer so it can gobble me up.

Steeling myself, I roll my shoulders back. “We’re certainly not in Oz anymore,” I say before continuing on.

As I walk down the main road, I find my resolve breaking with each person I pass. Their stares make me feel like a spectacle even though I am nothing more than a stranger to them. My hands are beginning to tremble with each step and I hide them in the fold of my dress.

They’re whispering about you.

“Stop it,” I say as my eyes roam the buildings. My eyes light up as I see ‘Harrison’s Grocer’ painted in bright red letters across the top of the building just a little more down the road. “They’re just not used to strangers.”

Maybe it would’ve been better if you had stayed home.

A little bell chimes above the door as I walk in, blushing as everyone in the building turns to me. I nod at them before moving to stand behind the counter.

“Excuse me.”

I’m a little surprised to find a man standing beside me, his eyes ablaze. “Hello,” I say slowly before turning back to look at the produce that lines the walls. Even though I made it to town, my goal is to talk to as few people as possible. I haven’t talked to people other than James for over three years now.

He got you out of that dreadful place and now look at you. Disobeying him.

“You can’t just cut in line,” the man snarls, shocking me enough that I take a step back. The mean look on his face just makes him look even uglier than he already is, with his beady eyes and receding hairline. His breath reeks of tuna.

He’d make a very good villain in a story book.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer, eyes widening as I look between him and the two people behind the counter. They seemed to be on the man’s side as they watched me with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t see you.”

He elbows me out of the way, making a point to stand right where I had been, before continuing on telling the grocer what he needs.

James warned you about people like him.

“Shut up,” I huff, glaring down at the ground.

And he was right.

“Excuse me?” The man in front of me whirls around, his eyes feral. His face is getting more and more red and the way his hand is raising terrifies me.

He’s always right.

“I-I was just talking to myself!” I say, rushing to calm down the situation. The other people inside the grocer have gone deathly silent, watching me cower. “I’m sorry!”

The man sneers before snatching the brown bags from the counter. The door slams behind him as he storms out, and it’s quiet for a few moments before everyone resumes what they were doing.

“How can I help you, my dear?” The man behind the counter asks. With his glasses sliding down his nose and his sparkling eyes, he looks very much like what I imagine everyone’s grandfather looks like. I believe mine did, at one point.

He’s probably just as wicked as the man before.

“I-I just want some peaches,” I say, my voice trembling as I dig out the coins in my pocket. They cling softly against the counter and I slide them towards him. “As much as this will buy.”

The middle-aged man’s eyes get as wide as saucers as he looks down at the mess of coins. “This is… This is far too much.”

“I just want some peaches,” I say, my throat tightening. “Please? I want to make a peach cobbler to surprise my husband.”

He must see my panic, because he nods before taking one singular coin. “One bushel of peaches.” The rest are pushed towards me, and I smile as I slide them back into my pocket.

I’m not quite sure how big a bushel is, but my heart stutters as I see the large crate that is placed before me. It’s overflowing with perfectly ripe peaches.

“Do you need someone to help you?”

“No!” I swallow, willing my heart to not beat so rapidly. He seems shocked by my outburst, and I quickly try to cover myself. “I-I can handle it.” I have to stand on my tiptoes to grab the large crate, almost dropping it as I pull it off of the counter. “Thank you!” I call out to the man before pushing my way out of the grocer.

The street is still as lively as ever when I get outside, though I don’t look around as much since I’m too busy trying to carry the peaches. The wood digs into my delicate hands and I know that I’ll end up having at least a few splinters.

You made a fool of yourself in there with that man.

“It wasn’t that bad,” I murmur, rolling my eyes. I’m having to take small, decisive steps down the sidewalk. Sweat is starting to from along my brow and my only reprieve from the summer heat is the cool breeze. “The grocer was nice, at least.”

But now you have to carry that crate all the way up the hill.

I bite my lip as I look down at the yellow-orange fruits. “I’ll be fine. It’s not that long.”

Those men are looking at you.

Frowning, I look up from the peaches and, sure enough, there’s a group of six men staring at me. They’re standing a little further up the sidewalk, leaning against a brick wall. They’re covered in dirt and grime and I can smell the cigarettes that hang from their lips from where I’m standing. My nose turns up at the smell. The cigarettes are cheap, that much is clear. They probably got them from the dollar store.

Thank the Lord James doesn’t smoke those.

“That’s because James has class,” I say softly, thinking about the Cuban cigars he loves so much. “He’d never smoke something so cheap.”

“Where you going, baby?” One of the men calls out to me, and I shrink in on myself.

I know that my husband would never approve of me making myself smaller for other people, but something about those men just screams trouble to me. If the street wasn’t so busy, I’d cross it in order to avoid them.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Ignore them.

“Don’t ignore us.”

Get home. Get home and make your peach cobbler, and everything will be alright.

“Like that dress on ya. Bet I’d like it even better off.”

My skin crawls as I try to walk past them, knuckles white from gripping the crate so hard. Their raucous laughter reminds me of a darker time. Of a time that I don’t like to think about. Ever. I keep my head down, my h/c curls acting as a curtain.

As though you could hide from them.

“I don’t know what to do, Steve,” James says with a soft sigh. His head is pounding and the summer heat isn’t helping. The ceiling fans above aren’t making any difference. “She asked if I was ashamed of her because she hasn’t met my friends.”

His best friend takes a long sip of his scotch, and the brunet’s eyes were drawn to the little drops of condensation that fall down the short glass. “Maybe she should meet us.”

He sputters, disbelief clear on his face. “Have you gone mad?”

“It’s not that strange of an idea!”

“She can’t leave the estate. You know this.”

Steve leans forward, his hands folding together on the table. “What if we came to the estate? Just Peggy and me.”

Their early lunch has already been finished, plates stacked at the end of the table for the pretty waitress to take. She’s young, with lovely blue eyes, but not pretty enough to warrant a second look. They fell silent as she comes around, asking if they want desert before taking the plates and disappearing.

“Come on, Buck,” the blond says, swirling his glass. “Peg and I can come over for dinner some night. Y/N can have girl time with someone who knows the situation.”

James’s suit is feeling stuffier and stuffier by the second. “I just—”

He’s cut off by the sound of shouting outside the window. Across the street, six men are standing in a circle. They’re clearly construction workers, and he briefly remembers that they’re building a new police station downtown.

His heart stops when he gets a flash of h/c curls. He knew that hair.

“Hey, that’s—”

James is up and out of the chair before Steve can finish his sentence, bolting for the door. His own glass of scotch left half-empty on the table.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

I stare down at the peaches as one of the men steps in front of me. I try to step around him, but the others quickly follow his lead and circle around me, effectively stopping me from moving any further.

You shouldn’t have left home.

“Look at the little debutante, all dressed up and pretty,” one of the men says, yellow teeth bared in a sneer. “Where you going so fast?”

“H-Home,” I say, jumping as one of them pinches at my elbow. The others snicker and it seems to encourage him, because he reaches out and pinches me twice more. With each one, I’m sent back a few more steps until I’m bumping back into the man behind me. I quickly step away from him, cheeks reddening. “Pl-Please stop.”

“Aww, come one, baby.”

“We’re just having a little fun, sweetheart.”

One of the men yanks on the crate, and I lurch forward as I attempt to hold onto it. With one final tug, he manages to pull it from me and I stumble forward. The wood scrapes my hands and a yelp falls from my lips. It stings worse than the time I got stung by a bee last summer. I can feel something wet sliding down my fingers and I know without looking that my hands are bleeding.

James is going to know you left. You won’t be able to hide your hands from him.

I gasp as one of the men yanks at the skirt of my dress. The others seem to find this new game funny and their hands twist in the pretty soft yellow silk of my skirt. A ripping sound fills the air and my heart breaks.

There goes your favorite dress.

I let out a cry as one of the men pulls me to him, hands grabbing my ass. My hands push at him desperately, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized I had been crying until this moment. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he sneers before tossing me to the concrete.

I feel like nothing more than a rag doll as my head bounces off the ground. My ears ring, my movements lethargic as I try to focus on what’s happening. There’s a peach lying a few inches away from me, the fruits spilling everywhere after the crate was tossed to the ground.

A scream rips from my throat and I kick out as a rough hand wraps around my ankle, my skirt falling to expose my legs to the men. The man’s grip is so tight that I’m afraid the bone is going to snap like a twig.

“Nice stockings, baby. Wanna—”

“LET HER GO!”

The oh so familiar voice catches my attention, but I can barely see through my tears. The hand on my ankle disappears and I hear the men running away. My body shakes as a warm hand wipes at my tears and I can finally see who’s kneeling beside me.

James.

My heart hammers as I shoot up into a sitting position. Dizziness overcomes me as I try to scoot backwards, but my husband stops me, hands gripping my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asks, checking me over. There’s a sort of desperation lacing his voice. The man winces as he sees the bloody mess my hands have become, the scrapes along my arms from falling to the ground. I can already feel bruises forming along my shoulder blades.

My head alone feels like it’s going to explode.

“Sweet girl, look at me,” he says, hands cradling my face. “Come on, look at me.” My eyes slowly focus, his features becoming clear. “There we go. That’s a good girl.”

Another sob wracks my body as I look at him. He’s being so kind. So, so kind despite the fact that I disobeyed him. I betrayed him and his trust. “I-I’m sorry, James,” I say, voice cracking.

“Oh, darling,” he says, hands brushing back my hair. His startling blue eyes are rimmed with tears as he pulls me into his arms. He doesn’t care that we’re currently in broad daylight and people are staring.

It’s not as though they cared enough to stop those men.

He brings me back as he rocks me carefully back and forth, pressing soft kisses to my hair. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

“Y-You’re not angry?”

Of course, he is, you idiot.

“We’ll talk about it later,” James says with a deep sigh. It’s a sigh that resounds through his bones and makes me feel even more guilty. All he ever wanted was to protect me, keep me safe, and I just had to go out looking for trouble. His strong arms move me so that he’s carrying me, cradling me against his chest.

I close my eyes and wish for the rest of the world to go away. I just want it all to disappear so all that’s left is James and me. I want us to lock ourselves away in our little castle and never go outside ever again. He shouldn’t have to be around such cruel people.

James takes a moment to talk to someone, but I can’t hear exactly what it is, nor do I care to. As long as he keeps holding onto me the way he is, he can do whatever he wants, as far as I’m concerned.

My body shivers despite how hot it is. From where my hand is resting on his chest, I can feel the stickiness of his skin, though it might be the blood from my hands that’s staining the crisp white shirt. “You’re sweating,” I rasp, eyes opening to peer up at him. “I… I will run you a bath when we get home.”

“I think you need the bath more than me, sweet girl,” he chuckles, his chest vibrating against my cheek. He shifts me around so one hand is free, and I feel him open up the door of his car before setting me inside on the passenger seat. “There we go.”

The leather of the car seats burns my skin as he gets in the driver side and turns the car on, but I don’t dare say anything. Not when he’s being so kind, so gracious to me.

Others would’ve cast you out by now.

“But he would never,” I murmur, brows furrowing as I stare out the window. I know that James is listening by the way his fingers grip the steering wheel that much tighter, but he doesn’t say anything as he pulls out of his parking spot and heads for the hill.

But you’re useless. All you do is sit around all day.

“But I… I do things.”

Not much.

The rest of the drive up to the estate is completely silent. My body feels so numb. I can’t even feel the pain in my hands anymore.

We break through the trees and my breath catches in my throat. Even though I live in the house and I see it every day, it’s breathtaking. The white stone is crawling with vines, the windows sparkling in the sun. The lawn is as green as ever, though there’s a little patch where I always sit that’s been permanently trampled down.

James carries me inside and up the stairs, though I hardly register anything that’s happening. I know that I’m falling into my head. I can feel the fuzziness taking over. My mind feels disconnected from my body, as though I’m a million miles away.

Maybe Spain.

Spain would be rather lovely. Every book I’ve read that’s set in the country says so. The Gaudi architecture and the lively colors that make up the gingerbread fairytale. The way the everything blacks out in the afternoon for a mid-day siesta. The language that sounds like a symphony when it falls from the lips.

Yes, Spain is rather lovely, I decide.

I’m carefully set down, gingerly finding my balance as I stand. My eyes are hazy, unfocused as I stare at the ground. Someone moves around me to stand at my back, and I feel my shoulders tense.

It’s when I feel fingers tugging at the zipper on my dress that I snap. A scream rips through the air, and the only reason I know it’s me is because of the sting in my throat. I jerk forward, desperate to get away from the hands that are grabbing at me. Trying to defile me.

You need to get out. Get away.

Hot tears sting my eyes as I bolt for the door. My heels clack against the hardwood floor as I tear down the hall, desperately trying to reach the staircase that I can see up ahead. Maybe if I got there, I’d have a chance of escape.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

I can hear someone coming after me, their footsteps pounding as they begin to catch up. With how heavy their strides are, I can tell that it’s a man.

Another soldier. Another man determined to take what isn’t his.

I push forward, urging myself to go even faster. I’m almost to the stairs when my heel catches on a rug, sending me crashing to the ground. I try to scramble to my feet, but the pain in my ankle is making it rather difficult.

And then I feel him.

Hands grab at my ankles and I let out another bloodcurdling scream, kicking away at my assaulter.

“Y/N!”

The stranger’s weight bears down on me as he crawls up my body. He so easily holds me in place and even though I’m sobbing, I continue to fight with all of my might. “Stop! Stop!” I beg, though I know it will fall on deaf ears.

Invaders never listen.

“Y/N! STOP!” Thick thighs straddle my waist, holding me in place as calloused hands grab at my face. My fists are desperately pounding against a rock-hard chest. “LOOK AT ME!”

My chest is heaving against the constraints of my dress as I look up at the man above me. His face is red, his sea blue eyes filled with so much pain.

“Y/N, it’s me. It’s me,” he says, his hold on me keeping me locked in place. “It’s me, James.”

James.

Everything clicks into place, my mind suddenly coming back to me. “James?” I croak, and his face floods with relief.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” he says. He leans over me, his forehead pressing to mine. I can feel his thighs relax as he realizes that I’m back in my right mind. Our breaths mingle together as both of us try to get our bearings. “Nobody’s going to hurt you while I’m here.”

“I… My mind…” I swallowed, my eyes sore from all the crying I’ve been doing. “I did it again, didn’t I? I thought you were—”

A German soldier.

One of the men from town.

“I know,” James says, gently pulling me up so that I’m resting against his chest. His hand carefully runs over my back, soothing the restless pounding in my heart as I come down from my episode. Red blood is stained on his shirt, like his heart is blooming outside of his chest. “Come on,” he murmurs, gently picking me up. “Let’s get you in that bath.”

This time, I allow him to undress me without a peep, the ruined dress falling to the floor like a waterfall. His fingers are shaking as he carefully unhooks my stockings from my garter, the little black line along the back of my thighs disappearing as he rolls them down my legs.

“James, I think my stockings are ruined,” I say softly, eyeing the runs and rips that litter the nylon now.

The former soldier kisses my thigh and a shiver runs up my spine. “I will buy you all the stockings you could ever want, sweet girl.” He nudges me towards the tub. “Let’s get you in, and I’ll take care of your hands. Do you want rose, lavender, or pomegranate oil?” An impish grin spreads across his face. “Or what about olive oil? I can go down to the pantry and—”

“No,” I giggle, feeling some of the tension dissipate at his teasing. “Rose oil, please.” He steadies me as I step into the porcelain tub, sinking into the hot water. It’s perfect, as always.

Because he always knows what’s best for you.

James grabs one of the little glass bottles from the vanity, pouring a generous amount into the water. The sweet fragrance fills my nose as the water soothes my aches and pains from being tossed around like a rag doll. “Hands.”

I let my hands hang over the edge of the tub, water dripping from my mangled palms onto the tiled floor below. A white cloth is gently wiped across my hands, staining red as it cleans out the wounds.

He’s going to yell at you whenever he’s done.

“No, he won’t,” I say, huffing a little as I stare down at my hands, watching as he carefully wraps them. “He wouldn’t.”

“Sweet girl?”

I look up, e/c eyes meeting blue.

James’s face holds such my kindness that it hurts. “May I be a part of the conversation?”

“It said that you would yell at me,” I admit after a moment’s hesitation. “And I told it that you won’t.”

And he knows immediately what I mean by ‘it.’ What I call the voice that lives inside my head. “I won’t yell,” he confirms, brushing a strand of hair from my face. There’s a sheen of sweat covering my brow from the heat of the bath. “But I do have questions.” When my eyes drop, he tsks and tilts my chin up so I have to look him in the eyes. “Can you please answer them?” When I give my confirmation, he asks, “Why did you go into town?”

“I… I wanted to make you a peach cobbler,” I say, cheeks rosy. “But we were out of peaches. And I-I thought that I’d be okay if I just went and got the peaches and then went home.” I sniffle, but no tears come. It would appear that I’ve cried myself out for the day. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Is that why there were peaches all over the ground?”

I draw my lower lip in between my teeth. “I-I stole some of your coins to buy them. I-I’m sorry.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” James laughs weakly, caressing my cheek. “My sweet, darling Y/N. I don’t care about measly coins. I just want you safe.” His thumb tugs my lip out from between my teeth. “And it wasn’t stealing. What’s mine is yours. You’re my wife, after all.”

The steam from the bath is filling the room, and James’s hair is starting to stick to his face. He had gotten rid of his suit jacket at one point, but I can’t remember when.

“I never want to leave here again,” I say, my nimble fingers reaching forward to carefully undo the two top buttons of his white button down. The little bit of chest hair that peeks out tempts me to keep going, but I know that now is not the time. “You told me I was safe as long as I stayed here, and I disobeyed you.”

“Sweet girl, I am not your jailer,” he says, taking my hand and turning it over so that the diamond on my left ring finger glints in the light. “I want to keep you safe, but I am not going to lock you inside our home.”

After my bath, he towels me off and dresses me in one of my silk nightgowns. Sleep welcomes me heartily, the plush pillows on our bed carrying me away to a dream land.

When I come to hours later, it’s to a delicious smell rising up the stairs. Languidly stretching, I wince as I feel the soreness in my muscles. The sun is setting, the late rays dusting the room in gold.

Even though I would be content to stay in bed for the rest of the day, I slide out of bed and creep out of the room. Some old jazz tune is playing from the kitchen, the notes reaching me as I come down the stairs.

The sight that greets me makes my heart flutter.

James is standing at the stove, humming softly with the radio as he makes dinner. He’s freshly bathed, in a clean, short sleeve button down that’s tucked into his slacks, his hair back in its perfect coif.

“James?”

His head whips around and a smile spreads over his cheeks. “How’d you sleep?”

“I… Uh, fine,” I say, brows furrowing as I step up to the stove. “What are you doing?”

He looks at me in confusion, glancing between the pots in front of me and then back to me. “I’m making dinner.”

Now he doesn’t think you’re a good cook. You truly are useless.

I immediately begin to nudge him out of the way, hands pressing against his chest to urge him backwards. “I can make it. You go rest.”

“What?” He shakes his head, hands moving to my hips. His fingers gently hold onto me, twisting the silk that barely covers my body. “Y/N, no. I’m going to make you dinner tonight, okay? You’ve had a rough day.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’” he says, pointing a finger at me. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he nods towards the door on the other side of the kitchen. “Go look in the pantry.”

Still a little put off and confused, I take tentative steps towards the other room. When I glance back at James, he motions for me to keep going. When I open the door, a gasp falls from my lips, my hand reaching up to cover my mouth.

An entire shelf is lined with crates of peaches.

James threw his car in park, slamming the door behind him as he got out. He was absolutely seething as he made his way up to the front door of the red brick building. It had taken him hours to get there, and there was no way he was leaving without getting what he wanted.

Or who he wanted.

He’d passed a sign that said ‘Philadelphia State Hospital’ on the way in, and the energy had shifted the moment he did. The air felt colder. Like something awful was looming on the horizon.

The building felt more like a prison than anything else as he stormed through the doors. When he found the front desk, he slammed his hands harshly down on the counter, startling the lone nurse there.

“May I help you?”

“Where’s Y/N L/N?” He demanded, leaning over the desk to glare at her. He knew that she was less likely to help him with how coarse he was being, but quite frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. “I’m here to pick her up.”

The nurse tutted, her perfectly trimmed nails tapping against the counter. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s not visiting hours.” But she dug through the files in the cabinet beside her desk anyway, tugging out a file with the girl’s name on it. “And it says here that the only people allowed to pick her up are her parents. And you—” She raised her eyebrows as she appraised him. “—are clearly not one of her parents.”

But James didn’t care. Because right beside her name was a room number.

He bolted towards the hall the sign on the wall directed him to, cursing his restrictive clothing. Suit be damned, he needed to find his girl. It took him months to find her and he wasn’t going to let something so trivial keep him away from her any longer.

He can hear the nurse calling after him, heels clicking as she scrambled from out behind her desk. Two other nurses and a doctor joined her, and it struck him how few workers there are compared to how many patients he’d seen just along that hall. There are patients that are littering the hospital, making it that much harder for those chasing him. Some of them turn to look at him, but most stared lifelessly ahead as he ducked and weaved.

It’s more than a little disconcerting.

He finally found the right room and threw open the door without a second thought. The room he entered was devoid of any color, other than the dirt and grime that coated the formerly stark white walls. Five cots were along the far wall, so close together that he was shocked there was room to move. It’s cramped, unbearably so.

“James? Is that you?”

Heart pounding, he let out a sigh of relief as he saw me sitting in a chair by the window to his left. But at the same time, he felt something inside him break. I looked horrible. Like I did back in that cell back in the war. My eyes were sunken in, my skin sallow. The shapeless hospital gown did nothing to hide my state.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, voice cracking. There was a hazy look in my eyes, and it was clear to him that the doctors had me drugged out of my mind. “Not that I’m not happy to see you. You know I am.”

“I’m getting you out of here, sweet girl,” he said. Without a second thought, he picked me up, not knowing if I was capable of walking on my own or not. With how sickly I appeared, he wasn’t willing to take the chance. “I’m taking you home.”

Voices behind us were demanding that he stopped, and it sent a shiver through me. Those voices belonged to the nurses and doctors that ripped me apart.

They were just as evil as the men across the ocean.

James pushed the door leading to the courtyard open with so much force that it splintered. Alarms were going off all around us. Within what felt like seconds, I was resting in the passenger seat of his car and the tires were squealing as he peeled out of the hospital drive.

“Get some rest, Y/N,” James said after we were a safe distance away. I could tell when he felt we were going to make it by the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his hand reached over and grabbed mine. “We have a long way to go.”

When he finally got back to his estate, the first thing he did was put me in bed. He was sure that I hadn’t gotten a proper night of rest in forever, by the way that I didn’t stir.

The second thing he did was call Steve.

The blond got to his house in record time, and James met him at the front steps. He brought him inside before breaking the news—that he had actually gone through with taking you from the insane asylum.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His best friend asked as he paced the kitchen. His hair was mussed from running his fingers through it in agitation, his shirt untucked from his slacks. “You fucking kidnapped her!”

“I saved her,” James said, hands fisted at his side.

“You’re a government official, Buck! We work at the Pentagon! You can’t just do illegal shit like that!”

“You didn’t see it in there!”

Steve went silent as he saw just how badly the brunet was shaking.

“I couldn’t leave her there, Steve,” he said, his entire body trembling from pure fury. “It was disgusting. There was barely any room to walk, there were so many patients. And she looks just like she did when you rescued us. She’s—” He ran a hand over his face, tears pricking his eyes. “She was starving. Covered in bruises.”

The other man took in a deep breath as his own mind went back to when he first met you.

His hands pressed flat against the table. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself down. It wouldn’t do to wake you up when you were finally getting some well-earned rest. “I searched for her for months, and—"

“I know—”

“No, you don’t,” James said, cutting him off with a steely gaze. “You have Peggy. You had her during the war. I had to wait for over two years to find her again, and then I had to search for her for months after we got back. Only to find out that her family stuck her in a fuckin’ insane asylum. She—” He shook his head, wiping at his face. “She didn’t belong there, Steve.”

The other man sighed, looking all of his age in that moment. Becoming Captain America had aged him, left him a little worn. “But if you get caught—”

“I won’t,” he insisted, his mind drifting up the stairs to the master bedroom. “I’m not letting anyone take her from me again. I’m going to keep her safe if it kills me.”

“Sweet girl, where are you?” I hear James call from inside.

I feel a giddiness in my heart as I shout back, “I’m in the garden!” My bare feet sink into the soil as I trim the roses ever-so-carefully. There’s a stack of bright yellow sunflowers and pure white baby’s breath in the basket resting on the ground for the bouquet I’m putting together.

He appears on the back porch, his suit jacket already discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone. “How are they looking?” He asks as he makes his way over to me.

“Just perfect,” I say with a warm grin, holding out a scarlet rose for him to inspect. I’ve already trimmed off the thorns, lest one of us pricks ourselves. “I think it’ll go rather well with the sunflowers and baby’s breath. Don’t you think?”

“You’ve got a keen eye, you know,” James says, tapping the tip of my nose with his finger. He then pauses. “How are you today?”

I glanced over at the rose bush. “Today’s a good day.” And it was. My mind wasn’t as hazy, though it’s still not as great as it once was. “How was work today?” I ask as I place the roses I’d already trimmed in the basket with the other flowers. Wiping my hand across my brow, I pick up the basket before heading for the house. The first thing I see inside is the stack of new library books he picked up for me, his suit jacket thrown haplessly over a chair.

My husband follows after me, as I expected he would, his hands in his pockets. “It was alright, I suppose. Work was work.” When I set the basket on the kitchen table, he pulls on my hand to twirl me around, bringing me into him with a soft gasp. My hands rest on his broad chest as one of his hands tangles in my hair, letting it down from the twist I’d clipped it into. “I didn’t get my ‘hello’ kiss,” he says as his other hand curves around to the small of my back, bringing me impossibly close.

His nose nudges against mine and I can feel his lips brush against mine. So close yet so far away. “I apologize for my oversight. Could you ever forgive me?” I breathe, playing into his little game. Even after all the years we’ve spent together, he still manages to make my heart race. I feel like a school girl about to receive her first kiss.

“I suppose I can,” he teases. “If you pay a price.”

“And what price would that be?”

“Five kisses.”

I bit my lip to try and stop myself from smiling, but it’s useless. Standing up on my tiptoes, I press a kiss to his forehead. “One.” To his left cheek. “Two.” To his right cheek. “Three.” To his nose. “Four.” And finally, my lips slot against his like puzzle pieces. Kissing him feels like coming home, like warm hot cocoa on a snowy day. “Five,” I say as I pull away. “Am I forgiven?”

He grins mischievously, squeezing me closer to him. “If I say no, will you keep kissing me?”

Laughing, I push him away so I can put the flowers into the empty vase resting on the table. “What am I going to do with you?”

James watches with soft eyes as I carefully arrange the flowers, content to just be in my presence.

I never thought I would find someone like him. Someone who loves me enough to go against the law, to rescue me from a dreadful existence. Someone who has patience for me, who understands that I’m trying my best and that sometimes my best isn’t that great.

Even from all of before this, I couldn’t have dreamt up someone as amazing as him in my wildest dreams.

He always says that he’s the lucky one, but I disagree. I was lucky when he ended up next to me back during the war. I had been alone for so long. I can remember crying the first time he spoke to me.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says finally, moving towards where I’ve started to pull out the plates for dinner. James gently takes the china out of my hands, placing them to the side so my full attention is on him.

“What is it?” My eyes brighten at the prospect of a surprise. “Is it more peaches?” I ask, thinking of the crates he had gotten me a few weeks ago.

“No, but I’ll make sure to pick some up when I go to the grocer tomorrow,” he says, grabbing my hips gently. His thumbs rub soft circles into my skin, having slipped under my loose blouse. “Tell me, sweet girl, how would you feel about two of my close friends coming over for dinner later this week?”

He wants you to meet his friends?

“Your… Your friends?” I stammer, trying to wrap my head around the concept of other people in this house. Of spending time with people other than James. It’d been weeks since the incident in town, and I’ve recovered rather well, but I don’t know. I’m still apprehensive.

You’re going to mess everything up.

“It would just be Steve and Peggy,” the brunet reassures me, his blue eyes locked with mine.

Being so close to him is like drinking a glass of whiskey. My entire body feels warm and I feel so relaxed. Like nothing could ever hurt me ever again. And I know that it’s his wish to make sure nothing does. In the days after the incident in town, he doted on me even more so than usual. He took a few days off work, choosing to stay home and keep me company. He’d changed the bandages on my hands every few hours, massaged the tension out of my muscles. There was nothing I went without.

“Still with me, sweet girl?”

I blink, realizing that I’d zoned out while he was talking to me. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“You remember Steve and Peggy, right? From back during the war?” James asks, his voice lowering to a soothing whisper.

I nod hesitantly, trying my best to keep the memories out of my head. “You tell me lots of stories about them.”

“Well, they would like to have dinner with us,” he says, talking slowly as he gauges my reaction. “It would just be us four here at home. They’d be here for only an hour or two.”

“What if…” I swallow, my eyes falling down to the hardwood floor. “What if I have an episode?”

James leans his forehead against mine, his hot breath hitting my skin. “Then they’ll leave and we’ll spend the rest of the night just like any other.” He pauses. “But they won’t think less of you if you do. I want you to know that. They know about what happened and it hasn’t stopped them from wanting to really meet you and get to know you.” The silence that stretches on afterwards is long and heavy. Finally, he clears his throat. “What do you say?”

James threw the door of Steve’s office open, storming in like and looking very much like a hellcat. He absolutely radiated anger.

“Hello to you, too, Bucky,” the blond said without glancing up from his papers. He looked every bit the general he was. “It’s so nice of you to drop in.”

“Shut up. I see you for over eight hours a day,” he said, tossing the file down onto his desk.

Steve raised his eyebrows as he finally looked up at the other man, the sky meeting the ocean. “What the hell is this?”

He just motioned towards the file. As Steve picked up the file, he grabbed a glass from the minibar that was kept well stocked, pouring himself a generous glass of scotch. He stared out the window like some kind of Jay Gatsby. The liquor burned his throat but he didn’t care.

“You found her.”

James nodded, throwing back the rest of his drink in one gulp. “After eight months of digging, I find her.” He scoffed as he tried to pretend that his throat wasn’t tightening up, that tears weren’t rimming his eyes. “And find out her god damn parents locked her away in an insane asylum.” He whirled around to face him, the hand with the glass pointing towards him. “She’s not insane. She’s not.”

Steve stood up, trying to quell his own fury. “I know she isn’t, Buck.”

“She’s just—” He ran a hand over his face.

“I know.”

“That god damned war broke her,” James snarled, shaking his head. “She’s fought that war just like any other soldier, and this is how they treat her? Like some kind… some kind of animal.” But through all the anger, there was an overwhelming sense of helplessness. A feeling that he was determined to squash. “I’m getting her out of there.”

Steve sighed, his gut telling him that his best friend was about to do something incredibly stupid. “We’ll find a way to get her out of there, Bucky.”

“No.”

He froze, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend what he just said. “I’m sorry—what do you mean ‘no?’”

“That’ll take too much time,” James said, slamming the empty glass back onto the cart. He wiped his mouth as he began to head for the still-open door. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Buck—come on—you can’t just bust her out of there,” Steve laughed, sure that his best friend was pulling his leg. But when he didn’t laugh, he cleared his throat. “You can’t be serious. That’s… That’s kidnapping. You’re a fucking lieutenant general, for crying out loud.”

And any other day, James would agree. After the mess that was World War II, Steve was appointed general, even though he still went by Captain America. James and the other members of the Howling Commandos were appointed to various ranks for their service. And he was proud of that. He took his job seriously.

But this was his girl.

He rolled his shoulders back, fixing his best friend with a steely gaze. “I’ll be back to work in two days.”

I don’t look up as I hear the door open, scrambling back and forth from setting the table in the dining room and the stove. I have several pots simmering as well as a crown roast with apricot dressing in the oven. My face is covered with perspiration, but I don’t have time to think about that.

“The house smells wonder—” James broke off as he saw me running around like a chicken without my head. “Woah, woah, woah—where’s the fire?”

“I have to finish dinner,” I say, shaking him off when he tries to pull me into his arms. He doesn’t relent, though, and he wraps one arm around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. And despite the anxiety that’s running through my body, I allow myself to sink back into his embrace. “James…”

His lips press lingering open-mouthed kisses to my shoulders, trailing up my neck. “Why are you so worried, sweet girl?”

“I—”

“And don’t say you’re worried about burning dinner.”

“I...” I drew my bottom lip in between my teeth, my hands clutching at the arm wrapped around my waist like a lifeline. “What if they don’t like me?”

James hums as he sways me. “That’s nonsense. Of course, they will.”

You’re a fucked up mess and they’re going to remind James of that.

I feel as though I’ll fall if not for his arm holding me up. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

You should be back in that asylum.

He stiffens, his hold around me tightening. “Y/N, I know you’re nervous, but—”

They’ll convince James to send you back.

“They’re gonna think I’m weird,” I interrupt. My eyes are trained on the white cabinets. A hot tear trickles down my cheek and I sniffle. “I… I know that I’m different from other people. Before my parents sent me to the asylum, I heard people whispering about me everywhere I went. Saying that it was a shame that such a… a lovely girl like me was touched in the head. Said I would’ve made a pretty bride.” I frown down at where his hand is splayed against my stomach, eyeing the golden band that’s on his left ring finger. It matches the diamond on mine. “People don’t think I’m smart or that I know what’s happening. But I…” I break off, choking back a sob.

He deserves better than you.

“I know, sweet girl,” he murmurs as his other arm wraps around me like a vice. “But you are so smart. It might take you a while to get to the answer, and sometimes you forget things, but you are so, so smart. You hear me? You are the smartest, brightest person I know.” James kissed my cheek. “I’ll take care of all this. You go take a nice long bath and get ready for dinner, okay?”

Two hours later, and I find myself pacing the parlor. My heels are clicking against the hardwood floor, my fingers wringing in the silk skirt of my dress.

“My sweet girl, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” James muses as he appears in the doorway. His tie is hanging loose around his neck and I immediately move to him, fingers reaching for the silk. His mesmerizing blue eyes are roaming over my face as though trying to memorize every bit of me. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“What are you trying to butter me up for?” I tease as I deftly fix his tie, like I do every morning without fail.

He smirks, hands finding my hips. The look in his eyes always makes my knees weak. “I’m not buttering you up for anything. Can’t a man tell the love of his life he finds her to be absolutely stunning?”

“I think you’re trying to get lucky later,” I say, tugging on his tie to pull him down into a languid kiss.

“Oh, baby. I’m not trying to get lucky,” he purrs. Our lips slot together like puzzle pieces and an innocent kiss quickly turns into something more. His hands wander, pulling me as close as humanly possible. It’s hard to tell where he ends and I begin. “Sweet girl,” he moans against my lips. “I—” He’s cut off by a knock on the door. Groaning, he nudges his nose against mine. “We should send them away… Tell them to come back another time.”

“No,” I say, giggling as he pouts his lower lip. “Come on. Later.”

I stand behind James as he opens the door, revealing a tall blond man that I recognize as Steve and a pretty brunette that I can only assume is Peggy. The super soldier looks a little older than I remember him.

The two greet James with excited hugs, even though the two men had just seen each other a few hours before. My fingers fiddle together as I stand there nervously. It’s when their eyes find me half-hidden behind my husband that my breath hitches, my heart caught in my throat.

“Hello, Y/N,” Steve says, speaking softly as he flashes me a warm smile.

I glance up at James, who nudges me forward gently.

“Go on,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “I’m right here with you.”

Licking my lips, I look back up at the blond. “H-Hi, Steve. It’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you looking so healthy,” he says. He then puts his hand on the woman’s back. “This is my wife, Peggy.”

She steps forward, holding out her hand for you to shake. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. James and Steve had told me so much about you.” Her accent lilts her quiet words.

“James told me that… that you were from England,” I said, taking a moment to find my words. “What part are you from?”

She seems to light up at my willingness to talk. “I’m from Hampstead.” As James leads the three of you to the dining room, she continues, “I went to school in London, though. And you? Where did you go?”

The conversation carries easily through the first thirty minutes of dinner. We’re all laughing and joking around. It surprises me how easily I’m able to talk to them, but then again, maybe James was right when he said they would like me.

They just feel bad for you.

“No, they don’t,” I say under my breath, glaring down at my plate. What I don’t see is the other three all turn to look at me, their conversation quieting.

They’re only putting up with you because James asked them to.

“No.”

They don’t actually like you.

I bite my lip as I grip my fork so tightly my knuckles go white. “But—”

“Sweet girl?”

I looked up, the spell broken, to see three pairs of eyes focused on me. I shrink a little under their gazes, under their concern. “I’m sorry,” I whimper, my cheeks flaming.

James shakes his head as he takes my hand, massaging my soft skin. He’s turned in his chair so he can face me completely. “Don’t apologize. What’s wrong?”

I pause, eyes going to Steve and Peggy, but he gently turns my head back towards him. “It… It was saying that they don’t like me. That they’re only putting up with me for you.” I shrug as I look down at our joined hands, focusing on his touch. I’m trying to downplay how I’m feeling, I know. But I don’t want to ruin tonight. “That they’ll get you to send me back.”

“Do you want Steve and Peggy to go home?” He asks. After I shake my head, he smiles and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You tell me at anytime if you want them to leave, okay?”

Almost an hour later, James shuts the door with a soft click after we say our goodbyes to our two guests. He turns to look at me as that smile spreads over his face. The precious smile that only I get. “I’m so proud of you,” he say as he sweeps me off my feet, twirling me around the room., leaving me in a fit of giggles.

“Where are we going?” I ask breathlessly as he starts to carry me up the stairs.

“I’m finishing what was so rudely interrupted, my sweet, sweet girl.”

I hummed softly as I leaned my head back against one of the bars of my cage. The cold of the concrete floor seeps into my skin, but I can’t really bring myself to care. Not when there’s so many other things to worry about.

Like the fact that I hadn’t eaten in over four days. Hunger pains twisted my stomach every time I moved. I’m afforded just enough water to survive. I felt as though I was withering away, ready to die at any second.

And honestly, I wish I would.

But the worst part was the boredom. The endless, never-ending boredom. I’d been the only prisoner for what I thought to be about a month, but there was no way to be sure. The days blended together after the only other person who was in there was taken to the operation room and never returned. Hell, it’d been

I could only sit and count the cracks in the wall so many times. My mind was starting to slip away from me. I could feel myself breaking a little more every day. I could find myself starting to talk to myself. To a voice that resided inside my head.

“Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you.’ Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me,” I sing under my breath.

“Y’ got a nice voice.”

I let out a scream as I scramble backwards, heart pounding. By the door of the cell, the lump that I thought was a bunch of blankets began to move. A soft groan echoed through the room. “Wh-Who are you?!”

“Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th,” he said as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. It took a little longer than he probably wanted. “What’s yours, doll?”

I froze a little, seeing his face for the first time. Despite all the blood and muck that covered it, he was stunning. His startling blue eyes drank me in like he hadn’t had water for days. His brown hair was sticking to his skin from the amount of grease coating it.

Even so, he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

“I’m Y/N L/N,” I say, my voice hoarse from spending so long without speaking.

“What’s a—” He grunted, pressing a hand against his abdomen. “What’s a pretty dame like you doing in a place like this?”

It surprised me, that he was able to flirt with me at a time like this. “Got kidnapped by German soldiers. What else?”

“You’re funny,” The brunet chuckled, though it was weak. He leaned back against the wall. “Half my regiment and I were taken. Don’t know where they are though.” He looked around the concrete room, at the bars that lined the wall, the tally marks that I’d given up scratching into the wall. A long forgotten attempt to keep tracks of the days. “What is this place?”

“People who are in here are… experimented on,” I said, going quiet as my eyes shifted to the door that the operation room lied behind. I had been dragged to that room kicking and screaming more times than I could count. “It’s always the same. They strap us down and stick us with needles. Put some kind of serum in us.”

“That’s…” James swallowed as he followed my gaze. “Horrific, for lack of better terms.”

“It is what it is,” I said before lying down on the ground, my back facing him. Having another person in my cell was more than a little overwhelming. Not to mention that I didn’t want to risk getting attached to him, only for him to be dragged away only to never come back. It was clear enough that I wasn’t in the mood to talk, and he went silent.

Yet no matter how much I tossed and turned, sleep never came.

Three weeks later, and all thoughts of keeping my distance from me had disappeared. Hell, I’d come to know him better than I knew myself. It had happened somewhere, in between the two of us individually being dragged into the operation room, only to come back a quivering, incoherent mess.

We leaned against each other, back to back, and I relished in the feeling of another human’s touch. “How’d you get here? Why were you taken?” He asked.

“I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

“Come on, sweet girl,” he said, his fingers intertwining with mine.

I felt a rush of heat at his nickname. He’d taken to calling me such within a week. “I was a nurse for the 115th regiment,” I said, my voice shaky. My nurse’s uniform had been trashed ages ago and I’d been left in whatever scratchy clothing my captors gave me. “There was a snowstorm, and we were out of matches. Our men were falling sick and there wasn’t anything we could do to help them get better because we had no way to keep them warm. We barely had enough blankets as it is.” His thumb rubbed soft circles in the back of my hand. “So I said that I’d go across the line to the German troops. We had no reason to think that they’d hurt me. I’m a woman. A nurse.”

“You aren’t supposed to hurt women or children in wartime,” James grunted, tensing at the thought of someone hurting me. “It’s not honorable.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Honor didn’t exist in war. Not truly. Only blood and fear. “When I got there, they took me. Knocked me out.” The concrete walls of my prison felt like they were closing in. “I woke up here months ago. Almost a year, I think.”

“I’m sorry,” he said after a pregnant pause. “If I could get you out of here…”

“I know,” I said, interrupting him. Something had changed within the last few days. There was a new energy between us. Lingering glances, whispered words. We’d taken to sleeping as close as possible without actually touching. “But you being here is enough.” It was useless to try to put into words how alone I had been, how much I had needed human interaction.

That night, when James woke me with his nightmares, I was there. I immediately jolted awake at his screams. They bounced around the concrete room, fading into soft whimpers when I gently shook him awake.

“James, it’s me,” I said, my fingers carding through his hair. My heart lurched with every sob that fell from his lips. I hated that there was nothing I could do except hold him.

“I’m sorry,” he cried into my chest. His arms wove around my waist, squeezing me tightly. His tears were soaking my shirt but I paid it no mind. All that mattered was him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” I murmured, kissing his greasy hair.

James sniffled, his fingers bunching up the fabric covering me. “Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you sing that song again?”

“Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you.’ Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me,” I sang quietly, closing my eyes. I could feel him start to slip away once again, his spiked heart rate slowing. His tears weren’t coming as quickly as before. “Say nightie night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me. While I’m alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me.”

Even after he fell asleep, I rocked him back and forth, reminding him over and over, that no matter the evil that was being forced upon us, we were still good. The darkness inside me tangled with his and I was certain of only one thing in this world. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

#whiskey-cokenfanfic birthday challenge #wcnfbirthdaychallenge #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic

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primedirection · 5 years

Text

Homecoming

In which things don't go as planned

Warnings: A lil angst & a lil fluff mentions of panic attack

AN: Kinda did this one for me idk.. Hope you like it anyway!

(Uce- Samoan for brother. Sounds like oose)

Harry wasn't coming home.

He'd been away for three months this time and it seemed to be the hardest. Promises of coming home were thrown around left and right so much it lost it's merit. It was supposed to be his last week two weeks ago and yet he was still needed all over the place for reasons she lost track of. Hosting for James Corden, Album teaser promos, Gucci photo shoots, music video location scouting, auditions and so on and so forth. So busy that at best she was lucky she got a text of recognition or a FaceTime session every other week.

Honestly she tried not to fault him for it, not to hold it against him. She understood more than anyone what his career meant to him and how hard he worked to achieve his goals and dreams. Truly a blessing and a curse all at once. But once the disappointment hit it, it hit and took it's tole.

For right now she was done dealing with it.

She'd been so fed up of being alone and having no one to talk to in person that she requested the week off from work and sent for tor nephews to come visit. The same week of vacation time she'd been planning to use to visit Harry on the road. But decided that she'd only be a distraction to him during the short moments she did get to see him. The boys were out for the summer anyway and thanks to the overwhelming Facebook post of their mother, she knew they all could use a break.

From the moment that they stepped inside the departure terminal she realized that she had made the right decision. Bombarded with affection from all directions the second they were close enough. The relief practically consuming her. It was all quite surreal since she practically helped raise them. Like just yesterday she was changing their diapers for extra cash on the weekends so that their parents date nights could ensue. Now here they are teenage heartbreakers bragging about their own personal lives.

As the week went by things only got better. For once the massive house was filled with endless laughter and the type of love that came without judgment and ridicule. Unconditional love. That alone created a joy so pure that the evilest intentions couldn't spoil it. Something she honestly hasn't felt in a while. The atmosphere was almost magical whenever either of their families visited and this time was no different.

This was exactly what the doctor ordered and a complete win-win situation. Because while she gave them something to somewhat brag about to all their friends back home (via pictures with their beloved uncle's Mustang) they gave her enough peace of mind to stop checking her phone every 30 seconds, nonetheless throughout the entire day. To the point she felt comfortable enough to turn it off. Thanks to the hyperactive bunch most nights sleep found her first since the boys turned out to be a handful in the best way.

Or so she thought.

When it was their final day she decided to go all out. An early trip to The Grove to spoil them rotten, as any elected favorite auntie would. Then retired back home to fire up the grill for dinner while the two full-blown teenagers made their last rounds of projecting themselves like missiles inside the pool.

"Heyyy, unless y'all want to find out how edible chlorine is y'all better chill out!" She shouted playfully over her shoulder when a particular splash reached far enough to soak her from the waist down. ”Now out of the water so we can eat!" She retreated back inside the house followed by a chorus of disappointed 'AWWWWWs'.

"Good to see you're 'avin fun," Harry's sudden appearance in the kitchen nearly made her scream. So divulged in burger making she never noticed him. Short hair a mess from his incessant hand's tousling, everything about him was hard and only amplified by the bags resting under his eyes.

Though by the look on his face and his tone she wasn't sure how to feel. The impulsive urge to rush over and enrapt him in over due love was killed when she felt the energy around him. Clearly he was upset. So she gently tested the waters, "When did you get back?"

"You'd know if you read at least one of my fuckin' messages," Harry was pissed and right now her oblivion to it only made it worse as he silently noted that she didn't rush to greet him as he had expected.

They were both stubborn to a fault sometimes, this one being one of them. And while he had his passive aggressive moments she had her combative confronting moments to match them. Thus why disagreements often turned into war zones.

In her eyes he had absolutely no right to be this angry, "You mean the one you send every other week? Sorry, didn't know I was supposed to wait every got damn second by the phone for a chance you might get the urge to call me!"

"S'not like you couldn't call me. Guess I'm not much of priority to you when I'm across the world am I? Much less having a panic attack," That's not at all what he wanted to say. He honestly didn't even mean it. But sometimes, very rarely, he spoke without thinking. Though every single one of those times his words were purposely reckless, usually with the intent of pushing buttons. Which in this case happened to be several of hers.

There was so many things wrong with his rebuttal that it frazzled her, "Panic attack?!"

"Yeah. Tha' thing where you can't breathe and it really feels like you're dying," his attitude was in full force as he elaborated.

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, "How was I supposed to know that would happen when I finally try and distract myself?"

"There's a difference between distracting yourself and flat out ignoring me,"

"So now it's my fault that you don't know when to fucking quit? One more week.. one more week.. Jeff says this Jeff says that blah blah blah!" She mocks his voice angrily. "Do you ever even think of how hard it is for me when you're gone? You've got hundreds of people constantly around you and I'm just here alone in this big ass house-"

"Fuck this!" He groans utterly aggravated, pivoting on his heels to storm out. The past three days had felt like the worst of his life and she was totally none the wiser. Even now as he struggled to keep afloat, to keep his head above water she only seemed interested in knocking him down.

"Fuck what? Fuck me? Is that what you're saying?" She demanded hurt, meanwhile in his mind he knew she was seeing nothing but red.

At that response he knew this was going nowhere fast, definitely nowhere good anyway. He couldn't talk to her when she was like this, angry beyond reason where even the most innocent things rub her the wrong way.

"Uce?!" As soon as he was noticed they both knew the argument was temporarily over. Long ago she had indulged Harry of their dysfunctional childhood due to the immaturity of their parents, and sworn to always provide safe spaces for them. So for everyone's sake she quickly left the room, using her soiled clothes as an excuse.

Harry may not have been in any mood to host but managed to allow his anger to dissipate when he was pulled into welcoming hugs. He loved her family, especially her nephews. The respect and regard they had for her was daunting and unparalleled. Upon first meeting them, at thirteen and fourteen years old they laid into him better than any father ever could or ever had. Especially since hers passed away when she was young. So profoundly protective there was no surprise on his end when they shared their plan of walking her down the aisle to give her away someday. Though now they were in every way his family without marriage. "We thought you were taking over the world again Uce, what happened?"

Uce, a nickname that was lovingly given to him by the entirety of her family because of his thick accent whenever he said the word 'us'. Endearing enough to immediately strip him of any and all ill feelings. "Not happy to see me?" He teased knowing full well just how much they adored him in return. Proven when they both erupted in offense bright eyed and bushy tailed.

"Uhhh... she's cool, or whatever but even when we're having fun she's still intense," the younger of the brothers informed pointing in the direction she disappeared in.

"And she doesn't have the keys, Uce! She doesn't have the keys!" The elder of the two wailed in true melodramatic fashion.

"Keys?" Harry queries with a frown and yet amused, leaning against the counter and folding his arms over his chest patiently waiting to be clued in on their slang. "Keys to wha'?"

"You know, the Audi.. The girls... How do we get into one of those wild model parties where they do org-"

"Boy the next word out of your mouth better be organization! And you need to be talking about the keys to passing your college entry exams!" She yells on her way upstairs. She'd be so happy when the girl craze phase was over for them, and it couldn't come soon enough.

"See what I mean?" The younger of the two mutters through a mouth full of food shaking his head and Harry started to laugh. He'd never be able to convey how much he missed them when they weren't around. Just them being there almost made him forget he was angry to begin with. Almost. "Anyway you never answered my question?"

Harry sighs heavily suddenly exhausted, "Didn't feel well,"

Sparking even more questions from the two young boys, "Don't you have doctors that travel with you for that?" Snowballing to a squabble even, "Is it contagious?" "Dude!" "I'm just saying, I have football practice when we get back I can't afford to be sick,"

Chuckling despite himself Harry shook his head, "No mate, was a panic attack. Jus' need some rest, been going non stop,"

Both their faces dropped with worry, "Whoa. You okay Uce? I mean is it cool we're here?"

Harry nodded reassuringly, "M' getting there," honestly adding, "Thanks to you lot. Actually wish I'd been here the whole time, s' been awhile since I've seen you last,"

The eldest made a nonchalant noise, "We'll be visiting again soon don't worry. Especially when you start touring for real, the ladies need me,"

"Mate, have you ever heard of quality over quantity? That is the biggest key,"

"Yeah just now, and look who you're with. The biggest control freak of them all,"

Although Harry wasn't totally thrilled with her he had to admit, "It's actually quite sexy when she's not being a pain in the arse,"

"Bruh, I'm eating!" The younger brother snarled and Harry laughed at that. God, he loved them. Practically the little brothers he's always wanted. That feeling in particular struck remembrance inside him, remembrance of what brought on the panic attack in the first place.

He wasn't happy. Sure his professional life was thriving since business was booming, but his relationship suffered the most because of it. These days he was hardly ever home, barely even had the time to make phone calls and the realization scared him. Not once did she complain but he wasn't blind to the fact she was slowly but surely slipping from his grasp. Whether or not her cold shoulder had been intentional over the past week it shook him down to the core. So many of his previous relationships ended like that, with them losing the will to fight for him. Not that he was putting in the same effort back then and he had the worst habit of blaming them for it anyway. Hince the incident a little while ago. But that was the absolute last thing he wanted for them. It just wasn't worth it.

Harry wanted romantic vacations, joint family holidays, anniversary parties, babies! Lots and lots of babies...

A distinct warning pang in his chest made him realize he had to take advantage of the boy's presence while he could. Glancing over his shoulder, he listened hard to make sure the shower was running, "Since we're on the topic I need to talk you lads about something,"

"If it's about your sex life please don't,"

"Relax if I wanted to torture you I'd left you with her. I'm talking about tour. I've been thinking and after this week I'm not sure I want to do it. Like anymore.. Or well at least for right now anyway,"

"Please don't do this to me, I'll finally be old enough to get in the club by the end of this year!" The elder boy whined and the younger smacked the side of his head annoyed.

"Dude shut up he's serious! Anyway... Why not?"

Harry was filled with nerves deciding to break it down nice and easy, "Remember what you told me when we first met?"

"Yeah, 'why are your jeans so tight'? To be honest I'm still wondering...that can't be good for you." The eldest teased.

"Not tha'," Harry chuckled rolling his eyes.

A lightbulb seemed to go off in the mind of the youngest, "Oh, that we're a packaged deal and anything you want with her has to be run through us first,"

Harry took a deep breath nodding in confirmation, "Well, man to man...to man. I think you've had long enough to feel me out. Have I earned your blessings to become your official uncle?"

"Let me get this straight, you want to skip a worldwide tour and a chance to make millions more to get married? Weddings aren't all that much fun,"

"To get married, to go on a honeymoon, and to start making your baby cousins," Harry clarified.

"I'm more so concerned at you not knowing you already had it. We wouldn't have let her move in if we didn't,"

"Yeah Uce, we've all been wondering what the hell is taking so long. Especially grandma, she's been super suspicious of your Aquarius nature," the older boy teased and both boys laughed apparently there was an inside joke he wasn't aware of.

"To be fair I was waiting for your aunt to say something. Guess she's not much of a control freak like we thought huh?" Harry muttered stealing fries from both their plates.

"Yeah right, do you have a ring?" The younger asked as he shielded his plate from Harry's invasion.

"Still having it made," he confessed a little embarrassed.

"Well don't pop it out without us!"

Harry snorted, "Mate, I'd never dream of it," and from the bottom of his heart he meant it.

After everyone showered, the final movie night had progressed rather smoothly. Horror was the only genre the boys would focus on, though it probably had something to do with all the topless scenes in them. Nevertheless she picked this one; 'Wrong Turn' easily one of her favorites.

To her surprise before it started Harry came in the room, dressed in a loose gray T-shirt and navy basketball shorts. Earning a round of cheers from his ever adoring audience. He sat in the row of plush recliners directly behind the boys and it kind of hurt her feelings since she was in the one in front of them. "S' your last night here where else would I be?"

For a long beat of a moment they both exchanged wary glances before drifting back to the screen in front of them. Though in reality she was hardly paying attention. Her curiosity peaked through the roof at just what it took to get him to join. Mostly because, she knew better than anyone when Harry was in a bad mood he isolated himself. But just now he didn't seem to be the slightest bit hostile. Then again she shouldn't be too surpised given he was just another giant kid to them.

Against her better judgment she spared another look just to find him already staring at her. A dimple sinking in one cheek as the corner of his lips tug in a reluctant smile. In turn making her belly swell with butterflies of relief. She also became painfully aware of the distance between them and hated it.

Before she even had time to process the idea of swallowing her pride, she was up out of her seat with her blanket wrapped around her. She could've easily sat in either of the seats beside him but that still wasn't close enough. "Truce?" She whispered pouting guiltily, waving the tag of her soft throw blanket like a flag.

But apparently she wasn't as quiet as she thought, "Wait, you guys are fighting?" Both boys were turned around in their seats, eyes ping ponging back and forth between them worried. Ultimately falling on her, "What did you do?"

"If you don't mind your own business I swear to God you're going to the airport tonight!" She warned icily and that quickly got them to turn back around.

At first Harry doesn't say anything, he simply reclines his seat further back and readjusts his legs to make room for her. Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief. Springing into action, she climbed in next to him sitting with her legs draped over his lap tenting them both in warmth. From there they practically melted into one another her chest to his front, stealing kisses and touches they'd been deprived of. Silent apologies in a way, but just in case she said it aloud, "I'm sorry H," tucking her face into the crook of his neck. The closer she was the better she felt. "Should've been there for you."

"S' okay love me too, I should've been here," he sighed holding on tighter.

"Well we're all here now so can we watch the movie please?" The eldest brother chimed.

She started to swat him in the head from behind until Harry caught her wrist and laughed, "Sorry lads won't happen again," figuring there was a better way to make it up to her quietly. Confusion was blatantly on her face up until Harry stealthily slipped his hand under her shirt, sliding upwards tortuously slow. To stifle her impatience she kissed him deep then. But before she could receive the pleasure of the taste of his lips properly Harry stiffened, and not in the place she wanted him to.

Eyes peeling back open Harry's smirk was sheepish and directed to the front. Met with a grimace, "Ugh puhleeease don't be that couple!" And a glare, "Yeah, I really don't want to be in the room when my baby cousin is conceived,"

She rolled her eyes, "Tuh, it's only fair. I was right next door when both of you were." Kissing him again and causing an over the top show of dry heaving and gagging.

"Uce, c'mon man make it stop!"

Harry merely smiled finally feeling like all was right in the world again. "Gotta keep it fresh lads, it's key."

#Harry styles angst #Harry styles imagines #Harry x reader #Harry styles #one direction imagines #Harry Styles one shot #One direction one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #all me #I write I guess

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence, chapter 16

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear it apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post-KH3 canon compliant

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

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Excerpt of an audio recording from device 5.875.32.852 (admin is registered as EVEN [surname REDACTED]. Transcription programs recognize the speaking voice of the admin as well as one other distinct voice. Transcription errors due to colloquialisms, slang, accent, muffled speech, etc. are acknowledged and will be used in further evolutions of this program.

Recording commences at 16:03.

--I hope you do not mind that I am recording this. I assure you any we can redact any exceedingly personal information. This is for my edification only. I would never dream of letting it fall into unsavory hands.

--Uh. Sure.

--Can you state your name and age in its entirety?

--Yeah. I’m [birth name and surname REDACTED]. I still go by Demyx. I’m twenty-two.

--That’s your name? That’s not what I thought.

--Yeah, well. It seems like I’m full of surprises. I don’t care who knows it, but it doesn’t seem to fit right anymore. You know?

--I suppose. So. Can you tell me what you remember, as far back as you can, as comfortably as you can?

--I’ll try.

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These memories don’t feel like mine.

It’s weird. I guess it’s more like I’m reading a book, or watching a movie.

“It” started, if by it you mean all this Keyblade crap, when I was five. I was my parents’ only kid. We were broke. Like, squatting and going to soup kitchens broke. There were the early days, when the Foretellers--the five chosen ones or whatever--were just building their unions and preaching about their ideas in the plaza. I’m honestly not sure if they were the first wielders, but they were definitely the ones that made it a thing, That promised this as the way to seek the light.

Heartless started coming--from the future, or so they said in the square. We needed a way to defend ourselves. So they started testing people for worthiness. Kids were always easier. Less corrupt. More full of light.

More manipulable.

They said they would take the kids from more troubled circumstances, and give them what they needed to survive. In my parents’ eyes, food and a place to live. The luckier ones could stay at home. So that caused a big influx of poor people sending their kids in to be tested and trained. While some of the better off ones saw it as a sign of honor, everyone else wanted to keep their kids safe. Even the ones with Keyblades were dying.

My parents figured Heartless were better than me starving to death. So they sent me, by myself, for the test.

The older ones could pick their unions, but the real little ones like me they chose a more “organic” approach. They take you inside, and there the Foretellers are with a little table of five toys. Apparently picking one shows some intrinsic quality they’re looking for, or whatever. I got chosen to be in Ursus. And just like that, my mom and dad hugged me goodbye and left me there.

It was hard. Physically, mentally. I missed my parents. The training was grueling, and it hurt. But whenever I would cry or get upset either Master Aced or one of the older kids would tell me to be quiet. Because I was lucky. And I had a chance to be something.

But you see, Even, it doesn’t matter how lucky I was. I was still getting razzed by Heartless, getting thrown in and out of time to these worlds, getting reprimanded for bunging off quests or not getting enough lux. I got kicked out of a few parties for that. Making friends wasn’t so easy when I got a reputation for being a crybaby and a coward, even though I was six or seven.

I still tried to see my parents when I got a chance. They moved around a lot. Dad tried to get steady work a few times, but I think he had some kind of mental illness or something, and he could never be on time, or do what he was told, or get out of bed, so they lost their apartments a lot. Mom was a street musician, and she took in students sometimes, but it wasn’t enough money.

She taught me, too.

Compared to Keyblade stuff, music was so easy. I was so good at it. Knowing I wasn’t terrible at everything gave me strength to go on. I had a way to take all the bad feelings, all the nightmares, and make something beautiful out of it.

I tried to quit the union.

You wouldn’t believe the telling off Master Aced gave me. “Why was I ashamed of my heritage”. “Why wasn’t I doing my part.” “What did I think I would become otherwise, I came from the gutter.” It was devastating. Without the Keyblade, they said, I was worthless. I didn’t want to believe that was true.

As the years passed, and this all kept happening, I tried to study music on the side. That’s when I started keeping the diary. I wrote these weird avant-garde compositions, but that wasn’t enough to salve the pain. So I wrote how I felt, and if anybody found it, I’d just say it was nonsense. But nobody did, though. During that time the tensions between the unions started to grow, mostly over who was getting the most light. Kids were fighting in the streets. Killing each other’s Chirithys--that’s how I lost mine. Even the most legendary parties fell apart. People were still dying.

One of these days, when I was almost seventeen, I was going back to the dorms after another quest. Master Ava--Vulpes’s leader--stopped me. She said she’d heard about me, and I braced myself for another lecture like the ones Aced liked to give. But it was my focus on the bigger picture of my life she liked, she said. She wanted me to join a special union she was building.

The Dandelions.

The reason she built this union was because she feared there would soon be war between the others, and that war would escalate to apocalyptic proportions. Remember, we’d all been training for years at that point, we all had way overpowered magic--even me. But because we had no foresight as to anything other than collecting lux, nobody could see the consequences of fighting.

She was going to take this special union, and she was going to teach us how to escape this world altogether, just to make sure somebody survived.

I know you’re probably dying to know how we did it, but I honestly can’t remember. It was some kind of spell, for sure. I know that each of us cast it, and we were all supposed to go together. But it’s one of those things too slippery and powerful to hold onto for long. Not to mention, this travel was supposed to wipe our memories of the trauma and give us a fresh start. So she said.

The war started earlier than expected. The only reason I went to the battle was to find the other Dandelions so we could leave. But I’m not sure if I missed a memo or something. They were gone. Then again, there were so many bodies that had been just so completely fucking destroyed that they could have been some of these people.

…

[Audio muffled or indiscernible; external knowledge of social cues suggests emotional distress.]

People were just fucking killing each other. They… they tried to kill me, too. I remember Keyblades hitting my armor and I panicked. And I guess instinctively I cast the spell and got out. Got somewhere, or I guess some when is the better word. I ended up in the same place, just later, surrounded by all these rusting Keyblades, my memories completely cleaved and running through my fingers like sand. I remember that, feeling it all drain away like a dream.

That’s when Xemnas found me. When things started to hurt. The shock and the armor made it hard to tell, but someone had stabbed me clean through the chest.

He was nice to me, too. He said he’d been waiting for me and that I was going to be okay. He could give me purpose. My wounds would heal.

I died, and Demyx was born. Memory-free.

You know the rest.

End recording, duration--25:17.

----

“Goodness gracious. ” Like a child listening to their favorite story, he’d been leaning forward attentively. He’d even started recording it on his gummiphone, which Demyx initially felt was a violation of his privacy. But considering how close-lipped Vexen had always been about his experiments, he knew, if anything, his words would be safe in Even’s hands. “This is a window into our history.”

“Yours, maybe.”

“You simply must tell me more about these Foretellers. How is this organization structured? What was their training regimen like? Who was their leader--did they have a leader?”

“It's a lot to talk about." His throat was dry from talking for so long.

Even exhaled. He paused the recording. “I suppose you’re right. Of course you must be very tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

A beat of silence.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Even said. “I realize… it is not easy. Especially given our past relationship.”

“Like you said. Forgiveness.”

He nodded once, curtly. “Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“I think I’ll be okay. But thanks.”

“Well. Don’t get too used to it.”

Demyx looked at him. He didn’t know how else to be kind, Demyx realized. It must take immense effort. “Wake me up if anything changes with Ienzo,” he said. “Please.”

“You can be sure of it.”

----

The next several days, he felt utterly hollow. Demyx slept a lot. This was a sort of mental exhaustion. He was afraid to stray too far away from Ienzo’s side, but his condition remained unchanged. Guilt clung to him. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He cleaned his room, which took all of ten minutes considering his lack of possessions. Did laundry. Found a couple books to read which weren’t half bad. It was a toxic combination of boredom and stagnation. At the end of the first week of this, Dilan asked him to come play cards.

“I figure you could use a bit of a diversion,” he said. He offered a smile.

“I guess I’m being pretty pathetic, huh,” Demyx said. He forced a laugh.

“Given the circumstances? No. But wallowing must be horrifically boring.”

Dilan’s quarters were even smaller than Even’s. He and Aeleus shared a sitting room and kitchenette. A faint smell of garlic lingered in the room, along with something like eucalyptus. He had a small herb garden, each one meticulously cared for. Near this was a pile of puzzle boxes.

Dilan took out a pack of cards. Demyx sat gingerly on the couch. It was less stern than the other furniture, a bit more comfortable, a soft velor that felt good to touch. He was becoming increasingly reliant on the tactile to stay grounded. He didn’t know if this was one of his myriad issues, or an effect of being overwhelmed.

Dilan crossed to a small glass cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“God. Yes.”

He poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into small crystal glasses. It burned when Demyx sipped it, but he liked it. “What shall we play? It’s a shame we’ve no third. I’d rather have liked to play Blackjack.”

“It’s not like I have anything to bet.”

“Too, too true.”

They settled on Hearts. Demyx didn’t know what to say to Dilan. After winning the first game, Dilan got them another drink.

“I’m not sure how I feel about your newfound reticence,” Dilan said. “It’s so odd, to see how humanity has changed you youth.”

“How so?”

“You were hardly ever so reserved. Ienzo was never so friendly. You should have heard him, chattering away to Sora. ...I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t bother me. To hear his name. Either of them, I mean.” He felt only a shadow of the ping of anxiety he got when thinking about Sora. Of course, knowing what he knew now, it made sense that Sora’d had to strike him down. Psychically, there were bigger fish to fry.

“You’ve got a focus to you. An intensity. It’s like you’re more present.”

“I don’t feel very present.”

“Well. We’ve all received some shocks recently.”

The alcohol was making him warm and a little dizzy. Demyx wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sensation. He slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. “Why did you become an apprentice?”

Dilan thought for a moment, shuffled his cards, and then drank down the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow. “Why indeed,” he muttered. “I was only a boy at the time, a bit younger than yourself. I needed something to do with my life. I’d always liked creating things. Building things. Ansem had passed some initiatives to make Radiant Garden a haven for the sciences. I applied to study engineering under him, and was accepted.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He chuckled. “Why did you choose to become a Keyblade wielder?”

“I didn’t,” Demyx said. “It chose me. I was poor. Being a wielder was pretty much the only way to survive.”

“I abhor such economies,” Dilan said sourly. “I cannot understand how some leaders will let their charges suffer for basic human rights.”

“I can’t really have a realized perspective of it. I was still a kid when I left.”

“What will you do now?”

“What will I… do?” Demyx repeated numbly. “Frankly, I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“You and I both.”

He continued to pet the velor. He was feeling dizzier still, and heavy. “I want to be with Ienzo,” he said. “And I want to make friends. Real ones. But I don’t know where I’d fit.”

“What’s that old adage? “Be yourself?””

“Hasn’t exactly worked in the past.”

“It is a theory of mine that becoming a Nobody worsens one’s flaws and insecurities.” Dilan poured them another drink. “Our personalities devolved and repelled. Fed by darkness. Take your time. Be honest. That’s all.”

Demyx picked up the crystal cup and swirled the amber liquid around a little. “I guess.”

“What about that guitar of yours?”

“Sitar?”

“Yes. That.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out.”

---

The next day, it sleeted. The echo of the splotches of snow piling up outside was audible within the confines of the castle. Demyx went to the library, armed with a cup of coffee. He lit a fire in the hearth. Once it was large enough to tend to itself, he sat down cross legged in front of it.

For some reason he was nervous. This was akin to stage fright. He’d much rather be worthy of Arpeggio than the stupid Keyblade.

Demyx held out his hands and pulled from within. The Keyblade appeared. He sighed. “I don’t want you,” he muttered. Let it disappear. He remembered the way the sitar had felt, the perfect weight of it, the smooth varnished wood.

Keyblade again. Demyx had to resist the urge to just toss the damn thing. He stared down at it. Traced the smooth shaft, twisted the links of the chain.

“Please,” he said to it. “I don’t want to fight. I just want--”

Not to be an idiot talking to an inanimate object?

Vanishing. Reappearing. It didn’t matter how long he thought about his Nobody memories, of all the music he’d ever made with Arpeggio. Of the fights or occasionally lack thereof.

“Are you mad at me?” Demyx asked out loud. “I didn’t ask for this to all happen.”

Hadn’t he?

Oh, we do too have hearts. Don’t be mad.

“Shut up,” he hissed at himself.

The fire popped as a log settled, startling him.

“Is it because I’m not him anymore?” he continued. “I’m still the sa-- no. I’m not.”

Demyx lay back on the plush carpet.

Remembering death was not easy. Doubly hard now that he knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been slain with Keyblades. Some of them were sharp, most blunt. You’d crush your ribs before you drew blood. Which was what happened. He rested his palm on the spot were the scars were.

Sora, Donald, Goofy. So much rage. Realization that this was a murder-suicide. He was able to pin Sora twice before the pain was too much. Before fading. Before waking up. Before Braig, with a soft smile, and a boy with silver hair, and a hot stab to the chest. What would have happened, really, if he hadn’t been turned into a vessel? What would he have done? Run away? Spent his life friendless, unloved and alone?

Without Ienzo?

He needed connections. Without them he could never hope to be whole--at least, figuratively. He had to do better. To be better. But how? Fancy displays of heroism were functionally worthless if there was no real intent behind them.

Demyx stood. Despite it all, he sort of had an idea.

----

The winter coat he had was warm enough, but it was not quite waterproof, and by the time he’d waded through the slop he was damp and chilly. When he reached the door of the committee’s headquarters, though, a knot of anxiety overrode his physical discomfort. Demyx stood for several moments at the door as wet snow piled on his hat, unsure of what to say. Several times he reached up to knock and withdrew his hand. He had barely placed his palm on the doorknob before it opened of its own accord.

“‘Could’ve finished War and Peace in the time it took you to make up your mind,” a middle-aged blond man said gruffly. “Come on in, kid.” He was smoking a cigarette, and its smell mixed with the ambient woodsmoke. “Don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Cid.” He offered his hand. “Saw you unconscious, but I don’t think you remember that.”

“Not--exactly--” Demyx shook his hand.

“Let me take your jacket before you get snow everywhere.” He took the wet garments and hung them on a coat rack.

“It’s warm in here,” Demyx said, half in wonder. He was so used to the drafty castle that he’d forgotten what adequate heating felt like.

Cid raised an eyebrow. “‘Course it is.”

“It’s, um, the castle. Heating’s not very good.”

“I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

A beat passed. Demyx felt his anxiety rising and floundered for things to say.

“I’m guessing you’re here for Aerith?” Cid asked. He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray.

“Well. Sort of. I want to help.”

“With what,” he said blankly.

“Anything. I mean I--” Demyx could feel himself turning red.

“In the middle of winter?”

He bit his lip and looked down.

Cid chuckled. “I’m messing with you, kid. We’re always happy to have an extra pair of hands. Any of ya’ll got a sense of humor over there?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a tough week,” Demyx said.

“I’ll say. Weather’s been driving us mad. I finally kicked out Yuffie and Leon to get some peace and quiet.”

“...Er. Sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure one or both of them will be back soon. They know a bit more about the operations stuff than I do. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Demyx perched in one of the folding chairs. Cid sat back down at a computer and began absently writing code. He wondered if he should say something. Anything. Ask questions. He kept his hands knotted in his lap.

A door he hadn’t noticed previously opened, and out came Aerith, drying her hands on a towel. “Demyx? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Fine--well, enough. I’m here to help.”

She crossed over a plant on the table and cut off a few of its leaves. “Can’t do a whole lot in the winter other than plan, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with those?”

“Making medicine.” She nodded her head towards the other room. “Want to see?”

He followed her. It was a small, narrow room, with a cot up against one wall. The other wall was lined with cabinets and some counter space. A few different types of dried leaves and blooms were stuffed in the myriad little drawers. She took the leaves, scattered them into mortar. To Demyx, the mix looked like a salad more than a medicine. She crushed it down, whispered a spell, and then with an odd little device began packing it into capsules. “Pectin,” she explained. “Goes down easier than the raw leaves. And doesn’t get stuck in your throat.” She held up the tiny pill so he could see.

“What does it do?” Demyx asked.

“Cold cure,” she said simply. “We need lots of it this time of year. And colds always change. I’m forever tweaking it.”

A memory he hadn’t fully process washed in. He’d never been the best fighter in any of his parties, often left to provide background support. The spells then he’d used had been barbaric in comparison, but at least it kept people alive.

“When did you learn how to do all this stuff?” he asked. He was feeling odd.

“Oh, ever since I was a kid,” she said. “My mom and grandma before me were healers. They sorta taught me what I know now. And I’m also teaching myself.”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone else to learn?”

She crushed more herbs. “I’m sure it is. It’s magic like anything else.”

“What about--say--me?”

Aerith turned slightly. She appraised him.

“I’ve been wanting to help people and I don’t know how. You saved me. You saved Ienzo. I can’t do science, and I’m not a good fighter. But I have a good memory.” He considered the irony of that statement. But he’d always been good at memorizing.

“It’s a long road. This isn’t something you can do halfway. People’s lives could be at stake. But you know that.” She smiled a little. Tapped her forehead. “You’ve been through a lot in your life. Seen a lot of suffering.”

“Haven’t we all,” he said dryly.

“That’s… right.” She dusted off her hands. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, or believe you can do it. But you’ve gotta have a certain kind of tenacity. An ingenuity. Tell you what. Why don’t you read some base healing theory? There’s no way Ansem doesn’t have books about it. If that doesn’t send you running for the hills, we can talk.” She winked.

Demyx nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“Good luck.”

He stood.

“Was that the answer you needed?” she asked.

“I think it was.”

----

A week or so passed. He tried to do what Aerith said, and study. But Demyx had never been the most studious, and almost everything he learned sans the very basics he’d learned in the field. He spent these minutes and hours alternating between the text and the dictionary. Why were academics such bad writers?

Sometimes he studied near Ienzo, sometimes he didn’t. Ienzo slept and slept and slept. Demyx could feel the utter lack of presence like a missing tooth. Honestly, being around him and not being able to talk to him was nearly painful.

During one of these marathon reading sessions, Even came in to check Ienzo’s vitals, as he did several times each day. “EKG activity is still fairly limited. But improving. He must be dreaming.”

“About what?” Demyx asked.

“I’ve no idea. ...What is that?” He reached town and felt at Demyx’s temperature. “Are you quite alright?”

Demyx sighed, marked his place in the book, and shut it. “I’m studying. Sue me.”

“But why?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I will… not,” Even said with great restraint.

Demyx raised an eyebrow.

“I must admit I am still getting used to the new you. Tell me. I will withhold judgement.”

“I’m thinking of learning to heal. Like. The magic.” He braced himself.

Even didn’t laugh. “Really? Why is that?”

“I want to help people. And this seems like something I can actually do.” He sighed. “I hate feeling helpless. If I can help someone not feel that way, it’d be nice. You know.”

“I admit I never put much stock in such magic initially. But seeing how that woman has cared for the two of you, I’m starting to change my mind.”

“Do you think I can do it?”

Even considered this. “You had a fairly potent magical ability in the Organization. I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t think I’m too stupid?”

He scowled. “I find it stupid that you hold my opinion in such high esteem.” Then, softening. “As you said. You’re not a scientist. But that really has little to do with practical intelligence.” He picked up the tome. “I’d be glad to help you, should you so want it. These aren’t exactly light reading. It’d be convenient to have another pair of hands.” He picked up another bag of saline. “Well. If you’re so interested, I might as well teach you how to do this much.” He showed Demyx how to change the IV and how to take base vitals. “I’m hoping we won’t need to do this for too much longer. But that’s all up to him.” Even patted Ienzo’s head.

“I miss him.” He felt tears in his eyes.

“As do I,” Even said softly. “Come. Are you hungry?”

---

The more Demyx studied, the more his memories became clearer. In those first shocked days, it had been hard to focus on any memory for very long. Now, not so much.

He’d been a healer then, but not a very good one. He’d still been a coward. More than once someone had gotten egregiously hurt because he hadn’t been willing to step up. He’d been kicked out of multiple parties that way.

He didn’t want to be a coward. It was time to be mature; a grown up. Deal with grown up things in a grown up way. Don’t run. Face it. The hurt will be over that much faster.

For the first time, he tried to summon the Keyblade because he wanted to. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of cool metal, there was warm, varnished wood. Familiar. Well-worn. He held the sitar tenderly. Cried a bit out of relief.

He was still, despite it all, himself.

#beyond this existence #demyx #even #dilan #aerith #i don't think it's fair to tag ienzo bc he's barely in this chapter

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nano-the-robot-blog · 5 years

Text

A Vent

Hello. My name is nano (not really, of course), I’m an art student from rural Britain, and I really need a place to vent right now. I don’t know if anyone will read this, or if any of those people will know me, but at this point I don’t really care.

Since childhood, I’ve lived a very privileged life. My family aren’t well off but we get by, my father has always had a job and my mother has always looked after my brother and I. They have their flaws and we’ve had our arguments, but my parents really are amazing. However, unfortunately, that doesn’t grant me ease of passage through life - especially with the world in the state it’s in right now.

I know that I have it much better than a lot of people, and I have always known that. I tend to get things in halves. I have autism spectrum disorder, but I’m not nonverbal and most people don’t even notice. I have fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome, but I’m not wheelchair-bound. I have depression and anxiety, but I’ve never attempted suicide. I have an atypical eating disorder, not anorexia or bulimia (for those out there who do suffer with any of the things I’ve mentioned, my heart goes out to you. I may never understand your struggle but I will always strive to do the best I can to help, and I hope that you can all get through your respective hardships).

Now, as you can probably tell, I’m a very average person. Average height, average weight, average education and average skill levels. My brother, on the other hand, is a little less conventional. He has moderate to severe autism with learning difficulties which he was diagnosed with at quite a young age, and although he has yet to be diagnosed with it, my mother swears that he has pathological demand avoidance. He is also fairly tall and quite overweight, making him a formidable opponent.

These factors add up - the autistic meltdowns, the avoidance of any helpful behaviour and the refusal of commands and the sheer size of him - to make him an absolutely unbearable person to live with. He frequently attacks my family and I, both physically and verbally and with varying degrees of severity. It gets to the point, fairly often, that the police have to be called. My entire family have had to literally sit on his back in order to restrain him before, and it only gets worse once he is taken into hospital. At one point, he had four fully trained, adult police officers holding him down on a hospital bed. He’s had handcuffs, leg braces, the whole nine yards. It’s hell for everyone else in the family - and not just the humans. We have a menagerie of pets in the house as we are all animal lovers (aside from my father, though he does adore our dogs) and, though my brother doesn’t directly hurt them, the effect on them is clear. Our two dogs, one a huge Labrador/Rottweiler/Springer cross and the other a tiny Jack Russel/Pug mix, are utterly terrified every time he kicks off. They can even feel the tension in the air when we’re “walking on thin ice”, as my mother puts it, or when he’s on the edge of a meltdown. We also have three cats who don’t seem too bothered, although he has held up my cat (the oldest, and the smallest) and threatened to choke her before. I also have four beautiful young budgerigars who experienced his wrath for the very first time today, and it’s safe to say that they weren’t a fan. I’m hoping that they will be okay, though, since wild budgies will suffer much more worrying encounters in Australia.

Today, however, my brother went too far. He directed his anger towards the animals - my animals specifically - and me. My mother spent three days painting a gorgeous high sleeper bed which I only just got. I tried to help out, and I kept her company, but I’m just too sick to do such a physical task. Mom just naturally took over and eventually offered to paint the whole thing - even though she herself is ill. Like I said, my parents are amazing. The bed was a real labour of love for Mom, and she did an amazing job - despite the various hardships faced during the process. It was a real bonding experience for my mother and I, which was sorely needed as my mental health is pretty much non-existent at the moment. I’ll explain this as briefly as I can, just to give an idea of how much this affects me.

Recently, I’ve been suffering hugely with an atypical eating disorder. This possibly started when my ex broke up with me about two years ago, and very slowly built up over the past two years until recently, I stopped eating almost entirely and cut myself down to one small meal per day. The sudden change may or may not have been caused by my final major project in college, which I put my heart and soul into and which ended recently. I got the grade I wanted, but the residual stress left from it certainly took its toll, and my fate was sealed. I became more depressed than ever before and my anxiety, autism and (at the time mild) ED suffered the same way. I isolated myself from all of my friends, even my best friend - our relationship has been recovering slowly but surely from a very rough patch we had last year. I love her more than any other human, but I find it simply impossible to connect with another human being at the moment. My relationship with my parents is also hugely strained since they have to force me to eat now, and though we both know that it’s for the best, it puts a new barrier up between us. Another rather significant contributor is the fact that I have feelings for somebody I can never be with, and I’m quite sure he’s catching feeling for another girl who I’m also friends with, which simply gives me more reasons to distance myself from them. Regardless, back to the current situation.

It started small and simple, like all the worst things do. My mattress is in my parents’ room at the moment, as I can’t risk touching my paint-covered bed. My room also stinks of paint which makes it hard to sleep. My snakes are still in my room, though, as we couldn’t move them. My brother threw a cushion at me through the door. That’s all. I was lying in bed, exhausted and ill, and he threw a pillow at me. I said nothing, threw the pillow onto my parents’ bed, and went back to watching videos. A few minutes later, he threw a doorstop at me. It was heavy, and hit me in the hip, so it hurt a lot more than the cushion did. Again, I said nothing, and texted Mom to tell her what was happening. She came up the stairs pretty quickly, questioning my brother about it in a sympathetic tone. She knows him best, and is the best at diffusing situations like this. Like me, he said nothing. After a short while of her talking to him, though, he shoved past her out of his room and into hers, where I was still lying. I was hesitant to leave the bed, stupidly enough, because I wasn’t wearing trousers. However, my brother soon began threatening (nonverbally, of course) to throw his entire fifteen-pound body onto the mattress and on top of me. I wasn’t about to find out how many of my bones would be broken as I’m fragile enough already, so on request of my mother, I scurried off to the other side of my parents’ bed. He followed. I was hissed at to go into my room, which is what I did. No more than five minutes later, with me now holding a very nervous small dog, I hear a fierce BANG! and my door jumps. I’ve got an old door, one of the originals of our house, and I’ve never seen it budge before. At this point, I realised that he was going to break it down. Another few minutes passed until it happened once more, and once more was all it took. I stuck my legs out, thankfully, and caught the door on my feet, pushing it to the side. Thank goodness it somehow didn’t reach the snake tanks which were mere inches away, as they would have no doubt been shattered. We all knew it now; his anger was directed toward me and me alone. He kept advancing and my mother shooed me out of the room. I grabbed the dogs and hurried them into the utility, turned the light off and crouched down with them in the diffused light from the kitchen. He couldn’t see me, nobody could see me. We were safe. They all came downstairs fairly soon and my dad found me first. He said nothing, simply gave me a stressed look and went back into the kitchen. My mom then came out a few minutes later and informed me that my brother had backed himself onto my sofa, which is currently up against the snake tanks, and had started banging his hands on the glass. Any reptile owners well know that this is an awful situation for any reptile, especially snakes. Even just tapping on their tanks stresses them out to no end. They can stop eating for weeks, and if it’s bad enough, the poor things can even die. I did check the snakes after the whole ordeal and thankfully, they are all still alive and at least one of them is still ready to eat. My brother soon found my hiding place and started advancing again. I had nowhere left to go - my room, the only safe place, was destroyed. I just had to run upstairs and hang around for a while. I could hear him shifting furniture, and the occasional yell from one of my parents as he hit them. I know from experience that his blows are nothing to be scoffed at.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but somehow he ended up in my room again, but this time he turned his attention to my bed. Mom was appalled. The face she made was one of sheer horror; she had spent so much time and energy to get it to such a good condition and he had just ruined three days of work. She cried into my shoulder, weeping about the lack of consideration he has for others. I agreed, and we both muttered that we didn’t want him here any more.

That may seem harsh, to you. Who would want their own brother to leave for good? I would have agreed with you, if it weren’t for literal years of constant abuse from this boy, this monster. He’s like Jekyll and Hyde. One minute he can be a perfectly innocent child (he is 15, but his mental state is at the point where he is internally 8 or 9), and then within moments he can switch to some inhuman, unfeeling being of nothing but hate. He cannot be reasoned with, he can only be fought.

He’s gone now, they all are. Mom and him were taken to hospital in an ambulance, and my father followed shortly after. My snakes are alive, my budgies are fine and everything has gone quiet. This will happen again, and it’ll never stop until something is done - but that’s just the thing. What do we do? We’ve jumped through the hoops, we’ve waited years for people to help us and nobody will.

I’m going to be honest, I don’t want to seem like an attention seeker, but I genuinely fear that if this type of thing carries on, I’ll try to kill myself. Tonight put so much strain on my mental state, and each new episode increases that strain so much, that I don’t think it will be too long until I snap.

Sorry that this has been my first post on this blog. It was meant to be an art blog but I’m no longer going to be doing that as I’m completely rebranding myself. This will be a personal blog for me to write about my life - a kind of journal, I suppose.

All the best,

nano

#personal #vent #mental health #autism #aspergers #anxiety #depression #eating disorder #fibromyalgia #chronic fatigue syndrome #journal #negative #violence

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Text

So after the spate of high-profile celebrity suicides recently, and the short-lived discussion of mental health that surrounds them (kind of like the way the gun control debate appears for a week after a mass shooting and then vanishes), I have had some probably disconnected thoughts that I finally felt like putting down somewhere (and honestly, I had most of this post typed up and then tumblr deleted it, so... round two and Fuck You Very Much Tumblr). I briefly thought about putting it on facebook, but a) fuck facebook, I’m barely on it anymore, and b) everyone that I care about is either or also here. So I guess it’s once more using the big blue hellsite as a diary, because I was awake until 1am last night talking to myself about this, and writing is how I work things out.

As ever, please do not feel obliged to read the post or whatever else, especially if you’re uncomfortable with the themes/subjects discussed. Again, it’s essentially for my own benefit and trying to organize things I’ve wanted to say, as a long-term sufferer of depression and anxiety who is also having a really tough time now, and how I see that reflecting on what’s happening both with me and the wider world.

Anyway.

I feel like my main reaction is one of weariness that so much of the response is “get help if you’re struggling! Reach out! Call someone! Things will get better!” Which is... helpful in its way, and I genuinely believe that the people reblogging suicide hotline numbers and “don’t kill yourself” posts and so on really want to help. I am not one to point fingers at anyone who really wants to reach out and do something to make a difference. But that’s also it? We’re barely getting to the place of recognizing depression as a legitimate problem and not stigmatizing people who have it (hah), but to me, it sounds so much like “well, I know you have two broken legs and can’t stand upright, but you should still go walk to the clinic and ask them to help you.” Again. Important. But why is so much of it centered around the assumption that the depression sufferer has the responsibility to go on an individual basis and try therapy or meds or whatever, while the mental health services that even exist are being slashed? While some people seem perfectly happy to talk about how mental health is the problem, and not readily legal assault rifles and a culture of white male entitlement and grievance), and the assumption remains that we can just treat depression on an individual, ad hoc basis, rather than looking at it systematically.

We’ve had a ton of studies and research showing that depression rates are way up, that a lot of people identify as having anxiety and mental issues and are messed up out the wazoo (which frankly, I think most of us are), and then the attendant “everyone’s a snowflake, buck up and take it on the chin!” backlash, because frankly the world is horrible and society sucks. (This opinion is sometimes subject to revision, but still.) Honestly, is this any surprise? When we’re in collapsing late-stage capitalism that has basically utterly fucked everyone born after 1980, we live in this awareness that things are systematically and unbearably evil and oppressive but the vast majority of us have no ability to do anything about that, and birth rates and marriage rates are declining because people (completely understandably) don’t want to bring children into this nightmare of a world and are realizing that traditional ideals of marriage and sexual morality are BS.... I mean, are we surprised that people just don’t want to live in this world anymore? When I find myself worrying about the idea of taking on another student loan (another of the basic commodities that it has become expected that you’ll go tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt for) and then am like, “well, there’s a less than zero chance that Western civilization collapses in my lifetime/the next ten years, and I’m going to die in debt anyway, so...”, there’s a sense of surreality and almost despondency that we’re able to know more than ever how shitty things are, but again, can’t do anything about it. Again. We can’t fix depression by telling people individually to go try therapy or whatever else. It doesn’t get at the reasons that so many of us just can’t stand the world anymore.

I feel like I’ve settled well on my belief that people, even if often beholden to centuries-old bullshit and tribalism and prejudice, are individually good, often amazingly and soul-sustainingly so (I’m not joking when I say that I would probably be dead by now if not for the kindness of strangers and friends, including many of you who I’ve met here), but society and the overall structure is pretty much rotten. We find ways to manage, to exist, to ameliorate, to distract, and I am honestly delighted for the people who can live more or less happy existences despite everything, have found a way to do that. Again, this isn’t a “don’t go to therapy!!” sort of post, because yes, if you’re depressed, you have to decide whether and how you want to get better. But sometimes you just can’t fucking do that. You just exist this way and you know how it is and it becomes sort of familiar and accounted for.

I’m lucky to be a mostly high-functioning sufferer, who has lived with long-term and chronic depression and anxiety since at least the age of 18 (and probably, through most of my childhood as well), which has left me latently suicidal, physically fucked up, mentally exhausted, and emotionally isolated for my entire adult life. But I’ve also managed to hold jobs and complete several advanced degrees and get out of bed and put on makeup and keep my commitments and so on and otherwise outwardly resemble a normal person. So I then read posts about people who can’t get out of bed or even brush their teeth, and I start wondering if I “really” have depression or it’s just an excuse or I’m a weak person or just broken somehow else. Which is 0% helpful and is the bad brain talking, as I recognize. Looking at me from the outside, it feels like you wouldn’t guess, which also seems to be a theme with the celebrities who died. They always seemed happy and well put together and confident, until they didn’t. I turn 30 this August, and feel about 800.

And yet. I have made the choice to live, and I have continued to make the choice, and I have learned that I have a lot of strength I didn’t know I did, and I am proud of that. But I also read a post by someone I otherwise admire and whose work I really like, about how you can’t ever have the life you want until you take suicide off the table as an option, as if you can just choose once to live and not think about it again. And I just am like... how? I’ve made it before and I’ll have to do it again, but god, I wish with my entire heart that I could just make it once and not look back. I wish I could ever be confident that I could say without qualification that I want to live more than I want to die. Because well, I DON’T want to die, not really. I find things that make me happy and that give me small joys and distract me and which I enjoy. I still have a lot of things I want to do (even while feeling I won’t get the chance) and feel like it would be stupid to die because my brain doesn’t work. So I’m still here. I’ve never made a serious attempt to kill myself, and I obviously hope that doesn’t change. But it remains in the back of my head, the idea that I just wish I could switch off for five years and come back and find that things have somehow worked out. Which obviously is not the way it works, and you don’t get to temporarily go away. But this world is so hard and so tiring to live in, and sometimes it gets to me.

As for the getting help part -- I’ve been trying to do that myself recently. Go to counselling services and the university support centre and whatever else, even though it causes me anxiety to the point of physically messing me up. It feels like being drunk or hungover or just off balance and unable to see or breathe normally. I convulse in bed at night and wake up just as tired when I went to sleep and just don’t feel like I run correctly. And this is from a relatively high-functioning person who isn’t trying to stop herself (at least currently) from suicide, but just enough to keep her going. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be a person depressed to the point of being unable to get out of bed, told to call someone or reach out or whatever else. That’s practically inhumane. We live, for better or worse, in a Western “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” culture that puts the onus on the individual to fix their own problems. When honestly, the collective society that exists right now is a toxic, oppressive, and impossible one that keeps chewing up people from every walk of life and which nobody with the actual ability to do anything about it seems to want to change. Encouraging individuals with depression to seek help is nice, sure. But until something fundamentally and permanently changes in society and how we view our obligations to each other and what we are willing to do to help and to change this culture that tells you you’re responsible for your own illness, people are going to keep dying from depression in droves, and everyone else is just going to figure we’re weak. Or there will be a short-lived mental health awareness campaign, and nice things will be said, and then it will be back to business as usual. Because man, are we good at burying our heads in the sand for any number of things.

The choice to live doesn’t usually have the luxury of being made once and then never revisited. You have to do it yearly, monthly, weekly, sometimes even daily. And frankly, I don’t blame anyone who feels that the cost-benefit analysis doesn’t really add up to staying here anymore. I’m here certainly in part because of you here on tumblr, who have indirectly (and sometimes directly) saved my life. You have talked with me on text or email or in person for years, have read my fics and thought of things you wanted to tell me and sent me nice messages and otherwise made me feel less invisible. Your kindness has been often what has sustained me, and made me decide that I’d rather be here than anywhere else, and given me what little faith in humanity I have left. And one of the reasons I write all the time (books/fics/asks/metas/papers/theses/projects...etc) is because I literally cannot stand to live in my own head if I don’t. I do love creating things and am happy that people enjoy what I post here, and it’s a major source of pleasure and distraction for me. But I also do it because I will literally cease to function (in what limited capacity I have) if I don’t. I have to do it in order to live with myself and this monster at all, and that is also tiring.

Overall, we’re all fucked-up people with a very dark sense of humor, whose compassion and conscience is about all we have going for us, and we just have to try to cling together and do for each other what we can. And god, I’m grateful for it. I have a lot of financial terror right now in addition to everything else, and am looking into the aforementioned student loan for short-term stabilizing (limited work rights are a Bitch), and I basically paid my rent last month because of you guys. So yeah, you’ve made the difference for a stranger on the internet being homeless or not, and I have no idea why, but please know that it means more to me than I can ever say, and I hope to give back what I can.

(I also still have a Kofi account, while I’m trying to get things under control here, so... again, entirely up to you.)

I’m not sure how I will make it to December and (supposedly, ha) my PhD graduation, let alone after that. I will probably have to choose to live again several more times between now and then, and then again after that. I hope I can continue to do that. And I hope I can talk to you, both if you need someone to listen and whatever I can do for you by that, and if I do the same.

If you’ve read all the way to the bottom, mazel tov.

#hilary for ts #personal #tw depression #tw suicide

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rexcaliburechoes · 6 years

Text

This isn’t what I usually post here, but I was listening to my playlist of music and it reminded me of a songfic that I wrote with CircusP’s Ten-Thousand Stars. This was about three months ago, when I took writing seriously, but now that I don’t write anymore, I felt that this would go to waste. I have a few other fics that I might post later, just to archive them here, since those were the ones that I was the most proud of. Anyways, this is super long, so the entire thing is under the cut. I didn’t know how to end it, so the end is a little fragmented, and it doesn’t exactly help that I hate writing endings, but I’m probably not gonna edit this because I forgot how to write a long time ago. Either way, I hope it’s enjoyable, regardless.

Put on a mask and don a false identity I'm broken down into my core

"Lukas! We need you on the front lines!" Clive calls over to the red general. "They're trying to break through the front lines; the line will break if you don't get there soon!"

Lukas looks up from behind his shield. He had been tasked with holding the line here, but if their left flank was failing...

He turns on his heel, his tattered cape fluttering behind him. "Of course, Clive."

He didn't want to fight. It was easily the last thing that he wanted to do on this earth. Why was he enlisted in this Deliverance?

Ah, yes. It was his brother that forced him to join.

Lukas breathed in, grasping his lance tighter in his hand and set off, blocking another glancing blow with his large shield.

It was another battle- one that he did not wish to fight in.

But alas, he must fight and survive.

Blood dripping, head is splitting, Words are falling free I can't take anymore

With his heavy silver lance in hand, he strikes out at the approaching Cavalier. His dented armor dig into his skin, causing large welts to form. His fingers were blistered from the wooden shaft of his weapon, but he had to keep going.

"Keep fighting, keep going, keep pushing," he whispered to himself. His mantra, no matter how many times he repeated it, always felt dull and lifeless.

A slash. Keep fighting.

A shove. Keep going.

A loud scream. Keep pushing.

One by one it's over, this silence can't get louder Bolt my jaw shut and throw away, away, away the key Just one second longer, A speed run to game over I am a fatality

Blood trickled from a gash over his temple, but he didn't care. It was another battle that he didn't care for. It was a useless cause.

His lance flashes out and catches his opponent by surprise. His lips curl into a bitter smile.

They never learn, his thoughts mockingly turn on them. But then, neither do I.

Lukas straightens, his red armor a stark contrast to the swarms of blue on both sides. He stared down at the enemy Cavalier, who stood in the back of the army. They returned his gaze, gripping their lance tighter.

They scream and charge straight for him.

I'm holding onto, onto, onto nothing I've begun crashing, crashing, crashing hard Let me feel panic, panic, panic again Set ablaze, I'll shine brighter than the stars

Lukas' eyes blazed as the horseman charged at him. His mouth opens and he screams out a battle cry.

Lukas raises his shield, intent on blocking the downward thrust from the charging Cavalier. His movements were slow and sluggish, however, being worn down from hours upon hours of battling needlessly.

The lance comes down on Lukas' head, but he moved back just in time. The blow pierced his armor, just above his chest. He gasped in surprise, taken off guard by the blow.

Lukas backs up several paces, dislodging the lance with a swift blow from his shield. The wooden shaft cracked and bent, the material becoming misshapen and useless.

"Pray this ends quick!" He hisses through gritted teeth. Stamping his right leg forward, Lukas swung his weapon, the tip catching on the horse's flesh and leaving a deep, jagged gash. It whinnied and backed up, walking against its rider's commands.

Lukas pressed his attack, striking with an alarming swiftness that none would expect from such a slow looking general. Soon, the Cavalier fell, soundly beaten by the knight.

And I'll finally see ten-thousand others just like me Filling up the night sky, we'll never be lonely

Lukas straightens, breathing heavily. He leans on his lance, his vision blurring. He felt exhausted, but whatever he did must have sent a shockwave through the army- the tides of battle were starting to turn.

His line that he was so desperate to hold was starting to push back against the enemy forces. They were no longer struggling, but surviving, winning, even. All because he defeated this one Cavalier.

It was a mind-bending concept that made his head spin. No... That wasn't just him. Everything was spinning. It was nauseatingly fast.

The carnage, the red. The death. It affected him more so now than it ever had. Why was he feeling so hot? He felt so... Ill...

He opened his mouth to call for a medic, but instead he vomited, dropping to his knees. His stomach churned. Everything was red.

Then black.

Take me up where I can feel the zero gravity Come on, come and be free

Come on, come and see

I'll cross my heart and swear I'll never be like that With the tears seeping through the laughs Blood dripping, guts are spilling Old fears come for me How long can I last?

Lukas' eyes flutter open. The sky wasn't black. No, it was tan.

He must have been in a tent.

His tent? No. The infirmary.

He sits up, much to the protest of those sitting around him.

"Clive...?" He rasps. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. A pair of hands guided his to a waterskin, of which he downed gratefully.

One his thirst was slacked, Lukas felt the need to ask. "Did we win the battle?"

Clive nods wordlessly. "Yes... We did."

His voice sounded oddly put out. It was as though he was not telling the full truth.

"How many did we lose?"

"Not many, thanks to your heroic actions, but..." Clive takes a breath. "Lukas, are you alright?"

The pain that he'd previously ignored was starting to come back. It spread through his chest with a dull, aching sensation. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

The healer quickly glanced at Clive, who shook his head.

"No. No, it's nothing. Forget I asked." He reassured.

Lukas looks deep into Clive's eyes, searching for anything that gave away his condition. Usually, he was an open book, but now...

He couldn't read anything.

Before he could ask a second question, Clive stands, placing a hand on the red General's shoulder.

"Heal up, Lukas. We need you on the front lines, as you're a valuable asset to this army."

Without another word, Clive slips out of the tent, leaving Lukas alone with his thoughts.

Is something wrong...? He muses to himself briefly to himself. I don't recall anything being off, until today. He's never treated me like that.

Shaking his head, he tries to place it out of his head. If Clive didn't tell him something about him, it was probably for the best.

Of course, the only time that Clive complimented him like that was if he was trying to blithely fix something wrong.

Something wrong with him.

A cold hand clutched at his heart and he shivered. Had he been replaced? Was he nothing? Why would Clive say something like that, when he's already done so before in a poor attempt to reassure him that he wasn't... cold.

It was true- he was cold. He was a cold-blooded murderer that didn't have hold any regards for life. He couldn't keep going like this. He never wanted to fight. It was not what he wished to do.

He couldn't keep going.

One by one it's over, this screaming can't get louder Bolt my jaw shut and throw away, away, away the key Just one second longer, A speed run to game over I'm praying for serenity

The next morning, Lukas was roused awake by a rather concerned Forsyth.

"Lukas?" He asked, withdrawing his cold hand from the other's sleep-warmed shoulder. "Even though Sir Clive wished for you to not be disturbed, it's almost midday. you should eat something."

Lukas blinks owlishly at the blurred green shape in front of him. "I... alright."

A warm bowl of soup was pressed into his hands. Lukas expected Forsyth to leave, but the other man only sits down next to him, watching him in concern.

"You were also mumbling in your sleep," Forsyth admits after a moment. "You scared the living daylights out of me when you seized my hand. Is everything alright?"

Lukas dismisses it quickly- too quickly. "Everything is alright, Forsyth, You needn't worry yourself over someone like me." He sips the thin broth, hoping that it would warm him up, but he just remained cold.

He downed the rest of the soup, passing the bowl back to Forsyth. "Thank you."

"Of course, Lukas!" Forsyth manages a smile, but Lukas could have sworn that it was more of a grimace. "Feel free to chat, if you need it!"

He pushes the tent flaps open and disappears outside.

I'm holding onto, onto, onto nothing I've begun crashing, crashing, crashing hard Let me feel panic, panic, panic again Set ablaze, I'll shine brighter than the stars

Lukas stares down at his bandaged hands- the very same that were stained red with so many people. Husbands. Sons. Brothers.

Was he truly cut out for this path?

He clenches his fists, and ignoring the burning sensation in his chest and legs, he stands. Picking up his shirt that was draped over a nearby chair, he throws it over his head and walks out of the tent.

And I'll finally see ten-thousand others just like me Filling up the night sky, we'll never be lonely Take me up where I can feel the zero gravity Come on, come and be free Come on, come and see

The camp was bustling and busy. Horses and their riders trained with a commander off in the far distance. Cooks were busy trying to make something to feed the entire army. It felt... too normal for an army. Odd.

Wrong.

No one cared. No one cared. They were murdering children. Sons, brothers, lovers. This was... this was so truly and utterly wrong.

Why would his brother force him to join this society of murderers?

Perhaps he wanted Lukas to become a monster. He was already a disgrace to his family for refusing to hold a lance. Why would this be a far cry from what he would do?

Soldiers waved or stood as Lukas limped past them. He didn't acknowledge them. Murderers.

I'm holding onto, onto, onto nothing I've begun crashing, crashing, crashing hard Let me feel panic, panic, panic again Set ablaze, I'll shine brighter than the stars

He stops in front of Clive's tent, his mind set on telling Clive how wrong they were to battle these men. Something made him pause.

No.

He couldn't face Clive about this.

He wouldn't understand.

He was one of them.

And I'll finally see ten-thousand others just like me Filling up the night sky, we'll never be lonely Take me up where I can feel the zero gravity Come on, Come and be free Come on, Come and see

He could see clearly now. He could see so clearly, it hurt.

All they were doing: it was wrong. He couldn't support a cause such as this.

He was a monster. They turned him into one. He wasn't a monster. He refused to be.

His mind was made up.

Make it a secret, think you can keep it? I'm not okay and I'll never be the same Let's make a surprise, set a date and time

He hurried to his rent before he could change his mind. He didn't have much in the way of personal effects- a few books and a pin that he snagged from his home before he was sent off to this army.

Packing up what little clothes he had, he slung his satchel over his shoulder and quietly exited camp.

Looking back, Lukas breathes out.

He was free.

He turns away and starts the long trek to the nearest village.

Don't let them know I won't say goodbye before I go

#outside of queue #fire emblem #Lukas #lukas fire emblem #fire emblem echoes #rex can't write #shut up rex #get to work rex #go to bed rex

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youcancallmecirce · 6 years

Text

Elemental, Chapter 11

Don’t forget that I added new scenes to chapters four and seven to accommodate this chapter! You don’t have to read them, but the second half of this might be a bit jarring if you skip them.

Read the chapter on AO3. Read it from the beginning.

“So, Marinette, have you filed your complaint with the University’s Arcane Department yet?”

“No, not yet.” Marinette sighed as Fu set his teacup back into its saucer and pushed it back to join his now bare lunch plate. “The administrative offices are closed over the weekend. If you really think it’s necessary, then I’ll do it in the morning, before class.”

“It is necessary, my dear. This breach of trust must be addressed.” Fu folded his hands on the table, and gave her a level look. “To be honest, Marinette, I believe that you should also request to be assigned to a new Master.”

“What?” Marinette blanched, dismayed by the very suggestion. Reporting Mme. Piers was bad enough; asking to be reassigned felt like a betrayal of her kind, well-meaning mentor. “No! I can’t do that to her!”

Adrien shifted uncomfortably in his seat and sighed. “You might have to, Mari. After we file our complaints, it’s likely that she will be suspended.”

Fu nodded in confirmation, his eyes sad. “I am sorry, Marinette, but this is not something to be taken lightly. No matter her intentions, she has violated your trust and the rules of our arcane community.”

“I know, Master Fu. I will speak with the Dean of Arcane Studies in the morning.” Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip against the urge to cry. She wished now that she’d never mentioned any of this to her parents. It had made her uncomfortable, yes, but was it really worth jeopardizing the woman’s career? She had been so kind to Marinette, and she’d learned so much under the woman’s guidance. Marinette swallowed the sob in her throat and stood, pushing away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, please? I think I need that nap as much as you do.”

She stood, clasping her composure tight around her, and gathered the dirtied dishes from the table, leaving only the tea pot and Master Fu’s cup and saucer. She left them in the sink to be washed later; right now, she needed to be alone with her tears.

Adrien frowned at Marinette’s closed door, wishing that there was some way that he could make Marinette feel better about what they had to do. She’d gathered the plates and things from the table woodenly, and though he knew that she’d been trying to hide her distress, he could tell that she’d been holding her tears at bay by the barest thread.

“Adrien.”

He met Fu’s gaze and saw his own sadness mirrored there, as well as a bone-deep exhaustion that he’d not noticed before. “What is it?”

Fu sighed and rubbed his eyes in weary agitation. “I suspect that this woman’s motives are not as pure as Marinette believes.”

Adrien felt his frown deepen. “Isn’t this something that you should be telling Marinette?”

“And if I did, do you think that she would listen to me?”

He met the old man’s gaze steadily for a few heartbeats, then blew out a breath and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t.”

Fu smiled faintly and shook his head. “She would dismiss the notion out of hand. I will not suggest it to her until we have more than a suspicion mal-intent.”

“And you want me to, what, go looking for proof?”

“No, no of course not.” Fu shook his head and waved his hands as if to banish the idea. “I only want you to keep in mind the possibility, and keep wary eyes open. Don’t forget that while Marinette is the one betrayed by Mme. Piers, she betrayed her to you. Both of you are powerful mages in your own right, and when joined with your elementals, that power is increased exponentially. Imagine what she could accomplish if she could gain control of both of you, and the magic you wield?”

Adrien gaped at him, aghast. “Of course she wouldn’t! It would be—”

“Unethical?” Fun interjected calmly. “Kind of like revealing another mage’s arcane secrets, wouldn’t you say? Especially when she’s sworn to protect that mage and her secrets, and it would have been easy enough for her to gain Marinette’s consent before speaking to you.”

“Gods of the Sea,” he swore, his mind racing. When considered from that perspective, Fu’s claim didn’t seem so far-fetched after all. And if he hadn’t come upon Marinette at the beach that morning, she would never have known she’d been betrayed and he would never have realized it was such a betrayal. He blew out a breath and looked back at Fu. “Piers didn’t know that we knew about each other. We didn’t, actually, until that very morning. She’d have never been caught.”

“Indeed.” Fu lifted the tea pot and poured himself another steaming cup, then sat back to sip at the brew. He looked at Adrien enigmatically over the rim of his tea cup. “Perhaps you would benefit from a nap as well, young man. And perhaps Marinette would benefit from some company.”

Adrien flushed at the knowing twinkle in the man’s eyes, but took the offered escape without hesitation. “I think you’re right, Master. Enjoy your rest.” He stood and offered an informal bow, which was returned with an inclined head.

At Marinette’s door, he paused to knock and wait for her invitation to enter. When he received no response, he knocked again and called her name softly.

There was the sound of muted rustling, and then a sniffle. “Adrien?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Can I come in?” He heard more rustling, a few beats of silence, and then the door opened to show a red-nosed, teary-eyed Marinette. “Are you okay?” he asked awkwardly, feeling ill equipped to comfort her.

She sniffled again and stepped back from the door, allowing it to open wider. He stepped past her into the room. “Yeah. I just…I feel awful, like I’m betraying her. You know?” She shut the door behind him and leaned against it, looking defeated.

“I do.” Adrien moved farther into the room, taking the opportunity to gather his thoughts without the distraction of her large, wounded eyes. He sat himself in her computer chair and faced her. “But Marinette, she is the one who betrayed you. This is a logical, reasonable response to that betrayal.”

“Not when it was well-intentioned!” She pushed away from the door and flopped down on her bed to stare at the ceiling. “She wasn’t trying to hurt me, Adrien, she was trying to help you! Why should she be punished for that?”

“She still betrayed you,” he said softly. “And no matter what her intentions were, she knew what she was doing when she did it. She could have asked you first.”

“I already promised to report it,” Marinette muttered bitterly.

Adrien winced. He hadn’t meant to let Fu’s suspicions filter into their conversation. “Marinette, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t come in here to badger you.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

She rolled onto her side, pillowing her head on her bent arm, so that she could look at him. “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad you’re coming with me, tomorrow.”

Adrien felt himself smiling a bit, in spite of the circumstances. “Yeah?”

She returned his small smile and nodded, a fait blush staining her cheeks. “Yeah.”

His smile widened. “Me, too.”

She bit her lip, hesitating, then reached out her hand in invitation. He took it and allowed her to draw him with her as she rolled to her other side, pulling his arm over her side as he settled behind her. A bit surprised and more than pleased with this turn of events, he tucked himself against her body and tightened his arm around her waist to fit her more snugly along his. She relaxed into him with a sigh, and Adrien thought that he had never been more comfortable in his life.

Justine Piers maintained her mask of humbled contrition throughout her meeting with the Dean of Arcane Studies only by the barest thread. At its end, she apologized to the whelps with every appearance of true regret, even going so far as to comfort the weeping, guilt-stricken girl. Then, she schooled her expression into pleasant affability and made her way out of the administrative building as if she hadn’t just been humiliated, scolded like a naughty child and suspended from her position at the University.

To all those around her, she seemed as she always did.

Inside, though, she was anything but calm. Incandescent fury writhed in her breast, beating against the cage of her outer composure, but she would not give vent to it here. Those insolent whelps had cost her too much already; she would not allow a lack of control to shatter the rest. She kept her anger tightly leashed until she reached the sanctity of her home, and her well-warded workshop below. Only then did she let the mask fall and indulge her rage.

How dare they interfere with her carefully laid plans? And how had she not known what they intended to do, before hand? With a scream and an angry wave of her arm, she swept her heavy walnut worktable across the room and into the wall. The resulting crash of splintering wood and whimpers of her terrified Brownie slaves did little to assuage her. Those two little brats had been the barest of acquaintances. Neither had known anything of import about the other, she was sure! The one was so pathetically shy, the other so utterly spineless and both of them so naïve as to make them puppets in her hands! How could they have learned about one another so quickly, and taken action against her? How dare they call her character and reputation into question, jeopardizing everything that she had worked so hard to achieve?

She snarled and cast about for something else to destroy. Preferably something alive. She wanted to rail at Nooroo, to sever his connection to the brooch and drain his essence of power, but she knew better than to summon him with her temper in this state. He was far too valuable to sacrifice, no matter how richly he deserved her wrath, and she snarled again. One of the brownies flinched at her growl and she fixed her gaze on him. He would do.

She seized him by the throat and pinned him to the stone wall with manacles of compressed air. He struggled frantically, as if he didn’t know the hopelessness of his situation. She smiled cruelly, enjoying his terror as much as she would enjoy his pain.

She let him hang there and swung into angry pacing, and the two remaining brownies shrank further into their corner with strangled whimpers. After all she had done for them, teaching them and honing their powers, how could they betray her in this way? She’d all but taken that freakish fish boy by the hand and led him to power he’d never dreamed of! She knew he’d done it; he’d all but glowed with raw elemental power that morning! How could he possibly have turned on her? And to go behind her back in this way, tattling to the dean like spoiled children? It was disgraceful! It was utterly intolerable! She had planned to be merciful, to return them to their lives after taking only their magic, but now? No. They no longer deserved such mercy.

Justine’s eyes gleamed with pleasure as she considered her revenge. They would watch without hope at their blood ran red from their bodies. She would strip them of everything, drain away their very lives and their powers as she pared the skin from their bodies. They would beg for death, but no. They no longer deserved even that. When they hung in agony on the cusp of death, she would rip their souls from their bodies and bind them as her eternal slaves.

Then her eyes fell on the suspended Brownie. She had yet to slake her fury in his blood, but she would--and she realized then that on top of everything else, they would cost her one of her slaves. She turned on the Brownie with renewed anger. She took every ounce of her fury and poured it out on the wretched creature, her blade of air visible only after it ran with blood.

When she was finally spent, there was little left of the Brownie that could be recognized as such. She stood in the midst of her ruined workshop, uncaring of the blood spattered grotesquely over her face and around the room and oblivious to the trembling her slaves. All of it was inconsequential in the face of her now-banked rage. But soon, soon, her air blade would be slick with their blood.

She drew a deep, calming breath, tasked her slaves with clearing the remains of their brother from her workshop and replacing her work table, and went upstairs to shower before the blood could dry further.

Dried blood was such a nuisance to wash from her hair.

#callmecirce #circe writes #miraculous ladybug #au #marinette #adrien #master fu #madame piers #that escalated quickly

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machinehead · 7 years

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MORE CORNELL

Below is a collection of the most interesting replies to my General Journal inbox and our Facebook page. There are many, many, many more great/fantastic replies in the FB thread here: https://www.facebook.com/MachineHead/posts/10154745571783823 But these are the ones that hit me the hardest for whatever reason. Reading everyone's replies made me realize that it’s been a very difficult thing to process for many of us. I appreciate the well wishes from everyone. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Yes, it triggered something dark inside me, something closer to the surface than I realized. Writing/talking helped me process it. Talking about it on our group-text helped a lot, talking about it with my guys at practice helped a lot. Writing the journal helped a lot, reading you’re replies helped a lot. And so I’m sharing your replies to hopefully help anyone else struggling with this. It needs to be discussed. His suicide, depression, mental health, whatever we want to call needs to be addressed. We need to get over our uber-macho, alpha-male-society, and be able to talk about these things. For ourselves, for our kids, for our future. My oldest son had heard Genevra and I talking about Cornell. Driving him to school 2 days ago, he asked me how he died. I told him. He didn’t understand why someone would do that. It was tough conversation. And my first thought was to not tell him what it meant, but then my larger fear went to "what if he feels this way already?” And before you go, “oh kids don’t feel that way, kids are just happy all the time”, I have 2 friends who are going though it with their tween/teenagers. So we spoke about it, and I told him "I hoped that him and Wyatt never felt that way because THAT scared me even more." It was heavy… How any parent lives through that I’ll never know. Back when the news broke, the band/crew were talking over the group-text, Phil shared something amazing with us. It was a post from our long-time friend Steffan Chirazi. He had posted his eloquent thoughts regarding Cornell's suicide (written before suicide was confirmed). If you read only one of the replies below, scroll to the bottom and read his. It’s well worth your time. ——————————— From: Paul Miller Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Yeah man. I know that's not a formal way to start a reply, but that last line, "Listen, Honor, Remember Chris Cornell"... that's the truth. Did so today. Soundgarden was one of those bands that I listed to and enjoyed, but I didn't run it into the ground. It was great music, and I didn't want to burn myself out on it. It would rotate, but I'd save it for special occasions. When "Black Hole Sun" hit MTV, I'd find myself turning the tv so that I wouldn't get sick of it, but it became unavoidable for awhile (at least here in Indiana). I appreciate your words. They ring true here, too. Never got that low, but my thoughts have been dark enough. It scares me, too. But, I want to forge ahead for my 5 year old - she is what keeps me runnin'. All the best to you, and thank you for the music through the years. I'm sure you hear people say that your music helped them through rough times. I believe it. It kept me focused on doing something personally productive to develop my chops as I wore out the cassette of 'Burn My Eyes' while learning to play your riffs! So, thank you for that. Take care, Paul From: Rochelle Mangan Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Thank you for this, I loved reading it and am enjoying re listening to a lot of the songs and albums you mentioned with a different perspective on them (this is something I enjoy doing with music a lot, listening to things after people have told me their ideas and opinions on them etc). I just want to say though that I hate the "they had so much to live for" type comments. Even if it's done from an emotional, irrational state, I can't not say something about it. I will find it hard to express concisely and over email the many reasons why but one of the main things is this.... Mental health is hard to deal with because it's invisible, it's so easy to feel like you're a flawed person somehow rather than recognise you are actually unwell. This can mean that experiencing severe depression or whatever when everything in your life is "going great" can (in my experience) often make it so much more confusing and distressing. I'm definitely not saying it's harder to deal with if your life's great! But, if things aren't great - you've lost your job, you're struggling with a relationship etc it's easier to sort of say to yourself "well of course I'm struggling". I feel like it's also sometimes easier for others to empathise with you if they can see some logical reasons why. It's also easier to get help from public health services (in NZ anyway). When I'm in a bad patch and I have good things happening in my life I ALWAYS find it harder to not do damaging behaviours because my external things are so at odds with what's happening internally. It's like a big war going on and it is so confusing, so exhausting, just one massive dangerous mind fuck! Anyway I hope this doesn't make you feel worse than you may already be feeling, I don't mean it to. I just feel that it's important to say these things sometimes. I know suicide can be confusing to people but as you may know, when you're there, it's not. Thank you for your ramblings and your even more amazing music. It has definitely kept me alive in a big way numerous times. Rochelle xxx From: Anita Hoeve Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals Even though I'm a Machine Head fan from the start, and I really enjoy your journals, I don't normally respond to them. Surely you have better things to do than read all the comments, but wow, this day really sucked, didn't it? I was utterly shocked to hear about Chris' passing. Even more to learn it was suicide. Feel so sad that he felt this was the only way out. I love his voice, his music, listened to Superunknown just last week. Between all the social outpourings I read today, yours really stood out. Thank you for your story, your memories. For really taking the time to share them with us. They got to me. Take care Robb, give your kids and Genevra an extra big hug tonight. Love, Anita From: "Kondalski, Joe" Subject: RE: CHRIS CORNELL To: 'The General Journals' I was at the Fox Theater last night to see Soundgarden, here are a couple of pics from the show. We were in the front row and Chris gave us fist bumps and was very engaged with the fans during the show. Ps- these are cell phone pics, I will send some pics from my camera later. Feel free to post this pics anywhere. From: Fábio Gil Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL To: The General Journals From a 34 year old fan boy trying to play it cool: if you need help, go and search for it and solve your shit, man. We all have demons and hard things we can't handle by ourselves, sometimes. So, for this fanboy, and millions around the world, for whom your TALENT and music inspires so fucking much, put yourself together and "headup". I have a band and we are looking for a proper singer for a time now, maybe a year... And you, dear Robb, your vocal approach, your melodies, ressonate in my head, pushing me to break my barriers and fears and step to the mic (I play of the guitars). This is how much you inspire me. And I'm... just one. Imagine what you do daily to your legion of fans. Is there anybody out there? Yea. There is. Always. From Portugal, with MUCH MUCH love, Fábio Gil. From: Jean-Baptiste Collinet Subject: Re: CHRIS CORNELL SPOTIFY PLAYLIST To: The General Journals Thanks for the playlist, Robb. Great choices, many almost-unknown songs. Great. Well, I tought about dropping a serious line about how Chris somehow "changed my life" (I know, that's so cliché, but I'm at loss for words, damnit). But I was too down last time you wrote about him. Not only did Chris, as a human being, kinda "redirected" me on a safer, healthier path… even if we never met (if there's heaven or hell, we may meet sometime. Let's be a hopeless optimistic-pessimist!) His music... Boy, it's just gut-tearing to think about the loss of the man who opened my mind and my ears enough to stop my technical frenzy and stage thirst for a huge while, and made me start listening instead of merely hearing. I even put aside performing for years, and I just started again maybe a few months ago. Not as a Swedish Melodeath drummer and guitarist, but as a viola da gamba soloist. Talk about a ride. It doesn't look like it, but both worlds share much more than one may think. Not sure I would have made it so far without Chris. Chris had this ability to quickly grok and understand the world and music in an unbelievably holistic way. If that's not inspiring, I don't know what is... I could go on and on, rambling. Enough. Chris has still much to "teach" us, even if he's not "there". He made me wonder if we're not the dead, wrongly thinking we're alive. How can we dare think we're right? What if the ones we think of as dead/fallen are the ones alive? Anyone has an answer to this? Jean-Baptiste Collinet @Rich Hoit I both love and hate this. I love the passion, the honesty, and the wish to not shy away from the raw and heartfelt feelings towards a fantastic front man, singer, musician, friend and man. So much respect for that. I hate the fact that it had to be written so soon 😢 Bravo, Machine Head, a great piece and a great sentiment. And thank you, Chris Cornell. @Ashley Merritt You're strong as fuck Robb because you actually wrote how you feel honestly like this, helping anyone struggling with mental illness.. it helps to know that you're not the only one and the way you feel frankly is exactly the way I do. What a trip. Being open and around good folk means everything, there's always an up after a down. Always. @Theresa Alaimo Very proud of you, Robb Flynn, Machine Head, for this tribute to Chris. A s a journalist for my magazine, Black Planet, in New Mexico, I ran for over 15 years, I too am grieving for Chris Cornell, that beautiful man with an amazing voice. During the Voivod Tour they played at a club a few blocks from my work space apartment and the promoter asked if I could steam the crab legs for Soundgarden at my place. Delivering a plate of steaming hot crab legs to the beautiful Chris and looking into his eyes, made my legs steam as well. I believe I said, "Your Majesty, I present you with steaming hot crab legs" and bowed. I was such a dork, but I was so overwhelmed by his aura. I was also at the Foundations Forum where I saw Soundgarden and met you and other great guys. I interviewed you and we all became friends and hung out with Pantera, Biohazard, Exodus, STP, Lemmy, Pearl Jam, Iron Maiden and up and coming new bands for a weekend. I still have my Scorpions beer mug they handed out from their helicopter flight, it was a great experience. Anytime you are feeling sad or depressed Robb, try to remember that you are a talented musician, a beautiful man and maybe not every woman in the world wants to fuck you, but be your friend and will listen if you need to talk. I might not ever know if you read this, Robb Flynn, but at least it's out there. We all love you and need you to stick around. We've lost too many, Dimebag, Peter Steele, Wayne Static, Scott Weiland, Layne Staley, Lemmy, just to name a few and when we barely catch our breath, then we lose another. We can't lose you too, our hearts are already broken. @Matt McDonald "And I think I'm strong, but I'm not. I'm not as strong as I project, and I'm not sure if I'm stronger than depression. Because I sink into it sometimes. And it's black. I hope I am. I need to be for my kids. For my wife... for myself." God damn that shit hit me. So personal, so profound, and so relatable. Counseling, medication, therapy... none of that is a guarantee. Whether it's a bout of sadness or full on throes of suicidal depression, sometimes the hardest part for overcoming it is simply reaching out. Be it pride, shame, guilt... find a way to overcome, find something that helps you out of the funk. Music can be so powerful, so thank you for still being here to share your deeply personal thoughts and feelings, and for continuing to make music. You never know how much it could help even just one person, I think that's reason enough to continue. Thank you! @Jennifer May It can be really hard to admit, you worry that you'll be labeled as an attention seeker or told that you just need to cowboy up and try harder to be happy. Medication is still really stigmatized and expensive, and talk therapy can seem intimidating. I'm very, very lucky and grateful that my mama works in mental health so I've had someone to help me navigate the system. RIP Chris, we lost one of the greatest today. @Phil Stein No matter how much one tries to capture the range of emotions evoked by Chris Cornell's vocals, the description falls short of what he could do and what he could convey. Let alone the beauty, poignancy and power that he could generate. It was like hearing a 5 course gourmet dinner from appetizer through dessert - it was varied and more than that delicious vocally. Thanks for the great description and memorial For Chris Robb. It's so on point and fitting. Perfectly stated!!! @Mark Garcia It's the asshole in me but I will never grieve for someone who takes their own life. I can appreciate all the words from fans and I may not have been a fan of sound garden some of the songs were worth listening to. This band as well as the grunge "sound" never resonated with me so maybe that's why as well. @Jimmy James Brute honesty again from mr Flynn. Bravo this is why we love you and machine head. Depression does fucking suck and you don't shy away from talking about it. RIP Chris Cornell! Man I was actually a big soundgarden fan back in the 90s before discovering metal. @Siri LH Thank you for your honesty and reflections! Highly interesting to read. I can relate to the sadness and the mind fuck. Soundgarden was the band that sparked my love for heavy music. I've been depressed myself and always felt comfort in listening to Chris Cornell's voice. It resonated with my mind. The darkness felt lighter when I put on a Soundgarden album. I was comforted, like someone got my mood. Whenever I've felt lost, I've put on some Soundgarden and found myself again. Soundgarden feels like the essence of my being and I will always be deeply grateful for their music, and for Cornell's voice, lyrics and mood. I've seen them live once and I smiled the whole show through. Eternal love for Chris Cornell and Soundgarden <3 My heart goes out to his loved ones. @Austin Kokel I saw them on Lollapalooza '96, and I'm glad to hear you say what I felt at that show. I was only 15, but I had Badmotorfinger and Superunknown and I absolutely loved both and was right up front. The band was definitely in a funk, and the bassist was an asshole, spitting on and insulting the crowd (and bot in the fun Ramones way I experienced an hour earlier). I try to explain their set to people now, and I can't. I'm glad to hear my 20+ year old sentiments echoed. That said, I always wondered about him after that day, but I never saw this coming either, not this far down the road. Thanks for your honesty and insight, Robb. We love you. We love Machine Fucking Head. Be strong. @J Ake Hess You've expressed so many feelings and thoughts rattling around in my head today that I just couldn't find words to put to. Cornell will always be uniquely amazing and in a class by himself. I was listening to his cover of Prince's Nothing Compares 2 You just last night and letting myself become entranced by his unique sound and incredible voice. Today I am sad, angry, and a bit enthralled with my own mortality. Nobody is immune and sometimes the struggle is too much for even the people with everything to live for. I can't imagine what his family is feeling today. Beyond tragic… @Steffan Chirazi No-one can be sure why he is dead, and when it is appropriate, we will know. But depression is a very, very real thing. It is a part of life, but for some, it carries deadly lows and utterly crushing weight along with a gravitational pull into darkness that many of us cannot fathom. I sometimes fight the rabbit hole. I see it, I feel it, I flirt with its edges, but then I bury my head in the dog or hug the cat or take deep breathes and get outside and find a piece of mental architecture to grab hard, fast and haul myself out. I am very lucky. I am slightly brushed with depression and anxiety, but fortunately I am always able to find the light. Fortunately I still retain enough of my natural mental antibodies to find the path out quickly and efficiently. There is no doubt that age makes that path harder to find sometimes, as a consequence of both the physical being and some of the inevitabilities which come with your 50s (such as more people in your circle dying). Others are not so lucky. It isn't because they 'don't want to' or 'aren't trying hard enough' or 'don't love their familes' or anything remotely like that. It isn't ever for the lack of trying. It is because depression (and anxiety) are a crushing, debilitating disease which this country, this planet, seems largely unable to recognize. We push people to the outer regions of anxiety and depression with no care that there are some who fall headfirst into a rabbit hole tornado and only through regular (and possibly unrecognized miracles) find themselves hurled into the escape bunker as opposed to the abyss. Yeah. Imagine that. A tornado that escalates within minutes from a slight, chilly breeze, a tornado that offers no pattern as to when it will appear. And imagine that the only help which can come your way is a bunker miraculously opening up beneath your feet and drawing you to a womb of safety until the tornado passes… ...Often, people with clinical depression will self-medicate. Not because they 'like to fucking party' but because there is no other way out. It's 'easier' to take a swig, take a pill, take a hit. It keeps the darkness in the distance and the tornado (when it pops up) is smashed into smithereens by the 'medicine’. Let me, by the way, be VERY clear. I am NOT saying he was doing ANY of that. He had his dances back in the old days, ones he has been very open about. But I thought he had left that behind. I honestly don't know but feel he had for some time. Whatever eh? Because we judge anyway. Yet we judge. We judge in all senses and all ways. Why do they do that? Why do they behave that way? Who do they think they are? Why can't they just cheer up...? Why are they being such an asshole? Yeah, cheer up will ya? You're handsome or pretty or rich or famous or successful or ALL of those things. Come on. All you gotta do is think about how much worse so many other people have it. Who do you think you are? There are people with 'real' problems out there… I heard the same shit about Cobain and Staley. Listen, does anyone really believe that they wanted to go? That they didn't with every sinew wish in their more lucid moments that they could find a way out? Of course not. Pain is one thing, emotional pain is a whole other ball of wax, but add that to a chemical equation in your DNA that can (without warning) turn your colours to black and white, your peripheral vision to a short, narrow tunnel and which leaves your light feeling cold-negative and it is clear to see that this disease is both monstrous and potentially crippling. The thing with tornados is that when you're in one, they don't afford you the 'luxury' of contemplation. Especially when it is your own chemicals, your own imbalances through no fault of your own, which rise from nowhere to envelope you in that tornado; I never heard of anyone caught in one who was able to see straight, let alone reason with themselves. Fortunately some find their way out. They discover a regular path out of the fog, and they can stick to it. That is not to judge people who cannot; every situation is different. But some simply can't. They try and try and try again. Maybe they achieve success in escaping dark moments, and maybe they eradicate self-medication and triggers from their lives with the help of great local support. However there are never guarantees. Again, I don't know why he died. I spent a little time with him here and there, enough to know that for years, there was a dark moodiness which expressed itself via his generally quiet way and rich lyrics. Later on he certainly spruced himself up, chucked in the deeper self-medications, and seemed a lot more comfortable with life than when he wrote the semi-self-ridiculing "Jesus Christ Pose" but what did I know? Apparently not much at all… ...If you see a friend struggling, if you sense or feel a friend or family member is drifting near a rabbit hole, please, check-in with them. However you have to, either directly or just create an excuse to see them, to talk to them. We are so emotionally guarded that we perhaps see it as 'intruding' or 'sticking our noses in'. Know your friends. Know your family. Be kind whenever you can with them, have a laugh or crack a shit joke. But touch base. Do it today. Much love to everyone who suffers and is either marginalized, trivialized or simply ignored. Much love to those getting assistance in their ongoing battle. Subscribe to The General Journals: http://thegeneraljournals.hosted.phplist.com/lists/?p=subscribe

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lastbluetardis · 7 years

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In Sickness and in Health

This was written for @doctorroseprompts’s weekly prompt: “I had great plans for our Valentine’s Day but then I got sick and I’m sorry I ruined our date… Oh wow you ordered takeaway and found something on Netflix and oh no don’t cuddle with me I will get you sick.”

And this is also set in the Perfectly Matched ‘verse, because I can’t seem to escape it. (This is a stand-alone fic... you don’t need to have read anything in this series to understand this fic. Just know that they’re adorable idiots in love.)

Ten x Rose, Soulmates AU, Teen

Rose falls ill on her first Valentine’s Day with James, but they still manage to make the best of it.

AO3

James was only half-awake when he rolled over onto his side to cuddle closer to his bedmate. He wriggled up behind Rose and nuzzled his nose into her neck as he molded his body around hers.

She shivered in his arms, but it didn’t feel like her regular shivers, the ones she usually let out when he kissed the sensitive patch of skin where her shoulder met her neck.

“M’cold,” Rose mumbled, scooting backwards to put more contact between their bodies.

James stifled a groan as her bum wiggled against his morning stiffie.

“Let me sleep another ten minutes and we can take care of that,” she promised, letting out a sigh as she relaxed back against him.

James glanced over at the clock. “Ehm, you’re actually running late, love. It’s quarter after.”

“Can’t be,” she said, lifting her head to verify the time. Bollocks… She had class in just forty-five minutes. But her entire body seemed to be aching with lethargy.

James tugged the duvet away from them, about to suggest they share a shower, and frowned when he saw her tighten into a ball as goosebumps prickled across her skin. His frown deepened when she only managed to push herself half-way into a sitting position before flopping back down again.

“Just a bit of vertigo,” she assured, rubbing her fingers into her eyes.

But James saw that her cheeks were flushed and her voice still hadn’t cleared of its morning rasp. He touched the backs of his fingers to her forehead and his brows pinched together when he felt the heat radiating off her skin.

“You’re burning up, love,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face as he tucked the duvet tight around her neck. “I think you might’ve caught something. You should stay home and sleep it off.”

“Hand me my phone?” she asked, hugging the blankets to her chest. “Gotta email my professors.”

“I’ve got it,” he said, reaching over her for her mobile. “I’ll take care of it. You just rest now.”

“’Kay.”

Once James emailed her professors, he glanced over at his phone. Should he stay home with Rose?

“You’re gonna be late,” she said, blinking up at him.

“It’s fine,” James said. “I can take the day.”

“No need. I’ll just be sleeping, I think. Very boring. Go on to the lab, James.”

James bit his lip. He really hated leaving Rose like this, but he also needed to get a few things done at work.

“Go,” Rose urged. “Besides, I don’t want to get you sick, too. Can’t miss our first Valentine’s day together.”

James sighed and eventually moved to crawl out of bed.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he said, tucking the blankets snugly around her shoulders.

“I’ll be fine,” Rose promised, her eyes fluttering shut. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

oOoOo

However, when Valentine’s Day rolled around three days later, Rose had only gotten worse. Not only was she still exhausted, she’d developed a double ear infection and a respiratory infection.

Rose sneezed into her wad of tissues and gingerly wiped her red, raw nose, chapped as it was from the tissue abuse it had endured. Of all the weeks for her to get sick…

Despite what she’d told James that morning, she wasn’t sure if she’d be actually well enough to go out to dinner with him that night. Her ears and nose were still clogged, and she could hardly go ten minutes without coughing up a lung.

She glanced at the clock and reluctantly sat up to reach for her dose of antibiotic and decongestant. After taking the pills and sipping at her water, she flopped back down on the couch and covered up with more blankets before falling asleep.

When James came home that afternoon and saw Rose asleep on the sofa and surrounded by tissues, he knew that their dinner plans would have to be put on hold.

Frustration coiled in his stomach—couldn’t anything go right for them this year?—but it was soon overrun by concern. It wasn’t as though Rose tried to be sick for their first Valentine’s Day. And she really looked and sounded poorly.

With a sigh, James pulled his phone out of his pocket and called the restaurant to cancel their reservation, while tentatively making another reservation for the following weekend, hoping Rose would be well enough then.

He then crept up the stairs and into their bedroom, where he changed into a pair of pajamas, prepared to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day as Rose’s pillow and space heater.

As he descended the stairs, he could hear the tail end of one of her coughing fits, and he winced at how awfully it sounded.

“Still not feeling any better?” he asked, crouching in front of her. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks were still red.

“When did you get home?” she croaked, carefully dabbing a tissue around her nose.

“A few minutes ago,” he answered.

Rose reached down and pushed a button on her phone to check the time.

“Oh, blimey, I’ve got to get ready,” she said, pushing herself up. James’s heart clenched when he saw her swaying a little bit as she closed her eyes, overtaken by a dizzy spell.

“No need, love, you’re not well enough for dinner,” James said. “Lay back down and get some rest.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” she insisted. However, when she stood, she nearly tripped forward as her dizziness returned and she got tangled in her blankets.

James caught her around the waist and held onto her as she rested her forehead on his collarbone.

“Rose, you’re still very ill,” he said gently. “You’d be utterly miserable if we went out. You look utterly miserable now, and that’s even with you in your pjs in our home. I’ve cancelled the reservation. We can try again later when you’re better.”

Rose sighed into his chest but nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, love,” he said, giving her waist a little squeeze. “Nothing you could’ve done to prevent this.”

“I was really looking forward to dinner,” she mumbled. “You were so excited about it, and now I’ve ruined our first Valentine’s Day together!”

James carefully sat down on the sofa with her and pulled her blankets off the floor to at least cover her lap.

“If I’m not allowed to take the blame for ruining anything in our relationship, then neither are you,” he said firmly. “Remember what you’re always telling me?”

“Memory’s a bit fuzzy right now,” she mumbled, leaning against him and tucking her head into his neck. “Try again later.”

James chuckled and pressed his lips to her sizzling forehead. “I guess I can take it easy on you today. Just this once, mind.”

“How generous of you,” she said dryly.

“Anyways, you’re always telling me that even if our plans don’t go as we’d hoped, they’re still perfect because we’re together,” he said. “Same applies to this. I never envisioned my first Valentine’s Day with you would involve so much mucus—” Rose smacked his chest lightly even as she tugged her blankets around her shoulders and nuzzled closer. “—But nevertheless, we’re together, and that’s all that matters, yeah? Being able to spend time with you, Rose Tyler, is the best way to spend any day.”

“Flatterer,” she whispered.

“Always.” He kissed the top of her head. “Get some more sleep, love.”

“Actually… since you claim to like spending time with me, even in my mucous-y state, care to help a soulmate to the loo?”

James chuckled and stood up before pulling her to her feet and guiding her to the bathroom.

Once he’d settled Rose back on the sofa with more water and blankets, he trekked to the kitchen and started on dinner. He called for Chinese for himself while he reheated the vat of chicken soup he’d made for her the day before.

“Bon appétit, ma chère,” James said affecting an awful French accent as he cradled a steaming bowl of soup in a towel.

Rose smiled up at him and readjusted herself before taking the bowl from him.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” she asked, frowning at him.

“I am,” he promised. “I ordered takeaway.” Serendipitously, the doorbell rang at that moment. “Aaaand I’ll bet that’s it. Go on. Pick us out something to watch.”

Several minute later, they were both slurping on their respective meals and continuing their marathon of The X-Files. More than once, James caught Rose side-eyeing his lo mein, and he casually scooped out a few of the noodles and half an egg roll into her empty soup bowl.

“You’re the best,” Rose said with a grin.

“Don’t you forget it,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her temple.

After they finished eating, James set his empty dinner box and Rose’s bowl onto the coffee table before he scooted closer to her and wrapped himself around her.

“No, I don’t want to get you sick!” Rose protested.

James snorted into her hair. “Honestly, it’ll be a miracle if you haven’t infected me yet. But you’re cold, and I want a cuddle. Two birds, one stone, et cetera. C’mere.”

Rose sighed and relaxed into James’s embrace, nestling her cheek into his chest.

“If you get sick, don’t come crying to me,” she murmured, feeling full and warm and sleepy.

“No promises. But I’m sure you’ll take such good care of me.”

“I’ll share my leftover soup,” she allowed.

“Feel the love,” James pouted.

“Maaaaybe I’ll make you your own,” Rose teased. “If you ask nicely. And if you’re really, truly ill. And I mean ill. Like, ear-exploding, lung-coughing, goopy-eyeballs ill.”

James grimaced. “No, ta. Let’s just cross our fingers that I stay completely healthy, yeah?”

And miraculously, James did manage to avoid catching whatever plague Rose had come down with.

Finally, nine days after Valentine’s Day, they were both ready to resume their romantic holidays plans.

“You are the most stunningly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” James murmured appreciatively as he stepped up behind her, looking her over through the full-length mirror.

She was wearing the new black dress that had appeared in their closet three weekends ago when she’d gone shopping for their Valentine’s Day date, and it looked as sexy as James thought it would when he first saw it hanging on the rack. The skirt fluttered around her knees and the three-quarter-length sleeves would hopefully offer her some protection from the February chill, even if the plunging neckline wouldn’t.

“You look quite dashing too,” Rose complimented with a grin. “I like the new suit.”

“Yeah, I’ve been looking for an excuse to break this one in,” he said, taking a look down at his blue pinstripes. “It looks okay, doesn’t it?”

“You look great, James,” she promised. “Pinstripes really suit you. And… if you want, I have something for you to help finish off the new look.”

James removed his hands from her hips to let her skip towards her chifforobe and grab a long, skinny box.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything!” he protested.

“I wanted to,” Rose said simply, handing him the box. “Happy Valentine’s Day redo.”

James grinned as he lifted off the lid to the box to reveal a new tie. It was made of navy silk with burgundy roses twining around the fabric in thin vines.

“Oh, this is perfect!” James said, already undoing the tie around his neck.

“Yeah?” she asked happily.

“Oh, yes!” he crowed, dropping his old tie and the box to the floor as he swiftly knotted up his new tie. “What do you think?”

Rose smiled softly at her soulmate before she stretched up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Handsome, as always,” she proclaimed. “Right, are we almost ready to go?”

“Well, you’re still missing a piece,” James said, tracing his fingertips around her collarbone. “Found a necklace yet?

Rose’s breath hitched, recognizing his failed attempt at nonchalance. “Not yet. Have any suggestions?”

“Well, you’re in luck. How about this?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a square black box. He flicked it open with his thumbs, and Rose gasped when she saw the necklace within. A rectangularly-cut opal sat as the center piece and diamonds framed the perimeter of the gem, and Rose could see a thin silver chain disappearing behind slats in the velvet cushion.

“Oh, James, this is beautiful!” she whispered, carefully touching her index finger to the opal. It was even smoother than it looked.

“You like it?” he asked hopefully.

“I love it! Put it on me?”

Rose spun around as James carefully lifted the necklace out of the box and draped the chain around her neck. He clasped it and let it come to rest against the bare skin of her chest.

“Diamonds for your birthstone,” he murmured, adjusting the pendant so it hung just right. “And opal for mine. Happy Valentine’s Day redo, Rose.”

“This is perfect,” Rose murmured, turning in his arms to press a kiss to his lips.

James sighed against her mouth and automatically opened for her. Her illness had put the brakes on their intimacy, and James’s belly flipped over in desire and anticipation as he could finally kiss her with intent.

But far too soon, Rose eased them out of the kiss.

“We’re going to miss our reservation,” she said when she saw his pout of displeasure.

James sighed. As much as he wanted to stay here and continue snogging Rose, he really was looking forward to dinner with her.

“After?” he asked hopefully.

“Definitely,” she purred, trailing her fingertips down his new tie.

“Well then, Rose Tyler...”

Rose shuddered at the huskiness in his voice as he said her name. James took her hand and pressed a long kiss to the backs of her fingers before he murmured, “Dinner awaits.”

If you’re curious, here is Rose’s necklace (pretend the chain is silver instead of gold)

#doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #soulmates au #and here's james and rose's first valentine's day together!!#(of course it doesn't go right!)#;)#enjoy!#perfectly matched series #my fic

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drippeddaily · 6 years

Text

Album of the Year #5: Bedwetter (Lil Ugly Mane) - volume 1: flick your tongue against your teeth and describe the present.

Artist: Bedwetter (Lil Ugly Mane)

Album: volume 1: flick your tongue against your teeth and describe the present.

Label: Self-Released

Release Date: January 29, 2017

Listen:

YouTube

Spotify

Bandcamp

Apple Music

Background

Bedwetter is the latest pseudonym of Travis Miller, best known as Lil Ugly Mane. For a more extensive history of Miller and his work as Lil Ugly Mane before the release of this album, check out my /r/indieheads For Your Consideration write-up on Oblivion Access, as this background is going to mainly focus on what led to the release of his debut project under the Bedwetter album.

After releasing Oblivion Access in late 2015, Miller, as Lil Ugly Mane, formed the group Secret Circle with frequent collaborator Antwon and Wiki (of Ratking) in 2016 and the group has released a few singles, including “KEEP IT LOW”, “SATELLITE” ft. Despot and “Tube Socks”, since the formation of the group. The Bedwetter project was teased in December 2016 with this Facebook post and the release of the singles “selfish” and “stoop lights.”

Finally, volume 1: flick your tongue against your teeth and describe the present. was released on January 29, 2017 on the Lil Ugly Mane Bandcamp after a concerning post on Facebook that has since been taken down. A day after the release, Miller made a new statement on the Lil Ugly Mane Facebook page after receiving a few emails from people asking about the album and what led to its release. The statement is, as below:

I keep getting emails from people.

I wrote this the day before Bedwetter was recorded.

All i could do, all i can do is write poems and basically a polemic yelp review into the notepad on my phone.

what else can i do.

im not gonna get into my own shit on some specific level because fuck you, i dont know you. pay attention to yourself.

but i feel like this is the best way i can explain shit.

polemic yelp review of american heath care system:

"After a lifetime of avoiding this shit. Ignoring this shit. FInding myself confused.

After 3 months of sleeplessly, anxiously glaring into the eyes of an old monster that suddenly grew a new head.

3 months of forgetting who i was. What i was doing.

I knew something had to happen. I'd known this for a while.

I had been reaching out

Calling.

Emailing.

After continuous unsuccessful attempts for months to contact psychiatrists and doctors, I reluctantly checked into the hospital today.

I thought maybe i could get a much needed psych evaluation and hopefully receive some sort of treatment, perhaps even simply a referral and/or an appointment to go see somebody else who could provide that.

I didn't know what else to do.

What else are you supposed to do.

For six hours I sat nervously twitching and in a freezing waiting room.

Whimpering old men being completely overtaken by their Alzheimer's.

Vomiting children.

Bleeding Fingers.

Ugly loud sagging losers who were obviously constantly there.

Begging for attention with some new ailment and concern.

Their broken humilated spouse at their side.

I was anxious and horrified by the idea of a potential forced or even voluntary intake to a psychiatric facility.

Surrending my freedom.

Surrender of my routines.

After six hours of constantly reassuring myself I was doing the right thing, I was finally seen.

Led down a hallway into a bare concrete cell with a small bed in the center. Dim lights. scratches on the drab walls.

Grates in the floor to catch whatever bodily fluids they have to hose out of there.

One of the walls was one of those steel doors that the corner store pulls down at the end of the night.

Not sure what that was about.

Empty though.

A bed and a chair.

Somebody had carved "slipknot sucks" into the plastic bed that was bolted to the floor. Seems fitting.

You're the same, you're basically just a stupid fucking sad teenager right now. You're pathetic. Good luck getting better idiot.

I was given a gown and my belongings were inventoried and confiscated.

I sat and waited in my gown.

Eventually, Two skittish nurses and some community college educated social worker baby-talked their questions to me as a lurching police officer glared at me disgustedly over their shoulders.

I'd chosen to go in at a time where I was feeling okay so i would be fully able to articulate and describe the symptoms I was experiencing so I could potentially receive the most accurate treatment. I thought that made the most sense.

I didn't want to wait until I was in the midst of some anxious episode and having to hyperventilate my troubles out thru a salty humiliated fog. I thought that made the most sense.

I sat and calmy described my symptoms. I tried to convey how terrified i was. I tried to tell them i couldnt do it anymore.

This was received with a couple bored nods and sparse notes being jotted down on a clipboard.

Eventually i was hurried along and any complexity of my disease was all quickly reduced to two simple questions:

"Are you suicidal? Do you wanna hurt anyone else?"

No.

No I don't. I can't think of anything I wanna do less than die, I can't think of anything that frightens me or gives me more anxiety than the uncertainty of what happens when you die.

No.

No I don't actively want to hurt anyone, to be honest, the fact that I voluntarily came in here could be seen as an indication that I'm absolutely exhausted and desperate to stop hurting myself and everyone else by not confronting this shit for so long.

wrong answer.

I was discharged. handed back my clothes, given a xeroxed list of some websites about suicide prevention and a "feel better" or some other equally patronizing verbal pat on the back.

Back right where I started.

Nobody is gonna help me.

Our current mental healthcare system is absolute shit.

Absolute shit that absolutely incentivizes violence and self harm by categorizing it as the sole interpretation of "severity" worth treating.

By making the idea of treatment feel so utterly hopeless to people who already exist and drown in their hopelessness.

Fuck your resources. Fuck being understaffed. Fuck your stupid priorities. You're incompetent .

Here let me clear out some space for you. Free up some of your time. Empty some rooms.

On hurting yourself:

This is a complex issue, but to briefly put it, I believe a suicidal individual should not only be afforded that right, but after some legislatively decided period of time and therapy and education to ward off impulsiveness and melodrama, the same way they treat anybody undergoing assisted suicide. A process. they should be given a safe clean environment and chemicals to facilitate their decision, no matter the reasoning. grow up.

On hurting someone else:

This is not a complex issue. As far as recidivist violent degenerate squealing psychopaths...rabid dogs just need a bullet to the head.

I've read old yeller.

They dont care. Neither do I.

boo hoo.

Conversely:

lock them in a room and keep them safe.

Is this really that hard?

"Are you an immediate threat to yourself or others are you?"

How about instead of prioritizing that question we focus more on:

"Im so tired and exhausted of constantly hurting myself and everyone around me"

Be passing over someone like me, a person who, on their own volition, came to you for help. A person who desperately wants help. You are simply and plainly creating more and more and more people who will eventually be slobbering immediate threats to themselves and all of mankind.

It creates that understanding.

In an already fractured damaged mind it is an entirely reasonable assertion that you would potentially have to commit an act of violence against yourself or others just to receive treatment. even if you didn't want to.

even if that wasn't a real compulsion.

a last resort.

This system has a very real potential to turn people who voluntarily seek help, people who aren't yet completely overtaken by their illness, into violent suicidal monsters because you are dangling their own treatment on a string in front of them, scoffing at their pitiful attempt at recovery and demanding they need to do more.

"well shit, if you want help yr gonna have to try a lot harder than that buddy, haha, comeback after you snapped a random person's neck in a grocery store and cut off all the fingers on your left hand with some scissors, fucking poser".

I'll get better one day.

Not today.

Maybe I'll have fingers.

Maybe I won't."

thanks for the well wishes.

i'm fine.

i'm just angry.

i'm not the only person dealing with this and i've lived a full, somewhat interesting life.

i hate that you are dealing with this.

Review

I don’t really know where to begin with this. volume 1, since its release, has been an incredibly difficult album to listen to due the the background and the depressing lyrical content. This isn’t the first album of 2017 to bring out a similar reaction in me, as the same can be said about Mount Eerie’s A Crow Looked At Me. Both are extremely painful looks at the narrator’s mental health and the events that led its deterioration. For Phil Elverum, it was the death of his wife, Geneviève, after her battle with cancer. For Travis Miller, it was the failure of the American healthcare system when his cries for help were silenced.

Miller’s music, specifically his work as Lil Ugly Mane, is deeply important to me. MISTA THUG ISOLATION and the singles he released before Oblivion Access were all extremely formative in developing my music taste and opened my ears to a lot of new sounds and expressions. Up until the release of volume 1, Miller had always took a more abstract approach to his mental health struggles, and even outright denied his music as Lil Ugly Mane held some deeper meaning. I implied in my write-up for Oblivion Access that it was the first time we were truly hearing a Travis Miller project, but it’s safe to say after listening to volume 1, I might have jumped the gun.

The album begins with the short but cryptic “john”, a remixed and chopped up reading of the Bible verse John 1:1, repeatedly fixating on “was God” before roughly transitioning into “man wearing a helmet.” Distant piano chords, rain, a chopped up female vocal sample, a father talking about his child, a jury reading out a verdict, a man asking another if he and his wife have thought about moving, a father now being interviewed about his child being kidnapped, another female voice that’s hard to decipher but is definitely talking about this child, and a drone playing behind all these people talking leads into the album’s first verse, as Miller describes another person’s childhood memories like ripping bark out of trees, pretending to be Superman, and wearing mismatched pairs of Chucks. These memories quickly turn into just that as we now cut to Miller describing this child being kidnapped: “He's a sitting duck, didn't hear the car pull up / Thought his arm broke when they shoved him in the trunk.”

This story continues as Miller further describes the child’s circumstances after being thrown in the trunk at an almost breakneck pace, seemingly trying to through the story as fast as he can before he breaks down. It’s all extremely traumatizing to hear, as the child begins to fear the worst as he looks back: “He miss his mom's affection / He miss the dinosaur blanket on the bed that he slept in / Miss throwing sticks so the dog would go fetch 'em / Missed makin' forts in the woods with his best friend.”

In the third verse, the car eventually reaches its destination and the child is carried to the kidnapper’s shelter, being led down into a dark stairwell into a lair, the only thing he can see being the “bluish glow of television flickers.” As the child continues to describe their worry at what’s to come, the listener is hit with a gut punch as “he” becomes “I,” as the child Miller was describing the whole time was really himself, revealing the origin story of where his battles with mental health begin as the hook plays on with Miller asking himself questions about this event, with all the answers being “I just don’t remember,” as he has repressed his memories of the kidnapping.

While “man wearing a helmet” looks at his past, “stoop lights” cuts to the modern day, with running static/crinkling, a dizzying string sample, synthetic bass, hi-hats, bass drums, and hand claps building the song’s foundation, as Miller begins rapping about what it’s like to be inside his head with no pretensions or greater abstract meanings. His self-hatred has evolved beyond hatred, as Miller simply wants nothing to do with himself any longer, retreating to alcohol and substance abuse to take away the pain of living, pushing himself towards death. The only light he sees are literal ones, as his description of watching them flicker in the hook leads further describing his problems with alcohol and how it’s led to his family leaving him behind.

Miller’s descriptions of his deteriorating mental state are as compelling as they are downright disturbing to here. It’s still slightly jarring to hear the man who rapped “Slick Rick said treat 'em like a prostitute” talk about alcohol abuse and depression so openly, but that’s what makes volume 1 so fascinating, as it’s essentially Miller throwing in the towel, no longer resorting to an exaggerated gangster persona or gross abstractions, but trying to describe what’s happening in his head and around him without any bullshit.

This no bullshit approach is best put to use in “haze of interference”, which starts off with a repeating sample of a man sing-talking “I’m not sure what it was,” with the rest of the song seeing Miller at not only his most angry, but his most desperate, backed behind menacing synths, distant piano chords, boom bap drums and rattling hi-hats that go back and forth in intensity. One of my favorite lines of the whole album comes out of this first verse and it’s such a simple, but perfect description of crippling depression, as Miller raps towards the end: “Greener on the other side, how about nothing's green.” The second verse sees Miller spitting with more fury than we’ve ever seen, rapping at himself expressing his anger with himself at how he deals with his problems, how he shows himself to his friends and family, and most importantly how his fans see him, with Miller breaking from rapping at “you” to rapping the line “You're treated like a muse, are you happy now, Travis?”

The whole song could end there and still leave a massive impact, but Miller keeps going lamenting the fact that he could disappear and almost no one in his immediate life would notice or care, going from referencing the Jonas Jonasson novel The 100 Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared to straight up saying “If I was glass I'd revert back to sand.” Miller ends the verse by completely shattering the fourth wall he previously damaged with the final lines “I'm standing by a microphone and yelling at a wall / Pick a thousand names, you're still nobody at all,” delivered as Miller’s voice finally cracks as the song plays out for another two minutes with a fuller Jandek sample seen in the song’s intro, before sourly fading out.

And that’s the last we hear of Miller on volume 1, as the second-to-final track “this in not my stomach” features a bizarre and disturbing whisper behind a brooding instrumental, with the lyrics possibly hinting that the song is written in the perspective of the depression itself, trying to convince the host body it’s inhabiting to cut out its stomach, almost like an entity from the Black Lodge. Then, the album ends with “cave yourself over,” a lo-fi piano ballad that simply allows you to sit there and think, taking in all you’ve heard.

volume 1 sees a man afraid. A man backed into a corner. A man calling for help. A man who simply just wants to be understood after purposefully obscuring himself for so long. Music was always the thing Travis Miller could resort back to, something to distract him from his mental troubles. Travis Miller the person and Travis Miller the musician were always supposed to be separated. Then, he finally tried to get help and was humiliated, forcing the two to converge in what became Bedwetter. While mental health awareness is at an all time high in America, there’s still a ton of progress to be made as can be seen by Miller’s story. The final note I want to leave this review on isn’t my own, but Miller’s, as it’s the final paragraph of the album’s Bandcamp description:

I really thought today someone would recognize my courage, as i handed over power just to reconcile my purpose, that I needed something urgent. I was eager just to learn it. I just wanna person, lord I'm weary from this burden.

Favorite Lyrics

Crouched down by the tree at his neighbors

He liked the way the bark ripped off like paper

He pretended he was Superman, eyes had lasers

Every step he took turned earth into craters

Little brown jacket, Lee jeans with a cuff

Bowl cut, blue and yellow mismatched Chucks

“man wearing a helmet”

Waking up in situations

Feeling like I'm living in suspended animation

Guess I'm still sober on occasion

And that's enough for me to rationalize inebriation

“stoop lights”

I told you I ain’t right, you knew it going in

Just shut the fuck up if you wanna be a friend

I don’t want to stretch you more than you extend

I don’t want to spit in the hand that you lend

I did it to myself, I get what I deserve

Thoughts in my head, feel like a raw nerve

I’m lookin' for an answer, I don’t want to hurt but

I just want to sleep when I’m tired of earth

“stoop lights”

Foggy little planet where your groping hands to touch a scream

Greener on the other side, how about nothing's green

Bashful baby boy, so distracted by my toys

Rode a tractor from Wyoming to Chicago, Illinois

On a carpet of the 50 states, part of me disintegrates

The only thing I'm left with is the part I can't articulate

“haze of interference”

You're never getting better, you're addicted to the madness

You're treated like a muse, are you happy now, Travis?

“haze of interference”

If I was glass I'd revert back to sand

Scattered through the sea, I could pass through your hands

None of this will happen, nothing will ever

The things that I believe can never ever happen

I'm standing by a microphone and yelling at a wall

Pick a thousand names, you're still nobody at all

“haze of interference”

Talking Points

How does volume 1 hold up to Travis’ work as Lil Ugly Mane? Is it better, worse, or a whole new beast entirely?

What are your thoughts on the production? Is it a natural evolution from Oblivion Access?

What do you think about the album’s lyrical content? Does the album’s desperate origins come across in the writing?

I also want to open up this thread as a discussion for mental health. How have you dealt with your own mental health troubles? Are they similar to Miller’s experiences?

And finally, where does this album land on your year-end list?

Thanks for reading and big thanks to /u/TheRoyalGodfrey for letting me do this again this year and for bringing Album of the Year over from /r/hiphopheads! We’re currently in the midst of our third Album of the Year series over at /r/indieheads, so if you want to come over and give us some love, that’d be greatly appreciated! You can view what we’ve done so far and what we’ve got coming up over here, and make sure to come back tomorrow on this subreddit as /u/ImWaal talks Rick Ross’ Rather You Than Me.

Artist: Bedwetter (Lil Ugly Mane)Album: volume 1: flick your tongue against your teeth and describe the present.Label: Self-ReleasedRelease Date: January 29, 2017Listen:YouTubeSpotifyBandcampApple MusicBackgroundBedwetter is the latest pseudonym of Travis Miller, best known as Lil Ugly Mane. For a more extensive history of Miller and his work as Lil Ugly Mane before the release of this album, check out my /r/indieheads For Your Consideration write-up on Oblivion Access, as this background is going to mainly focus on what led to the release of his debut project under the Bedwetter album.After releasing Oblivion Access in late 2015, Miller, as Lil Ugly Mane, formed the group Secret Circle with frequent collaborator Antwon and Wiki (of Ratking) in 2016 and the group has released a few singles, including “KEEP IT LOW”, “SATELLITE” ft. Despot and “Tube Socks”, since the formation of the group. The Bedwetter project was teased in December 2016 with this Facebook post and the release of the singles “selfish” and “stoop lights.”Finally, volume 1: flick your tongue against your teeth and describe the present. was released on January 29, 2017 on the Lil Ugly Mane Bandcamp after a concerning post on Facebook that has since been taken down. A day after the release, Miller made a new statement on the Lil Ugly Mane Facebook page after receiving a few emails from people asking about the album and what led to its release. The statement is, as below:I keep getting emails from people.I wrote this the day before Bedwetter was recorded.All i could do, all i can do is write poems and basically a polemic yelp review into the notepad on my phone.what else can i do.im not gonna get into my own shit on some specific level because fuck you, i dont know you. pay attention to yourself.but i feel like this is the best way i can explain shit.polemic yelp review of american heath care system:"After a lifetime of avoiding this shit. Ignoring this shit. FInding myself confused.After 3 months of sleeplessly, anxiously glaring into the eyes of an old monster that suddenly grew a new head.3 months of forgetting who i was. What i was doing.I knew something had to happen. I'd known this for a while.I had been reaching outCalling.Emailing.After continuous unsuccessful attempts for months to contact psychiatrists and doctors, I reluctantly checked into the hospital today.I thought maybe i could get a much needed psych evaluation and hopefully receive some sort of treatment, perhaps even simply a referral and/or an appointment to go see somebody else who could provide that.I didn't know what else to do.What else are you supposed to do.For six hours I sat nervously twitching and in a freezing waiting room.Whimpering old men being completely overtaken by their Alzheimer's.Vomiting children.Bleeding Fingers.Ugly loud sagging losers who were obviously constantly there.Begging for attention with some new ailment and concern.Their broken humilated spouse at their side.I was anxious and horrified by the idea of a potential forced or even voluntary intake to a psychiatric facility.Surrending my freedom.Surrender of my routines.After six hours of constantly reassuring myself I was doing the right thing, I was finally seen.Led down a hallway into a bare concrete cell with a small bed in the center. Dim lights. scratches on the drab walls.Grates in the floor to catch whatever bodily fluids they have to hose out of there.One of the walls was one of those steel doors that the corner store pulls down at the end of the night.Not sure what that was about.Empty though.A bed and a chair.Somebody had carved "slipknot sucks" into the plastic bed that was bolted to the floor. Seems fitting.You're the same, you're basically just a stupid fucking sad teenager right now. You're pathetic. Good luck getting better idiot.I was given a gown and my belongings were inventoried and confiscated.I sat and waited in my gown.Eventually, Two skittish nurses and some community college educated social worker baby-talked their questions to me as a lurching police officer glared at me disgustedly over their shoulders.I'd chosen to go in at a time where I was feeling okay so i would be fully able to articulate and describe the symptoms I was experiencing so I could potentially receive the most accurate treatment. I thought that made the most sense.I didn't want to wait until I was in the midst of some anxious episode and having to hyperventilate my troubles out thru a salty humiliated fog. I thought that made the most sense.I sat and calmy described my symptoms. I tried to convey how terrified i was. I tried to tell them i couldnt do it anymore.This was received with a couple bored nods and sparse notes being jotted down on a clipboard.Eventually i was hurried along and any complexity of my disease was all quickly reduced to two simple questions:"Are you suicidal? Do you wanna hurt anyone else?"No.No I don't. I can't think of anything I wanna do less than die, I can't think of anything that frightens me or gives me more anxiety than the uncertainty of what happens when you die.No.No I don't actively want to hurt anyone, to be honest, the fact that I voluntarily came in here could be seen as an indication that I'm absolutely exhausted and desperate to stop hurting myself and everyone else by not confronting this shit for so long.wrong answer.I was discharged. handed back my clothes, given a xeroxed list of some websites about suicide prevention and a "feel better" or some other equally patronizing verbal pat on the back.Back right where I started.Nobody is gonna help me.Our current mental healthcare system is absolute shit.Absolute shit that absolutely incentivizes violence and self harm by categorizing it as the sole interpretation of "severity" worth treating.By making the idea of treatment feel so utterly hopeless to people who already exist and drown in their hopelessness.Fuck your resources. Fuck being understaffed. Fuck your stupid priorities. You're incompetent .Here let me clear out some space for you. Free up some of your time. Empty some rooms.On hurting yourself:This is a complex issue, but to briefly put it, I believe a suicidal individual should not only be afforded that right, but after some legislatively decided period of time and therapy and education to ward off impulsiveness and melodrama, the same way they treat anybody undergoing assisted suicide. A process. they should be given a safe clean environment and chemicals to facilitate their decision, no matter the reasoning. grow up.On hurting someone else:This is not a complex issue. As far as recidivist violent degenerate squealing psychopaths...rabid dogs just need a bullet to the head.I've read old yeller.They dont care. Neither do I.boo hoo.Conversely:lock them in a room and keep them safe.Is this really that hard?"Are you an immediate threat to yourself or others are you?"How about instead of prioritizing that question we focus more on:"Im so tired and exhausted of constantly hurting myself and everyone around me"Be passing over someone like me, a person who, on their own volition, came to you for help. A person who desperately wants help. You are simply and plainly creating more and more and more people who will eventually be slobbering immediate threats to themselves and all of mankind.It creates that understanding.In an already fractured damaged mind it is an entirely reasonable assertion that you would potentially have to commit an act of violence against yourself or others just to receive treatment. even if you didn't want to.even if that wasn't a real compulsion.a last resort.This system has a very real potential to turn people who voluntarily seek help, people who aren't yet completely overtaken by their illness, into violent suicidal monsters because you are dangling their own treatment on a string in front of them, scoffing at their pitiful attempt at recovery and demanding they need to do more."well shit, if you want help yr gonna have to try a lot harder than that buddy, haha, comeback after you snapped a random person's neck in a grocery store and cut off all the fingers on your left hand with some scissors, fucking poser".I'll get better one day.Not today.Maybe I'll have fingers.Maybe I won't."thanks for the well wishes.i'm fine.i'm just angry.i'm not the only person dealing with this and i've lived a full, somewhat interesting life.i hate that you are dealing with this.ReviewI don’t really know where to begin with this. volume 1, since its release, has been an incredibly difficult album to listen to due the the background and the depressing lyrical content. This isn’t the first album of 2017 to bring out a similar reaction in me, as the same can be said about Mount Eerie’s A Crow Looked At Me. Both are extremely painful looks at the narrator’s mental health and the events that led its deterioration. For Phil Elverum, it was the death of his wife, Geneviève, after her battle with cancer. For Travis Miller, it was the failure of the American healthcare system when his cries for help were silenced.Miller’s music, specifically his work as Lil Ugly Mane, is deeply important to me. MISTA THUG ISOLATION and the singles he released before Oblivion Access were all extremely formative in developing my music taste and opened my ears to a lot of new sounds and expressions. Up until the release of volume 1, Miller had always took a more abstract approach to his mental health struggles, and even outright denied his music as Lil Ugly Mane held some deeper meaning. I implied in my write-up for Oblivion Access that it was the first time we were truly hearing a Travis Miller project, but it’s safe to say after listening to volume 1, I might have jumped the gun.The album begins with the short but cryptic “john”, a remixed and chopped up reading of the Bible verse John 1:1, repeatedly fixating on “was God” before roughly transitioning into “man wearing a helmet.” Distant piano chords, rain, a chopped up female vocal sample, a father talking about his child, a jury reading out a verdict, a man asking another if he and his wife have thought about moving, a father now being interviewed about his child being kidnapped, another female voice that’s hard to decipher but is definitely talking about this child, and a drone playing behind all these people talking leads into the album’s first verse, as Miller describes another person’s childhood memories like ripping bark out of trees, pretending to be Superman, and wearing mismatched pairs of Chucks. These memories quickly turn into just that as we now cut to Miller describing this child being kidnapped: “He's a sitting duck, didn't hear the car pull up / Thought his arm broke when they shoved him in the trunk.”This story continues as Miller further describes the child’s circumstances after being thrown in the trunk at an almost breakneck pace, seemingly trying to through the story as fast as he can before he breaks down. It’s all extremely traumatizing to hear, as the child begins to fear the worst as he looks back: “He miss his mom's affection / He miss the dinosaur blanket on the bed that he slept in / Miss throwing sticks so the dog would go fetch 'em / Missed makin' forts in the woods with his best friend.”In the third verse, the car eventually reaches its destination and the child is carried to the kidnapper’s shelter, being led down into a dark stairwell into a lair, the only thing he can see being the “bluish glow of television flickers.” As the child continues to describe their worry at what’s to come, the listener is hit with a gut punch as “he” becomes “I,” as the child Miller was describing the whole time was really himself, revealing the origin story of where his battles with mental health begin as the hook plays on with Miller asking himself questions about this event, with all the answers being “I just don’t remember,” as he has repressed his memories of the kidnapping.While “man wearing a helmet” looks at his past, “stoop lights” cuts to the modern day, with running static/crinkling, a dizzying string sample, synthetic bass, hi-hats, bass drums, and hand claps building the song’s foundation, as Miller begins rapping about what it’s like to be inside his head with no pretensions or greater abstract meanings. His self-hatred has evolved beyond hatred, as Miller simply wants nothing to do with himself any longer, retreating to alcohol and substance abuse to take away the pain of living, pushing himself towards death. The only light he sees are literal ones, as his description of watching them flicker in the hook leads further describing his problems with alcohol and how it’s led to his family leaving him behind.Miller’s descriptions of his deteriorating mental state are as compelling as they are downright disturbing to here. It’s still slightly jarring to hear the man who rapped “Slick Rick said treat 'em like a prostitute” talk about alcohol abuse and depression so openly, but that’s what makes volume 1 so fascinating, as it’s essentially Miller throwing in the towel, no longer resorting to an exaggerated gangster persona or gross abstractions, but trying to describe what’s happening in his head and around him without any bullshit.This no bullshit approach is best put to use in “haze of interference”, which starts off with a repeating sample of a man sing-talking “I’m not sure what it was,” with the rest of the song seeing Miller at not only his most angry, but his most desperate, backed behind menacing synths, distant piano chords, boom bap drums and rattling hi-hats that go back and forth in intensity. One of my favorite lines of the whole album comes out of this first verse and it’s such a simple, but perfect description of crippling depression, as Miller raps towards the end: “Greener on the other side, how about nothing's green.” The second verse sees Miller spitting with more fury than we’ve ever seen, rapping at himself expressing his anger with himself at how he deals with his problems, how he shows himself to his friends and family, and most importantly how his fans see him, with Miller breaking from rapping at “you” to rapping the line “You're treated like a muse, are you happy now, Travis?”The whole song could end there and still leave a massive impact, but Miller keeps going lamenting the fact that he could disappear and almost no one in his immediate life would notice or care, going from referencing the Jonas Jonasson novel The 100 Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared to straight up saying “If I was glass I'd revert back to sand.” Miller ends the verse by completely shattering the fourth wall he previously damaged with the final lines “I'm standing by a microphone and yelling at a wall / Pick a thousand names, you're still nobody at all,” delivered as Miller’s voice finally cracks as the song plays out for another two minutes with a fuller Jandek sample seen in the song’s intro, before sourly fading out.And that’s the last we hear of Miller on volume 1, as the second-to-final track “this in not my stomach” features a bizarre and disturbing whisper behind a brooding instrumental, with the lyrics possibly hinting that the song is written in the perspective of the depression itself, trying to convince the host body it’s inhabiting to cut out its stomach, almost like an entity from the Black Lodge. Then, the album ends with “cave yourself over,” a lo-fi piano ballad that simply allows you to sit there and think, taking in all you’ve heard.volume 1 sees a man afraid. A man backed into a corner. A man calling for help. A man who simply just wants to be understood after purposefully obscuring himself for so long. Music was always the thing Travis Miller could resort back to, something to distract him from his mental troubles. Travis Miller the person and Travis Miller the musician were always supposed to be separated. Then, he finally tried to get help and was humiliated, forcing the two to converge in what became Bedwetter. While mental health awareness is at an all time high in America, there’s still a ton of progress to be made as can be seen by Miller’s story. The final note I want to leave this review on isn’t my own, but Miller’s, as it’s the final paragraph of the album’s Bandcamp description:I really thought today someone would recognize my courage, as i handed over power just to reconcile my purpose, that I needed something urgent. I was eager just to learn it. I just wanna person, lord I'm weary from this burden.Favorite LyricsCrouched down by the tree at his neighborsHe liked the way the bark ripped off like paperHe pretended he was Superman, eyes had lasersEvery step he took turned earth into cratersLittle brown jacket, Lee jeans with a cuffBowl cut, blue and yellow mismatched Chucks“man wearing a helmet”Waking up in situationsFeeling like I'm living in suspended animationGuess I'm still sober on occasionAnd that's enough for me to rationalize inebriation“stoop lights”I told you I ain’t right, you knew it going inJust shut the fuck up if you wanna be a friendI don’t want to stretch you more than you extendI don’t want to spit in the hand that you lendI did it to myself, I get what I deserveThoughts in my head, feel like a raw nerveI’m lookin' for an answer, I don’t want to hurt butI just want to sleep when I’m tired of earth“stoop lights”Foggy little planet where your groping hands to touch a screamGreener on the other side, how about nothing's greenBashful baby boy, so distracted by my toysRode a tractor from Wyoming to Chicago, IllinoisOn a carpet of the 50 states, part of me disintegratesThe only thing I'm left with is the part I can't articulate“haze of interference”You're never getting better, you're addicted to the madnessYou're treated like a muse, are you happy now, Travis?“haze of interference”If I was glass I'd revert back to sandScattered through the sea, I could pass through your handsNone of this will happen, nothing will everThe things that I believe can never ever happenI'm standing by a microphone and yelling at a wallPick a thousand names, you're still nobody at all“haze of interference”Talking PointsHow does volume 1 hold up to Travis’ work as Lil Ugly Mane? Is it better, worse, or a whole new beast entirely?What are your thoughts on the production? Is it a natural evolution from Oblivion Access?What do you think about the album’s lyrical content? Does the album’s desperate origins come across in the writing?I also want to open up this thread as a discussion for mental health. How have you dealt with your own mental health troubles? Are they similar to Miller’s experiences?And finally, where does this album land on your year-end list?Thanks for reading and big thanks to /u/TheRoyalGodfrey for letting me do this again this year and for bringing Album of the Year over from /r/hiphopheads! We’re currently in the midst of our third Album of the Year series over at /r/indieheads, so if you want to come over and give us some love, that’d be greatly appreciated! You can view what we’ve done so far and what we’ve got coming up over here, and make sure to come back tomorrow on this subreddit as /u/ImWaal talks Rick Ross’ Rather You Than Me.

#IFTTT #reddit

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biscuits-on-the-floor · 7 years

Text

Second time around

It has been so long since I have written here, which is a sign of how busy life has been! My job, though only part-time, kept me very busy for much of last year. Running my own business meant that a lot of my ‘spare’ time was spent responding to emails, trying to attract new clients, developing my classes, materials, marketing and so on, on top of the actual time spent teaching classes and workshops. Not that I am complaining; I loved every moment and feel really proud of what I have achieved since setting up. However my job combined with having a toddler meant little time for writing, which is such a shame because so much has happened since my last post and there are so many things I have wanted to share.

For a start I have not yet written here that I am pregnant with my second baby! I am now 38 weeks and in the final stretch but have not had chance to write about it. Becoming pregnant one month after starting my baby massage business was tough going! Like my pregnancy with Squiggles my morning sickness was pretty grim. I struggled with all-day and all-night nausea and retching. With Squiggles it lasted for 4 and a half months; this time it lasted for almost 6 months and even now when I get really tired I feel sick. It’s pretty hard to live a normal life, take care of a toddler and run a new business when you feel that sick, but somehow I got through it.

After finally feeling less sick after 6 months I thought that the last 3 months would be a bit easier. Oh dear how wrong I was! For a start, being pregnant is generally harder second time round when you have a very active, very demanding, very dependant toddler - it is utterly exhausting. But from November onwards it has been one illness after another, me and Squiggles were locked in a cycle of her catching something, then I caught it, then with immune systems weakened, something else would be caught and the cycle went on and on. Between us we’ve had vomiting viruses, tonsillitis, colds, conjunctivitis... And just when I thought we were finally free of all the winter sickness the worst of all things happened, it really was the icing on a very bad tasting cake. I was prescribed antibiotics for a suspected bladder infection and had a reaction to it which resulted in an all-over body rash. It was like the worst sunburn you've ever had and it then turned into excruciating severe itchiness over my whole body which prevented me from being able to sleep. I had many trips to the hospital (each one lasting 5-6 hours), was prescribed a bucket load of creams but was ultimately told nothing could be done for me. It was a living hell where nothing relieved the itching - not even for one minute - and it seriously affected my mental health. It lasted for over 2 weeks and even now I am still experiencing itching on and off. It was so awful that I was on the verge of begging to be induced early so I could get some stronger medication that might work or at the very least sleeping pills to help me sleep. It was a pretty horrible way to end the pregnancy. A time where I had hoped to spend some time with Squiggles, enjoying the last few weeks of it just being the two of us. I had hoped to enjoy a few weeks after finishing work to rest and prepare for the arrival of the baby. But instead I was in and out of hospital, severely miserable and feeling gutted that this time was lost.

But it all could have been much worse and I am relieved and grateful that the baby was never in any harm.

Now at 38 weeks I’m trying to make the most of the time left and have a little time to get ready for the baby and to reflect on the pregnancy so far. I’m struck by the difference between first and second pregnancies. First time round I had many months to prepare and imagine meeting my baby. I used to talk and sing to the baby, Richie used to read to the baby at bedtime. I had time to massage oil into my bump every night and think about the lovely bundle of baby inside. We went to midwife appointments together and excitedly listened to the baby’s heartbeat. I spent time preparing for the labour by listening to hypnobirthing MP3s and practicing birth breathing with Richie. We excitedly bought baby bits and pieces and prepared the nursery. We discussed names and tried to imagine if we were going to have a boy or a girl. We took fortnightly photos of my growing bump.

This time, aside from the sickness, exhaustion and a growing bump, I’ve barely had time to think about the fact that I’m pregnant. I can think of a handful of times that I’ve talked to the baby. This baby has never been read to. I never have time to lovingly massage oil into my bump. I have gone to appointments alone, listened to the baby’s heartbeat on my own, spent many an hour in waiting rooms by myself. The preparation of baby stuff has been to get it down from the loft and just this weekend I hoovered and washed the crib and pram etc. Other than a handful of new baby sleep suits, the baby’s clothes consist of Squiggle’s old baby clothes got down from the loft and washed. There is no nursery for the baby as we only have two bedrooms. I have spent virtually no time preparing for the labour (because now I know there’s no point, haha!), other than listening to my hypnobirthing MP3s, which involves me falling asleep after 2 minutes and not hearing any of it! To say I feel guilty about this is an understatement. I know that none of this means that the baby is less wanted or less loved: it’s just that the reality of already having a toddler means there is just less time for all of that preparation. But I still feel guilty about it.

The other differences between first and second pregnancies include the rather comical fact that when pregnant for the first time people fuss over you: they don’t let you lift anything heavy, bus drivers wait for you to waddle to the stop, you are given a baby shower, people offer you their seat on the train, people tell you how great you look, you can rest when you need to and avoid food when you feel sick, people often ask excitedly about the progress of the pregnancy.

This time round you, on a regular basis, have to lift and carry a two and a half year who quite often is kicking and screaming and struggling to get out of your arms. Bus drivers stop really far away from the curb and you have to lift your toddler in their pram onto the bus (not an easy thing to do with a massive bump and no stomach muscles), no one offers you a seat, there is no baby shower, people don’t mention how you look because you look like absolute crap, you can’t rest and even though you feel hideously sick and ANY smell brings on the retching you still have to cook food for your fussy toddler who ends up not eating it anyway, people rarely ask about your pregnancy and sometimes seem to entirely forget you are pregnant.

First time round your bump is treated as a precious object and people are constantly telling you to be careful and give you lots of space. This time I have Squiggles, who doesn't seem to notice I have a giant belly (other than commenting “mummy big tummy”) and continuously launches herself at me at top speed and with her full weight, squashing the bump and spends most of the day clambering on it. Your toddler does not care one bit how huge you are, she insists that you chase her, carry her, get up and down off the floor many, many times, join in the entire dance class, plies and galloping included (seriously I was galloping around the room just today). She doesn't care how exhausted you are and that every step you take brings pain in your back and pelvis and feels like you have just run a marathon. In some ways I love that although my physical form has changed she still sees me as the same mummy and thinks I can still do all the things I normally do! Sometimes she does seem to notice my physical limitation as I'm struggling to get myself up off the floor and she gives me her hand to try to help me up! Bless her! Other times it works very much to her advantage as she runs away from me and she knows I’m going to struggle to catch up with her. Less cute!

It’s hard to know if Squiggles understands the massive change that is soon to occur. We’ve talked about the baby, of course, and she knows there is a baby in mummy’s tummy ( she used to get confused and think that she and Daddy had babies in their tummies too!) But I’m not sure if she really gets that the baby will soon come out and live in the house with us. We have tried to explain this to her and you can see her little brain trying to work it out, but to be fair it’s a pretty weird concept (even for me!). I think she knows something is changing, as the bits of baby equipment appear from the loft and mummy’s tummy gets bigger and bigger. She has felt and watched the baby move. On a few occasions she got a bit jealous and when I asked if she wanted to feel the baby kicking she said “no” and pulled my top down and asked for a cuddle. She’s also going through a phase of pretending to be a baby and saying “Squiggles mummy’s baby”, as though she knows she’s soon not going to be the baby in the house any more. Ugh, why is this parenting malarkey so filled with guilt? I feel sorry for the new baby who will have less of my time and attention than Squiggles had and I feel sorry for Squiggles who will soon be pushed out of her spot as centre of the universe and go through the pain of having to share me with her new brother or sister.

Second time round has certainly been a journey so far but as hard as it has been at times, I always know deep down that it is worth it and I can’t wait to meet my new baby and hold them and experience those precious moments together right after birth. I never forget how lucky I am that I am pregnant and that I get to be a mother to another baby. I am so, so lucky and so grateful. So for my last couple of weeks I will enjoy feeling the baby move around inside me and find some time to imagine those first moments together when they finally make an appearance. I’m also looking forward to be able to have proper cuddles with Squiggles again!

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 7

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

Of course resting wasn’t easy.

He took a bath, and then sat washing his clothes, kneading the fabric again and again against the side of the old-fashioned tub. Usually he dreaded the castle’s lack of real modern conveniences (they didn’t even have a microwave), but for some reason the manual act of washing was comforting. With nothing else clean to wear, he had to put on the old black coat, and for the first time it felt uncomfortable against his skin.

Demyx didn’t want to risk going out in the black coat, so he sat in the kitchen, nursing the same cup of weak coffee, as he waited for everything to dry enough to wear. He so had to do some shopping. This was tedious.

“Oh, Demyx. You’re alright. What--” Ienzo flinched at the sight of the cloak.

“I did laundry. I had nothing else to wear.”

“Yes, I see. That makes sense.”

“I made coffee. It should still be hot.”

Ienzo poured himself a cup and then sat across from him. Demyx noticed, again, just how tired he looked; his face was pale and he leaned against his palm as though he couldn’t support his own weight. Ienzo only ever looked this tired when he’d spent the day with Ansem; even when they worked together on the translation, he was able to at least sit up straight.

“...Are you okay?” Demyx asked. “You look terrible.”

“I should be asking you the same,” Ienzo said in a soft voice. “I’m very tired.”

“Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Haven’t the time lately.”

“I don’t get it. You keep saying yourself that we have so much time now, but you aren’t using any of it to take care of yourself.”

Ienzo took a drink. “I assure you I am in good health.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I’m surprised after your illness yesterday that you’re worried about me.”

Demyx blinked. “Of course I am. We’re… we’re friends.” His voice faltered on the last word and he looked down into his mug.

“I suppose we are, aren’t we,” Ienzo said. He smiled. “I find I rather enjoy your company. When you’re not collapsing, that is.”

Demyx felt a blush creep into his face and for several heartbeats couldn’t speak. “What is it you’re doing with Ansem?” Demyx asked.

“Like I said before, we’re trying to find a way to help Sora. But we’re working almost entirely in theory, in the metaphysical, with completely untested hypotheses. I’ve been programming simulations to try and come up with any way to test them. It’s very complicated work, and… emotionally taxing to boot. There’s a lot at stake here. And while the ideas we’ve had are exciting, I feel as though I’m approaching something beyond understanding. And that frustrates me.” He looked up suddenly, and turned pink. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain to you.”

“No, I mean, you’ve dealt with all my stupid shit. This is big. No wonder you’re so stressed out.” He clapped his hands together. “I know. You need a break.”

“I haven’t the time--”

“You can’t help Sora if you’re burning out. Which, clearly you are. You’re important too, you know.”

He traced his finger over the rim of his mug. “...I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

“Course I am! Listen, if anyone’s an expert in slacking off, it’s me. Once my clothes are dry I’m taking you out of the castle to get some fresh air. In the meantime, you’re going to go to bed.”

“But I--”

Demyx shushed him. “You need sleep. When was the last time you had a full night’s, anyway?”

Ienzo looked down. “...I cannot recall,” he mumbled.

“Exactly. Go take a nap.”

“Yes, I… that sounds much needed.” Ienzo stood and he actually stumbled a little. Demyx caught him by the elbow.

“I’m going to keep an eye on your door,” Demyx said. “If I see you leave to go off do work I’m going to be super pissed. And I can be scary.”

Ienzo laughed a little. The sound made him feel tingly.

“No, really! I can be!”

“You’re sweet to care,” Ienzo said. “Thank you.”

“Go nap.”

He watched him walk down the hallway and go into his bedroom. His heart was beating fast again. This was the opposite of what pain felt like. He sighed, and then becoming aware of how he was feeling, he shook himself out. “...He’s my friend,” he whispered allowed. But he’d called him sweet...

“Ah, Demyx. Good morning.” Ansem’s deep voice startled him out of the reverie. “I’m surprised to see you dressed so.”

“It’s the only clean thing I have,” he said.

“Yes. That slipped my mind. Easily fixable. I should hate for you to be uncomfortable during your time here.” He lifted the coffee pot off the burner and, finding it empty, exhaled sharply. “Have you seen Ienzo? I was running some of his simulations and I had a question about the code.”

It occurred to Demyx at first that he should lie, because Ansem was kind of pissing him off. Can’t you see how tired he is? Aren’t you supposed to know him better than me? “He looked exhausted, so I told him to get some rest.”

Ansem put a hand to his forehead. “Of course. He never complains, that boy. He’d work himself to death if you’d let him. Unfortunately, I was too distracted to notice. I’ll try to keep a better eye on him in the future. Thank you for that.”

“Least I can do.”

Demyx was starting to feel antsy. He knew Ienzo was only probably just falling asleep, but he wanted to check and see if his stuff was dry. “So I hear you’re interested in ancient Keyblade history,” Ansem said.

“Yeah. Um. After everything that’s happened, the X-blade and all that, I just. Wanted to know more.” His mouth was dry and he drank down more of his coffee.

“It is fascinating how we can inadvertently make myths into history. The power of the human will is not to be underestimated.”

Demyx frowned. “It’s not a myth, though. It actually happened. Hundreds of years ago.”

“Yes, but, before that, it was nothing more than a prophecy, a legend, part of perhaps some religion. It was the belief of strong-hearted individuals that made it come true. To the horrors of the rest of us.”

“So you do know about it,” Demyx said. “Ienzo said there weren’t many texts.”

“There are not. I only know what was passed onto me by my predecessor, the last sage queen of this world. This sort of storytelling gets diluted over time. I’m sure you know that. You’ve studied folk music, I presume. It’s similar in that regard, things getting passed down and changed over time.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “I’m gonna go. See if my clothes are dry.”

Several hours later, the Organization cloak once again in the empty drawers of his dresser, Demyx went to check on Ienzo. He brought him some water and braced himself to have to tell him off.

Ienzo’s bedroom was a bit bigger than his, and clearly had been lived in before. The deep cherry wood of the furniture matched and had been taken care of, unlike the random pieces in his own room. A roll-top desk was piled with books, a lamp nearby. A poster of local constellations was on one wall, old and very faded. And of course there was a bookshelf, piled high and bursting to the seams, but what Demyx really noticed was a threadbare purple stuffed cat, barely visible behind some candles.

Ienzo was fast asleep on the double bed. He hadn’t even taken off his coat, and his shoes were piled haphazardly by the side of the bed. He was curled in on himself, as though sleeping hurt. Demyx set down the glass of water, took the edges of the quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and pulled it over him.

Ienzo stirred. Demyx couldn’t see his face under the layer of hair. “...Master?”

“No, it’s me, Demyx. I was just bringing you some water. Go back to sleep.”

“...Why is this happening?” He curled even tighter on himself, the blanket rumpling. “It hurts, why does it--”

Demyx shook him, trying to free him from the nightmare. After a long moment, his bloodshot eyes opened. “Hey. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.”

Ienzo stared at him as though he couldn’t quite see him. His face was flushed and he sat up slowly. Demyx could hear that he was trying to get his breathing under control but failing, starting an agonizing descent into a panic attack.

“Try and breathe, okay? It’s over now. You’re safe.”

He put his hands to his head, his panicked breath dissolving into sobs. Demyx was utterly at a loss for what to do--he was afraid to touch him, lest he somehow made it worse, but he didn’t know how else to provide any comfort. He rested a tentative hand on Ienzo’s back and rubbed gently. To his surprise, Ienzo leaned into his touch. Demyx hugged him lightly. Ienzo was shaking all over. “It’s okay,” Demyx said over and over again. “You’re alright now.”

After what seemed like a long time, the sobs subsided, though he was still trembling. Ienzo pulled away and Demyx let go at the first sign of resistance. He mopped at his eyes.

“Better?” Demyx asked. He handed him the water. “Here. Drink this.”

He obeyed. He loosened the cravat and buttons around his throat.

“That was a memory, wasn’t it?” he asked.

Ienzo nodded. “...You’re here,” he stuttered.

“Oh. I mean, I was just checking on you. But then I saw you were dreaming, and I couldn’t leave you in the nightmare.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he said. “Sometimes the memories are stronger than others.”

“Come on. You’ve seen me worse off.”

He hugged himself tightly.

“...Do you want to talk about it?” Demyx asked.

Ienzo shook his head. “No. Let’s… let’s go to town.”

“Are you sure? You just had one of the biggest panic attacks I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should just chill. Catch your breath.”

“I need to get out of here,” he insisted. There was a raw wildness in Ienzo's eyes that he had never seen before. He'd always been so put-together, but for the first time Demyx realized it was all an act. This was likely the tip of the suffering iceberg.

Demyx understood. As much as this castle had to be Ienzo’s home, there were a lot of dark memories wrapped up in it. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Outside, the sun was starting to set. The air was cooling rapidly. Demyx was glad he’d thought to grab his sweater this time.

“It’s getting dark,” Demyx said. “You sure it’s safe? Neither of us have weapons.”

Ienzo nodded. “The Heartless haven’t been as plentiful as of late. There’s also the town’s defense system.” His voice was flat, dull. Demyx could tell he’d been shaken to his core.

“...Right, but we see something, we’re heading back. ‘Cause I am so not in the mood.”

Town was brightly lit; string lights were stretched across the buildings, making things glow and providing an extra level of protection against Heartless. The marketplace was still busy, the smells and sounds catching up to them. Demyx noticed a flyer pasted onto one of the buildings.

“There’s a concert in the square,” he said. His heart catching in his throat. “We have to go.”

“That must be new,” Ienzo said. “I haven’t seen anything like that here in a very long time. I should like to see it myself.”

They waded through the crowd in the marketplace, taking a circuitous route that actually spit them out near the foot of the castle. A small stage had been set up, and people were sitting out on lawn chairs and blankets. A warm, fizzy excitement gathered inside of him; it had been so longsince he’d heard any music, especially music that hadn’t been produced by himself.

“There’s a bench over there,” Ienzo said. “I’d rather not sit on the cold ground.”

“No problem.” He spotted a concession stand. “Are you hungry? Let’s get snacks.” The main product was popcorn, so he got enough for two of them. There was also hard apple cider, which sounded interesting. “Do you want one?”

“I’m not a big drinker, but… admittedly it sounds nice.”

After only barely having claimed their bench from other people, they settled back down. Demyx was glad to see that the tension in Ienzo’s shoulders had lessened slightly. “I take it you don’t get out much,” Demyx said.

“Not at all,” Ienzo said. “It’s very easy for me to forget about the mundane. I feel like all I do is look at the bigger picture. Especially lately.”

“It’s helpful sometimes. Otherwise it’s so easy to lose perspective. When I would do recon missions, I spent so much time picking apart everything about a world--its culture, its people, the power dynamics at play--that I would forget that everyone there is living. Sometimes I had to join them, to talk to someone, to just… remember I’m real. It’s the only way you can hang onto yourself.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ienzo said. “But how can I afford to put myself above everything when there’s so much at stake?”

“You’re not putting yourself above it. You’re treating yourself as having worth. Which is something you keep lecturing me about.”

In the faint light, Demyx could swear he saw Ienzo turn pink. “I think it’s starting,” Ienzo said quietly, which was the perfect thing to distract him.

For the first set, his attention was rapt. The musicians were just a random group of people from the town who clearly hadn’t spent much rehearsal time together, and the songs they played were old Radiant Garden folk songs, well-worn and remembered. Technically, the musicians weren’t even very good, but it was the love with which they played the songs that compelled him.

The second set was more uptempo, and clearly meant to get people on their feet, which it did. Demyx exhaled; it felt like he’d been holding his breath forever. Hearing the music had grounded him, gave him some clarity. He realized Ienzo was staring at him and jumped.

He smiled. “I’m sorry. It was just so interesting to watch you watch them, so to speak. It was like you were in your own little world.”

“No,” Demyx said. “No, it made me feel a part of this one.” The silence and eye contact made him bristle. He stood. The pint of cider he’d had must have been a bit stronger than he’d thought. He was woozy in a good way. “Do you want to join them?”

“Me? Don’t be absurd.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun. Give me one good reason why not.”

“We’ll look foolish.”

“More like you’ll look dumb for being the only one still sitting. And besides. I bet half of these people are too drunk to care.”

“...I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s not exactly rocket science.” Demyx offered his hand.

Ienzo sighed and drummed his fingers against the seat of the bench. “ Fine. But do not tell anyone about this.”

“That’s the spirit.”

He took Demyx’s hand, then froze. “I changed my mind.”

He blinked. “...Are you embarrassed? Hey, it’s okay. I’m just trying to help you relax a little. Do you want to go back?”

“Yes… perhaps.”

They left the noise and light of the town. The cool, dry air shook some of the tipsiness he was feeling. Demyx realized Ienzo was still holding his hand. His breath caught. He didn’t understand what this meant--was he also a little drunk?

“Just another moment,” Ienzo said when they reached the postern. “Look at the sky.”

The night sky seemed impossibly bright, brighter than he’d ever seen in years. The worlds that had fallen to darkness were healing, one by one.

“I haven’t seen… I can’t believe…” He reached up, as if to touch the stars. He squeezed Demyx’s hand with his other. “Why is it that I’ve never looked up? Look, Cassiopeia is there in almost its entirety. It’s been ten years since I’ve seen it in full. And Calliope.”

“It’s over,” Demyx said softly. “Finally.”

“No, there’s still so much work to do. And yet…” His voice hitched. In the semidarkness, it was hard to tell exactly, but Demyx could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes. “I thought this would all be over… because of me. Because of my mistakes, my insistence we did those experiments, almost everything was destroyed…”

“But the darkness was always there. You couldn’t have known what would happen. Anyway, you were a kid. Someone else should have known better and helped you.”

“You’re too kind to me, Demyx.” He shook his head and took his hand back. “Part of me will probably always feel guilty.”

“Then… let me help you with that. And I’ll be there to remind you of all the good you’ve done.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my pill to swallow.”

They lapsed into a silence. Ienzo kept watching the stars. Demyx couldn’t see his eyes through the hair.

“I… have enjoyed your company,” Ienzo said after what felt like an eternity. “You’ve shown me there is more to life than… well, guilt and research. It reminds me that I am human, and… real.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. His heartbeat was making him jittery. “I always thought I would be alone somehow. And now I’m not.”

Ienzo turned to face him. “Rather succinct.”

Demyx was close enough to feel his body heat. He reached up with a trembling hand to touch Ienzo’s cheek. He seemed unsure of how to react to the touch, though he didn’t pull away. He put his hand on top of Demyx’s.

Do it, you coward.

He leaned in and kissed him. It was a light kiss, borderline chaste; it was over as soon as it had begun. Ienzo was gripping his hand painfully tight. Demyx couldn’t see his expression. Had he been reading the signs all wrong? Was this a terrible idea? Had he just fucked it all up?

“I’m sorry,” he said. Anxiety burrowed under his skin. “I thought-- Look, I--” He had no way of defending himself without outright lying. You could explain away most other gestures as friendly, but not this.

Ienzo shook his head. He let go of Demyx’s hand.

“Will you say something? Please?”

He kept shaking his head. He put his hand to his throat.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

Ienzo knotted his hands.

Panic hitched in his chest. “I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m going to leave you alone. I’m so sorry.” He turned away and ran.

In a panicked daze he got back to his room, and collapsed onto his bed. He thought his heart might explode. How had he been so stupid? He hoped the damage wasn’t too extensive, but how could he be sure? He’d rendered Ienzo speechless. Why had he thought it was even possible--

The night was long. His heart was racing too fast to let him get any sleep. He played the moment over and over again, feeling a bit sicker each time. There was no way to take it back.

Around dawn, as he sat tangled in sheets, shaking all over, there was a faint knock at the door. He sat up.

Ienzo poked his head in. He looked terrible, pale and exhausted again. No doubt he hadn’t had any sleep either.

“I’m so--” Demyx began, but Ienzo held up a finger.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Ienzo said in a tired, low voice.

“Of course I did. I forced myself on you--”

“You did no such thing.” He leaned against the dresser. “I’ve thought… and I’ve thought… I’ve felt… something physical between us. The hints have been piling up, and this… longing I feel… I can’t categorize. I have to explain myself.”

His heart was pounding again, but in a different way.

Ienzo kept his eyes on the floor. “When I was a child there were times I would go mute,” he said. “Whenever I felt something strong, or experienced something traumatic, I would shut down. These spells have gotten less common as I’ve gotten older, but when I experience them, it’s impossible to communicate. It still happens now when I’m under exceptional stress, or surprised. And you surprised me. I’m sure it was an odd thing to witness.” He was wringing his hands together. “I thought about it all night. Part of me wonders if this is displaced desire, and hormonal impulses on both of our parts. I don’t pretend to understand these things. I never had reason to in the past. Maybe some would consider this a poor match. But I am tired of denying myself good things.”

The muscles in his chest were so taught with tension that his next breath hurt. "You mean--"

Ienzo crossed the remaining few feet between them and kissed him.

He tensed. It was more of a collision than a kiss, awkward and messy. Ienzo's anxious reaction suddenly made a whole lot more sense; he was completely inexperienced. “I know what you mean,” Demyx stuttered. “About this being confusing, and weird, and probably a bad idea, but I… I’m all in, Ienzo.”

Ienzo sat down next to him delicately, like he would fly apart if he moved too quickly. In the early morning light, Demyx could clearly see the flush in his face. He took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't know what to expect," Ienzo said. His other hand lingered near his lips.

“When I kissed you? That was your first?”

“I never had the desire before. Or really, the time. I presume the same isn’t the case for you.”

“...Well. That’s true.”

A few beats of tense silence. Demyx put an arm around him, lightly. He remained tense, but did not flinch away. “Did you want me to do it again?”

“...I should… I should like that.”

He ran a hand through Ienzo's hair. It was deceptively soft, almost like down. Demyx kissed him. It took him a moment or two to begin to figure it out. He moved slowly and almost tentatively. Ienzo's hands dropped to his waist. He was learning, and quickly, and soon he began to kiss back with a little more fervor. This was more what Demyx thought it would be like. Warmer. More natural. He could hear him breathing rapidly. Ienzo reached up to touch his hair, his face. Demyx wanted nothing more than to pull him close and not let go, but he had to be careful. Still. It had been so long since he'd been touched in any capacity, romantically or otherwise, and he felt something like shock.

Ienzo pulled away. He was, if possible, even redder, and he didn't make eye contact when he said, "I didn’t think it would feel this way.”

“Disappointed?”

“No. The opposite.” He withdrew his hands. Demyx ached when the touch disappeared, but it was crucial that they take their time. “But I’m starting to feel ov-oversti--” He touched his throat.

“Overstimulated?” Demyx finished for him. “It’s okay if you need space. This is all new to you. We can take it really slow.”

Ienzo moved away a few feet and pulled his knees to his chest.

After a few minutes of breathing, Demyx broke the silence again. “You go quiet?” Ienzo nodded. “That’s okay. We can just chill here.” He swung his feet a little. Somehow, now that they kissed the longing was stronger than before. Demyx wondered why the body had to be so greedy. He should’ve been happy with this much; he was happy with it, and eager to see what this meant for them. “Is it okay if I talk?”

He nodded.

“It was really unexpected for me too,” Demyx said. “It just felt so much more real than anything I’ve experienced. Maybe it’s because I have a heart… or part of one, or whatever. I’m just… glad. I’m still barely catching my breath.”

They sat there for a while longer. Demyx thought he would get bored, but he found he didn’t mind this neutral sort of space they’d made. Sitting with Ienzo in silence was far better than sitting alone. He couldn’t stop smiling. After what could’ve been an hour or more, Ienzo cleared his throat.

“Better?” Demyx asked.

“Quite. I’m very… I’m very tired.”

“Go try to sleep. It seems like you’ve just gone through a lot. If it makes you feel better, I’m probably going to turn in too. Hard to sleep last night.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Demyx kissed him once more. “I’ll see you later.”

He watched him leave. Once the door was closed Demyx curled up tightly, feeling a reckless giddiness. He couldn't believe what had just happened, but the shock was pleasant for a change. Surprising. For once, being human wasn't so terrible after all.

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #yeah it finally happened #demyx and ienzo are touch-starved disasters and you can pry that from my cold dead hands

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